The Blanks

Chapter II: More Confusion

Chapter II: More Confusion

For the first week, James put Frasier’s Thermometer on the bottom of his sock drawer. He felt that if it were on the mantelpiece, it would draw trouble.

He had come to feel apprehensive towards the object. Anger too, maybe, but that was more toward how for one shining moment, when Johnny Denk had arrived and given it to him, he’d felt like maybe he’d know something, but that was all gone now.

The University work became harder and harder. Weeks passed, and the weather grew warmer, and the semester was over. Lost for what to do with his life, trying to circumnavigate the people around him, he applied for a job at a local café. The pay was fine, but what infuriated him most were the people.

On the second week of his new job, the tall lanky boy from the Italian place that he had taken his uncle to appeared at the counter. “Small coffee, please. Whipped cream, if you have any,” he said, eyeing James cautiously.

Vastly offended by his suspicious manner, James went behind the counter to prepare the order. He’d gotten a haircut; you could now see his face, which was angular and sharp. He had light blue eyes, the type that German border guards have.

Bringing him back his coffee, the boy leaned across the counter, and said, “I’m looking for a job here. Is there anything available?”

“Is the Italian place closing down?”

The boy raised his eyebrows; surprised James had recognized him. “It did, actually. Not enough business, see, and when the health inspector came by he thought it was pretty bad.”

James nodded. “I’ll talk to the manager. I’m the only one on shift today, so maybe he can fill you in for something. Bring by your résumé. What’s your name?”

 “I’m Benjamin Fuller,” said the youth. “Thanks.” He took his coffee and went to sit by the window.

Benjamin brought in his résumé, and within the week he was hired. The manager had put him on the same shift as James. Benjamin was diligent, and worked hard, and wasn’t too sullen, but there was something about his optimistic attitude that put James off. He couldn’t even point to what part of “optimist” he disliked so much, but there was always that slightly cheerful zing that was opposite of James’s usually more oppressive self.

Around the time Benjamin was hired, James decided that he didn’t have to hide from the little egg anymore, and at nine-thirty one night, after the café had closed, he made a mug of tea and studied it by the table. He adjusted some of the dials, and pulled the loop at the top to see what would happen, but the egg just sat firmly in his hand.

The only difference that James had detected was that the egg grew warm in his hand over time. Not just the type of warm that metal gets when you hold it awhile, but to the point where it became excruciatingly hot. After that, James put it down, finished his tea, and put it back amid the socks when it had cooled.

It had started when he’d dropped it in his jacket pocket, but James found himself bringing it to work everyday. During his break, he’d fiddle around with it when Benjamin wasn’t looking.

One night, Benjamin offered to close up shop, and James obliged. Because he walked home the same way, they would go together to James’s flat, and then Benjamin would continue on alone.

James was sitting on the curb, fiddling with Frasier’s Thermometer absentmindedly. The lights behind him switched off, and Benjamin came out, but James hardly noticed.

“What’s that?” asked Benjamin.

“What’s what?” said James, hastily stuffing the egg in his pocket.