Eddylines

indigo

Daszé flipped the sunvisor down as he turned up the road to the driveway, humming along with the stereo as the sun radiated through the misty treetops of an early June morning. A few deer bounced into the shadows of the woods as he rounded the gentle curve of the freshly paved street, past the familiar houses of the neighbors and their cars wreathed in a cool matte wrap of dew. On the seat beside him, a pair of orange juices tumbled and rolled in a plastic bag atop an enormous flat box of donuts, all of which threatened to slide to the floor as he braked for a huge truck backing down the road.

A rain of twigs and leaves fell earthward as the edge of the trailer began to cut an ugly swath through the trees until the squalling of wood on metal was stopped by the shouts of the security officers at the front gate. Despite the fact that the Bureau for Extraterrestrial Affairs now had an entire air fleet at its disposal, they still insisted that nearly all deliveries to the facility in the hill be made by truck for reasons that remained unclear. The neighbors hated it, the security team hated it, and the drivers hated it, but all appeals to the contrary fell on deaf ears, and so the monthly disruptions of a massive tractor trailer barging up the tiny, twisty road continued.

His good mood was tempered by a sense of quiet dread as he watched the two sleepy officers making their way over from the gatehouse, hollering at the driver as the big diesel engine wound down. It looked like Arytzi was on duty this morning, and he felt a sudden flush of shame. She was a Telgathi-oyar like himself, here as part of a personnel exchange with their homeworld, and possessed of a quiet, reserved demeanor that hid a playful ferocity and sharp wit that had only recently manifested in their personal interactions. She was pretty, well-read, and strong, adored and respected by everyone who knew her.

And as it happened, she also happened to have a tremendous crush on him.

He still wasn't sure how he felt about that. Her confessional texts had gone unanswered, and now he had to face the consequences.

He swallowed nervously, then breathed a sigh of relief as she averted her disappointed glance toward the cab of the truck, narrowing her eyes at the deeply-alarmed driver and unleashing a colorful spout of bilingual words both invective and directive. Meanwhile, her co-worker ambled over with an understanding grin, and Daszé  rolled down the passenger window.

"You're our hero," Jorgé  chuckled, leaning in and lifting the bag off the seat. "Whaddaya we owe you?" 

"Oh, um... I forgot," Daszé replied sheepishly, rooting around for the receipt in the pocket of his light blue fleece. "Just hit me up Monday, I guess."

"Monday? Damn, dude, did they finally let you out for a whole weekend?"

The 'oyar grinned. "Vha, I can go pretty much anywhere since... this morning."

The officer nodded, fishing around in the bag. "Hell yeah, man, good stuff. Going somewhere good?"

"Florida."

"Yo, what!? That's a long-ass way to-"

"No, no, I mean, Florida, Massachusetts."

Jorgé regarded him with a confused expression, scratching his cheek. "That doesn't even sound like a real place."

"Marek said that's where the river is, near a place called... Zo-ar? Or something? I don't even know for sure."

"Word." The human leaned in for a fist-bump, his dark grey jacket crinkling. "We'll probably see you before you bounce, then, but lemme go open the gate and get you on your way."

A moment later, the soft, uneven rumble of the old Subaru purred to a halt as he killed the engine and coasted across the crunching gravel toward his parking spot by the barn. The Vanagon had moved from its usual place by the house, but Marek was nowhere to be seen, probably still trying to organize all the gear they had unceremoniously dumped on the living room floor of Daszé's loft the night before. They'd been halfway through sorting it into neat piles until Suge wandered in with Amelia, bearing the ingredients for home-made pizza, a movie, and a rather substantial amount of beer for themselves. 

The apartment in the converted barn served as the focal point for most of their evenings whether he was  home or not, and with the looming approach of a long, contentious string of meetings the next day, both girls needed to unwind in advance. Dueling with angry, entitled academics on behalf of the Native American Artifact Repatriation Committee was never anyone's idea of fun, and it didn't take long to get the drinks flowing.

They hadn't gotten much done after that.

He climbed out of the car and stretched, glancing up at the picture window as Pepperoni watched the proceedings, her ears perked and tail wagging madly. He hated to leave his adopted mutt by herself for an entire weekend, but she'd be entertained in his absence, of that he was sure.

As if to prove his point, the screen door on the house slammed as someone freed Patrick for his morning constitutional, and Pepper bolted from the window, through her doggy door, across the porch, and down the steps in a furious scrabble of claws. They circled him like gleeful sharks for a half-second, then raced off into the woods and up the hill, heading for the security station and the endless supply of cookies contained therein.

He rolled up his sleeves, watching the dogs until Marek emerged from the barn with his head buried in the upturned hull of a small, bright green kayak. He stumbled slightly from the queasy combination of the boat's weight and a minor hangover until it thumped loudly as he bumped it against the side of the Vanagon. He unleashed a string of groggy curses as he balanced it on his shoulders and fumbled for the hatch release.

"I got it," Daszé said, hurrying over and popping it. The struts yawned until a shower of dew rained over them both as the hatch extended and abruptly stopped.

"Oh, for fuck's- ugh," Marek groaned, bending his knees and shoving the boat inside. "I shouldn't care about getting wet before we go paddling, but it's too early and I'm a big baby with a bad headache."

Daszé chuckled and pulled a slightly damp, disheveled towel from the back of the van, tossing it over his best friend's head. "Maybe this will help."

Marek stood there, relishing the cool darkness until the smell of three-day old pondwater overwhelmed his senses. "Probably should've washed this, huh."

"Vha, probably, but whatever, I got fresh ones in the dryer and... and..." he said excitedly, rushing back to his car. "I got..." He leaned in, then reappeared with a hip-shaking strut in his step. "DONUTS."

"Oh hell yes."