Dents

[+] Double Bass

By the time Russel came back to Wobble Street, night had fallen upon us once more. The horde of crickets nestled in the yard broke into a cacophony of chitters and chirps. A nearly imperceptible frost accumulated on lonely blades of grass as they stood in defiance to the first frost of the year.

2D and I were cuddled up on the couch. I sat in his lap while we watched 'The Mangler,' which was a movie about a killer laundry machine. The whole premise was ludicrous since you basically had to climb inside of the damn thing and let it mangle you for it to be effective. Despite that, it had 2D on the edge of his seat. He always had a thing for horror movies, especially the bad ones.

I observed him as he stared into the television, blue LED lights flashing over him, his eyes filled with anticipation for the drama the next scene would bring. With his mouth agape in childlike wonder and his fingers roaming gently through the strands of my hair, I was wholly distracted from the movie.

"Did yew see 'at, Saoirse?"

He looked at me eagerly, tugging the hem of my shirt. I was too focused on him to notice what was happening on screen.

"No, I'm sorry. Can you rewind it?"

His pouted. It was soon traded for a warm, toothy grin. He ruffled my hair.

"Yeh, no problum. Et was pretty cool enyway."

Russel came through the door with another bundle of dingy books in his arms. The weather had become quite severe. There were strong winds all through town. The forecast indicated that the first snowfall of the year was around the corner.

Russel struggled hopelessly to close the door as it continuously slammed into the back wall. Each gust of cold air created a growing dent in the drywall from where the knob struck it.

I gave 2D a quick peck and walked over to where Russel wrestled with the door. I pushed it closed before any more heat could escape.

I needed to talk to him. The opportunity to do so had finally fallen neatly into my lap.

As it stood, when 2D would get in one of his 'moods,' he'd always interfere somehow. It was as if he wanted to keep me away from Russel at any cost. Thankfully, he was doing alright that evening. I didn't think he'd mind it much if he was acting like himself.

"Hey, thanks for gettin' the door, Saoirse."

"Yeah, sure," I responded, "Listen, do you think I could talk to you for a bit? I've got something on my mind and I think you're the only one who can set me straight."

Russel peered at me with a puzzled look. It was the first time he made eye contact with me in days. The tightly drawn line in his brow softened at my request. There was a sympathetic tone to his voice.

"Yeah, alright. I've been meanin' to talk to you anyway. Could you help me carry these up to my room, then? It'd be nice to have an extra set of hands."

"Okay."

I took half the books in my grasp. They were in rough shape. Many of them were slimy with rot.

Standing outside the doorway, it occurred to me that I'd never actually been inside of Russel's room before. Whenever we hung out, it was always in the common areas of the house. On occasion when I walked past his room, I'd hear the thrumming of a beat track at a reasonable volume. More rarely, he would listen to the news.

In any case, the interior was entirely new to me.

The room was tidy and compact. He appreciated the importance of cleanliness and took great care of his belongings. His bed was made. There was a desk on the other side of the room with various trinkets and trophies scattered about. Records from all different years and genres were hung delicately on the walls. The hardwood flooring didn't share the chill of the one downstairs.