Felixentric

Scene 9: I Trust the Nearest Kid I Think Could Beat the Shit Out of Me

It took a few tedious hours of arguing, Felix saying no everytime Quinn made goo-goo eyes at him, but Felix finally gave into Quinn's grand idea—the worst, most terrible, unworthy, anxiety-inducing idea anyone had ever had.

Felix would move in with him, in his cityscape apartment.

Though he'd have been morally okay living under a bush in the woods instead, it wasn't much of an option. He, as a cold-blooded species, unable to control his body-heat, was more susceptible to hypothermia. It's why tropical lizards harden like stones and fall out of trees in the winter. Not dead. Just waiting for the heat to return.

Plus, it would be more than suspicious to turn down a free bed for a hole in a tree. And Felix wasn't about to be chased along by an angry mob for that kind of mistake.

So the city life—awful, terrible, horrendous city life—would have to do.

Did Felix mention he was terrified? Not only because of the atmosphere of the city but because he had to share a living space. He and Quinn would learn things about each other, things that weren't particularly secretive but things that you would have to be with someone for a long period of time to infer. Like the way you brush your teeth or whether you wear socks to sleep. Secrets.

The ambulance, fire trucks, and police cars slowly took turns turning out of Felix's dirt driveway to head back to the highway. Their tires crunched over the dirt and engines roared in the distance, but soon it was quiet in the forest. The trees dared not gossip in Felix's presence. Even the bird bit it like being put on mute.

Quinn held out a palm-down hand, like escorting a queen out of her own royal ball. "Art thou ready for adventure?"

Felix grumbled and ignored the hand as they made their way to his bike. It wasn't obvious to Felix what the bike had been like in the dark but, in broad daylight, she was a black bike with thin wheels and slick fenders. The fuel tank in front of the seat took up a large amount of space and the headlight was almost the size of Felix's skull.

She also was extremely clean for the muddy area. Sponged. Polished. Baby wiped. The whole nine yards.

Quinn hopped on, clicking back the stand with his foot. At Felix's hesitation, he rolled eyes and said, "Oh, come on. You've done this at least once before."

Finally, Felix climbed unsteadily behind Quinn and clutched his jean jacket tightly at the shoulders, balled up in his fists and yanking back whenever he felt off balance.

Quinn chuckled as he hit the gas hard, and they sped far away from the skeleton house. Felix fought off the urge to scream. The wind was cold. The daylight was dark. Daydark.

A long stretch of poplars in a perfect, straight line marked the city line like a wall. Felix gripped Quinn so tight that Quinn had to shake him loose just to keep the handlebars in control.

About a mile in, Felix's brain was still going haywire on alert, but he exhaled and realized that it wasn't nearly as bad as he'd expected. It was just a regular old city, with grey buildings, cracked sidewalks, lampposts on every other block, an outgoing mailbox the size of a telephone booth, three other mailboxes painted like shrines to the spirits, vendors selling bugs and shiny things that you shouldn't touch with your bare hands, children in moss green jumpsuits bouncing yoyos and drawing on themselves with markers, and a big brick wall graffitied with the sentences, "Time heals nothing. It just replaces memories," and "Watch your back."

The sky had stormy grey, popping clouds but—for its dim regularity—that might have meant rain and it might not have.

There weren't many people outside. Those who minded their own business stared at the ground. Those who didn't stared at Felix, catching his eye for half a second before Felix parted them.