Junk of the Heart

chapter two - the poster

It was the saddest excuse for a yard sale C.S. had ever seen. Scattered across a bedsheet, Rene’s personal belongings were waiting to find new homes. Post-it notes clung to each item, listing whatever absurd price Brodie was hoping to wrestle from his customers… The host himself was seated atop a lawnchair and sheltered by the shade of a tree, a pair of knockoff Ray-Ban’s over his eyes and stack of comic books at his side. He waved with mock enthusiasm as C.S. locked his car and crossed over the lawn.

“Well hey there, pilgrim! Lookin’ sharp - is that a new shirt?” Brodie patted the seat of the empty chair beside him. “Come, sit. The illustrious Mrs. Bryce made us some refreshments.” He gestured to a pair of glasses and a pitcher of iced tea on the fold-out table between them. “Thanks, Mom! Calvin says hi!” Brodie called out over his shoulder, back towards the house.

C.S. settled into his chair - which was thoughtlessly placed outside the protection of the shade. “Glad I have front row seating for this blatant violation of personal property…” he droned, helping himself to a glass of tea.

Brodie leaned over, grinning like a fox and peering over the tops of his sunglasses. “Glad to have you on board… banker.” Before C.S. could ask what it meant, Brodie lobbed a Ziploc bag of coins at his friend, catching him in the stomach. “Chief Member of the Mathletes, sophomore-through-senior year of high school… I remember, we all remember,” chided Brodie. “As the unofficial winner of ‘Most Likely to Become an Accountant’, I volunteer thee, Calvin Spencer, the Handler of Bills and Counter of Change.” He stretched his legs out, settling comfortably back into the trademark Brodie-Bryce-Slouch. “Your main goal: ensure that no one tries to scam me. This is to be an airtight and profitable operation, do you understand your responsibilities?”

“This isn’t a game of Monopoly…” grumbled C.S., but begrudgingly he accepted the task. “But sure,” he continued, with a sharp edge to his voice. “I’d love to help you sell someone else’s personal treasures.” C.S. skimmed the loot on the sheet, and to Brodie’s credit found most of it to be merely junk: a stuffed dog, a book, a stack of CD’s, a keychain of the globe… He raised his brow as he crossed over a picture of Xena - scantily clad and shooting the viewer a sultry look. “Wasn’t that in your laundry room?” he asked, nodding to the dog-eared poster.

Brodie followed his gesture and waggled his eyebrows. “It was… but you’ll notice my very intentional emphasis on the past tense. Out with the old, my friend. Not only was this a gift from the Banshee, but sadly, the Warrior Princess just doesn’t do it for me anymore.”

C.S. rolled his eyes. “Dare I ask who does?”

Closing the comic on his lap, Brodie presented the cover of the X-Men issue he was reading - featuring Mystique at the forefront. He grinned.

“She’s blue.”

“Au contraire,” rebutted Brodie, flipping back to his page. “She’s a shapeshifter. She’s any woman I want her to be.”

Frowning, C.S. wondered why he was surprised at the answer; it was typical of Brodie to expect change in others while staying the same immature soul forever… A figure that molded to every whim was an apt and telling fantasy of a twenty-three year old man. After a sigh, C.S. tested the waters with a nugget of criticism. “I think you like your collection more than you like the people in your life.”

“Well can you blame me?” Brodie scoffed immediately in response. “The money I’ve dropped into the comic book industry… C.S., I’m only exaggerating a little when I say that I probably paid Robert Downey Jr.’s salary for Ironman.”

Shaking his head, C.S. sipped in silence, but out of the corner of his eye witnessed a subtle change in his friend. Previously encased in the panels of his new, blue lady-love, Brodie’s concentrated brow softened, breaking his focus in a moment of thought.