the Troubled

Chapter Four: We're the Troubled

Four years later:

 I was woken by the sound of pots clanging, toast popping, and cussing coming from the kitchen. I had tried (emphasis on the tried part) to teach Benjamín to cook a year and a half ago, when we had met, and decided to try putting up with each other long enough to be roommates. And by decided, I mean that I walked into this fourth story apartment one day, and, not finding anyone in it, fell asleep on the couch.

Things had become a lot more - how do you say, intimate, in the world, since It happened. Since life fell apart. I live in Portland, Oregon, at one point a nice sized city of about 600,000 people, but now - well, now it's one, if not the only populated city in North America. I guess it makes sense that this is where people came, it's on the coast, and it's sort middle ground. More about how I walked, ran, sailed, and hitchhiked from Western Canada later... Smelling smoke, I thought that I should check out the food situation, so I crawled out of bed, still wrapped in the covers. 

''What are you doing?'' I leaned against the wall separating the tiny kitchen from the rest of the living space, and rubbed the gunk out of my eyes. ''Were those supposed to be pancakes?'' He shot me a furious look (his sense of humor was a finicky thing, there one minute, gone the next), 

''Eggs, Nick, they're eggs.'' I shrugged.

 ''Hey, if you say so. But if those are eggs, tha-''

''If you say 'than I'm a monkeys uncle', I'm throwing you out on your ass. Anything that unoriginal doesn't deserve a roof over its head.'' Which I could have taken badly, but didn't. A smile was sneaking it's  way onto his face, and anyway, I knew he didn't mean it. There wasn't anyone that I was closer to than Ben, and to be perfectly honest, there never had been. Even before It happened, I wasn't a vary "open" person. Don't get me wrong, I had friends, but none that I had been able to talk to, and when I say talk, I mean talk. Not just about boys (or girls) and annoying parents, and SATs, but life, in all it's terrible glory. Religion, and politics, and the destruction that was caused when the two met, and education, and environmentalism, and what we wanted to do with our lives. Ben wasn't what you would call a talkative person, no, capricious would better describe him. But once you got 'im talking about something that he believed in, making him shut up could become a problem.

 In other words, he was my best friend. I rolled my eyes and shoved him as I walked past to the table. ''Jerk,'' I said. But I was laughing, more because of his defeated expression as he stared at his scrambled eggs than anything else. ''Brat.'' He shot back, but he was grinning. I yawned. Sleep hadn't come easily to me in years, hence the slightly (maybe that's an understatement) sunken appearance of my eyes. ''Order up!'' He set a plate of eggs - I had to take his word for it that that was what they were - in front of me, and the smell... Well, I can't say that eau de charred chicken menstruation is on my list of favorite smells. ''So kind,'' I said, laying on the sarcasm as thick as it would come. It wasn't lost on him. ''My pleasure.'' He winked at me and sat down in the chair across from me, shoveling his own burnt eggs into his mouth. He stopped pretty quickly. ''Oh.''

''Yeah.''

''That's really disgusting.''

''I'm glad you noticed before you tried to make me eat them." He then muttered something that sounded like ''Yeah yeah, strut the pluck cup''. Oh yeah, he's a charming bastard all right. He got up from the table and grabbed our two plates, stacking them on top of each other. ''Well there goes breakfast.''

''I would say that it's the thought that counts, but I don't think that it does when you're talking about food.''

He just rolled his eyes and said, ''well good morning to you too,'' and ruffled my hair as he walked past. I swatted him away, but even though he was short, he was a quick little devil. Benjamín was Mexican, twenty one, about 5'5, had black hair cropped messily short, and had all the manners of a bad tempered raccoon. Which is to say none. He was also skinny as all get out, but in a wiry sort of way. Then again, you didn't find many obese people now a'days, not with, well, our situation. And he was cute, but not in the normal way, it's like, the more you saw of his face, the more you liked it. Don't get me wrong, there was nothing like that between us, his being alright looking was just an observation. ''See something you like?'' he asked, wiggling his eyebrows. I was staring. Ach, well, what'cha gonna do. ''Hm, well, it's not that you're ugly or anything...'' He scowled, but was unable to for long. He laughed, and threw my work pack at me. ''Shouldn't you be getting ready for work or something, it's almost six thirty.'' I caught it, and frowned, ''Be careful Ben, you're starting to sound like me.'' He just shook his head at me, picked up his pack from the floor, and opened the front door.