Wicked Boy (67) (Patreon)

I've only been out and about one day on my own, but through unplanned traveling, I'm growing somewhat demystified towards Huxley's configuration of bumpy backroads, towering trees, and eternal dirt.  The only way to distinguish a road from a parking lot is the curbs — and the only way to discern a large house from a medical facility is an engraved slab of granite.

Meadows Medical Center is the unfitting name of Huxley's veterinary clinic.  It doesn't look particularly meadow-y, or business-like.  The outside appears the same as any maroon-rimmed home with cigarette-stain yellow vinyl siding — but it stands ominously adjacent to their animal control center, with a long hallway that connects the two.

That's really as clinical as it gets.

I sit outside it on one of the two brown benches sporting wagon wheels as armrests.   I check my phone, remember that it's dead, and then check my watch, whose face has been smothered with a healthy dose of porch mud.

I could sit inside, I suppose, but I'm too filthy to be loitering in a public waiting room — and the receptionists are Huxley's brand of chatty.

Though — Lexi's not much better.

"Hey.  Yoo-hoo!  Mud man,"  she snorts when I scowl,  "You really gonna wait here all night for a dog that ain't yours?"

"What else would I do?"

"...You don't got a life or somethin'?"

I exhale.  The question wouldn't be so irritating if I had an answer for it that made sense to me.  I shouldn't wait here.  I brought the dog to a safe place, paid for her care, and now — I should be driving back home and shamefully hosing myself off on Ezra's lawn.

But... then what?

Lexi's joke is an innocent jab that turns into a blade.  If only because she's entirely correct.  I'm here for the same reason that I showed up at Taylor Evan's property.

I don't have a life.

But I'm truly desperate to make one.

"Your dog isn't mine either, is it?"  I lean my head back against the wall, staring up at the trail of a dim glare from the clinic's light post and then, further still, at Huxley's discernible stars.  "Should I shove him back under the porch?"

"I paid ya' back by pointin' the way here."  Lexi crosses her arms as well as she can, huffing out another billow of smoke.  I watch it dissipate under a night sky and dark treetops.  "Phone's little navigation system don't work if it's dead, mm?  Right?"

I pick dried mud from my neck, flicking it onto the ground below.  June's leash is clipped to the buckle of Lexi's shorts and jingles as she readjusts her lean.

"Sure."

"You mean 'thanks, Lexi.'"

"You're welcome, Lexi."  She glares.  She chews on the filter of her cigarette.  I sit straighter, digging out my keys from a stiff pocket.  "... I'll drive you home after you finish your cigarette."

"No, ya' won't be.  I'm stayin'."

I stare at her then, incredulous.

"Don't you have a life?"

She sniffs, unbothered, and flicks a thumb towards her foot.

"Not as busy with a broke ankle.  Besides, your stomach is growlin'.  How about I feed us?"

There's a stretch of silence between us.  I feel my eyelids growing heavy with thought and exhaustion, my skin feeling tight, thick, and wrong with muck.

Lexi shifts again.

"Does a broken ankle keep you from sleeping?"  I clear my watch face with a grimace.  I can't imagine that she isn't tired — carrying herself around on crutches.  "... It's almost one in the morning.  You have to be tired."

Lexi considers this, then me, and glances back towards the nothingness across the lot.

"Sure am.  And I have a nice mattress."

"Then you should rest."

"... You think I'm stickin' around 'cause you're just such great company?"  Lexi shakes her head at that.  Then she smiles, wry and distant.   "Relax.  I wanna see how that baby is doin'.  That's all."

I consider that.  Lexi had cradled and cooed at the dog the entire drive, sparing a hand for both animals when one became jealous.  I'm sure that if I had left, the older woman would still be here.

"... They recognized her,"  I tell her.  I feel like it's only fair since she's sitting on the same uncomfortable bench, in the same humid heat.

"She was chipped, too,"  I run my thumb over the other.  Insects noisily hit the lights next to us.  "To an old man, they said — um.  Warren Baker.  All her vaccines are up to date.  She was taken care of.  Just blind and scared."

Lexi hums.  She sighs, using the wall as an ash stray to butt her cigarette against, and slumps further next to me.

"... Ol' Warren died a month ago."

I nod.

"So they said."  I frown.  "They're going to hydrate her.  They want to check her stool for parasites.  Skin for ticks — make sure she isn't hurt.  Things like that."  I bite the inside of my cheek, a pang before releasing it, slowly.  "Her name is Magnolia."

There's something funny about it.  Something — sentimental.  But I fill my lungs with too warm of air, crumple up the idea of fate, twist it tight, and toss it.

"... So, what are ya' gonna do, then?"  Lexi turns towards me.  I face the lot.  "Pay for her visit?  Take a blind dog home?"

I shrug again.  I haven't thought that far ahead.  If I did, I would sink, like I usually do.  So far, I've had a good day.  I've stayed afloat.

I've done something.

"I don't know."  My eyes lid.  My chest pulls taught.  "I didn't think her owner would be dead."

"... Well, Mr. Blunt.  Don't make it sad."

I chuckle at that, dry and near soundless,

"What else would it be?"

"... Hm. Good question.  I dunno.  But.  I don't like sad."  Lexi pauses.  "So... Let's think of it this way, then,"

I open my eyes, just to witness the change in her tone.  She peeks at me, eyes curved with warmth, a gentle — unfamiliar tenderness.

I redirect my attention down to our laps.

"Magnolia is a lucky dog; bein' loved her whole life."  Lexi presses her palms to the edge of the seat and leans forward, inspecting her cast.  "Huxley has a lot of strays.  Animals.  People.  Lotta things not used to bein' cared for.  But not her.  She's downright pampered.  Even now.  She's bein' pampered by a stranger."

I glance towards Lexi, then when our eyes meet — I can see her age and her youth all at once.  I avert my gaze further, to the ground this time.  I use one shoe to peel back a dried layer of mud from the other.

"... I wonder what that pretty pup was thinkin', cuddled up under there with my June.  She crawled under the right porch."  Lexi sounds really proud of herself for some bizarre reason, though June is more brown with muck than gold, and sleeps at her feet like the day has exhausted him more than anyone, "must've known I have an angel for a dog."

"... Body heat."

"Hm?"

My frown deepens.

"Don't you think it was for body heat?  The storm was probably cold — scary.  Not being able to see.  She just wanted to live."  Mud falls from my shoe with too rough a slide.  Lexi watches.  "... She's lucky June is a nice dog.  She could've been hurt."

"You're lucky she was a nice dog."  She pats my shoulder.  I flinch before I realize — that's all it is.  A pat.  A warm hand.  I inhale.  "... You coulda been hurt, too."

"I wasn't."

"... Alright.  So we agree.  Magnolia wasn't hurt by June,"  Lexi tips into my space with a smile, shouldering me — but this time her touch is slower, careful.  "she wasn't 'cause she's sweet — 'cause my June is a good boy.  Just like you."

"I'm,"  My nose wrinkles; words caught somewhere between surprise and the discomfort of being acknowledged as good — of a near stranger's unearned and arbitrary kindness.  "I wouldn't say...."

"... Then say, 'thanks, Lexi.'"

My lip trembles with the desire to curve, but I bite it instead.  I don't know what this feeling is.  Maybe it's embarrassment.  I trample it with a turn of my head.

Then I sigh.

"... I had nothing to do,"  I whisper, finally.  There's no point in playing some gallant addition to Huxley or preening at Lexi's odd compliment.

"... What?"

I inhale.  Then louder,

"I'm only here because I have nothing else to do."

"Sure.  And with June?"

"Same thing.  I came to Mr. Evan's because I was bored."

"Bored?"  Lexi laughs then.  Her shoulder pushes into mine a second time.  "Baby, if you were bored, you'd turn on the TV, not crawl under a nasty porch."

I stare ahead.  Lexi scrubs a hand over her mouth.  Her smile in my peripherals falls a little, so I close my eyes.

"... At least, I'd hope."

I hum to that.  She shifts.  Maybe it's not just with Ezra.   I find that maybe — I'm always hyperaware of another's touch.

I wave a flippant hand,

"Maybe nothing was on."

I only make a joke because it feels like it's been tense for too long. Lexi lights another cigarette with a chuckle.  I can hear the lighter click.

"... Oh?"  She huffs.  "Well.  Hm.  I'm here 'cause I care.  No shame in that.  Downright easy for me to admit, actually."

She takes two audible drags before she speaks through an exhale, like her thought is too important to wait for.

"... But I can see now, why you're hangin' around Ezra.  'Cause,"  Lexi's voice turns lighter when she catches her breath — but wary.  Too clever — too knowing.  "He does this thing of yours, too.  Spins circles around me when I talk."  She chuckles.  "Real suspicious, with a big damn wall to keep anyone from hurtin' him."

My brows gather.

"Ezra isn't..."  I let my arm rest against Lexi's.  I tell myself that there's a chill, though I can feel the tickle of sweat at my temple.  "No one can even hurt someone like him.  He wouldn't let anyone."

"Hm?"

"He's — I don't think."  I shake my head.  "It doesn't matter.  We aren't comparable."

"You ain't?"

"He's strong.  He really wouldn't even have time for this.  He's always doing something — always busy.  I mean."  I add her quip back in as consolation,  "He has a life."

"Strong? ... A life?  Hun,"  Lexi scoffs, unbelieving.  She sounds breathless, worried, all at once,  "He really twists your sharp tongue..."

"Go on and tell me about it, then."

"What?"

"What's Ezra's life like?  Workin' all the time.  Brutal.  Then, silent — two sides of a coin, always spinnin'," She inhales,  "livin' in that empty house?"

The air smells like nicotine and tar.

"His house is warm."

Warm.  Somewhere Ezra doesn't stay for long.

I guess I've never asked why.  I open my eyes.

".... Warm?"  there's no spite to Lexi's voice.  "Tell me about it, then.  What else?"

I can't think of anything to say.  So Lexi starts again.  I really don't want her to — but she tilts her head, brows gathered, and watches me.

Uncompromising.  Firm.

"... Somethin' warm might be there.  Sure.  But you can't tell what it is.  I can't, either.  So it feels empty.  Just like — when he looks at someone.  There ain't nothin'... Nothin' that you see, that he don't let you see."

There's nothing to counter angrily or to find malice inside of.  It's a simple request, one that she knows comes without an answer.  Then it's a bleak observation.  One that...

I've made before.

"... Is that fair?"  I fidget,  "Doesn't everyone — try to guard themselves?  At least a little bit?"

"At the expense of what?"

That's all she says for a minute.  She stretches her uninjured leg, digging her tennis shoe's toe against a gritty patch of earth.

"... Don't get me wrong — I feel for him.  Must be lonesome without the kids,"  Lexi hesitates — flicks her cigarette.  I turn to stare at the animal control center, and the tree next to it and tell myself not to ask.  But I turn back.  I keep circling.  "... I don't take sides.  I know they were Daph's, to begin with — I'm sure she worked hard to deserve 'em again."

She lifts her hand.  Inspects the embers on the ash.

"... I was proud of him.  Takin' that chance was beyond what he was taught.  But I guess he learned somethin' he didn't wanna learn again."

I blink.

I advise myself — not to overthink this conversation, and then, I do exactly what I hoped I wouldn't.

... I remember the canisters of bubbles collecting cobwebs on Ezra's front porch.  The water guns.  The scribbled on chalkboard.  Hand-painted birdhouses.  And the closed room that Ezra says — is full of junk.

'Do you have children?'

'Kids?  Nah.'

My heartbeat crawls up into my throat.

"He told ya' why he wouldn't help with June,"  Lexi shrugs.  "It ain't just 'cause I'm lazy — it's 'cause I ain't scared of him.  I do things like this.  Talk too much.  I say shit like this, and he don't like it.  Feelin' seen.  Me bein' myself.  And you didn't come — 'cause you were bored.  I see that, too.  So, admit it."

I look at my muddy pants.  I think about my equally muddy hair.  Anything else.   Anything else —  but the woman next to me, and the things she says.

"... Were you lonely in that house?"  I freeze.  Lexi looks at me and smiles, soft, so full of understanding that it makes me flinch.  "...When he left?  Did ya' want somethin' to need you?"

I swallow down an answer.

"I'm alone too, Milan.  But.  You should know — I ain't never really been lonely, even in an empty home.  I'm so much fun.  I like me.  Ain't that pretty cool of me?"

I shouldn't ask.  I should think — she's nosy.  That she's nosy and digs, and says things, she shouldn't say.  But.  My voice catches on itself, unsure how to speak around the lump in my throat.

"... How?"

Lexi wavers.  Her eyes water when I look at her.  I don't understand why.  The forest is rampant with midnight calls, but the night air around them, right now — feels quiet.

"Well, for starters, it's a lot less lonely if ya' let people in.  If ya' talk," Lexi leans forward to pet June, snapping up my attention, almost like she needs comfort.  "... Lettin' people past the wall — ya' find things you love to do.  Things you like about yourself.  People, things, you care about."

"And, I donno."  She laughs softly,  "Sometimes, ya' get burned by them.  Can't predict whether ya' will or won't."

Lexi pats my knee, then.

"... Maybe let Ezra know that, too."  I look at her.  She looks at me.  The insects that croak and creak around us suddenly sound strange — desolate.

"— livin' is one thing.  Hard for some people.  Some just — think survivin' is enough.  That might make ya' real damn strong.  But — far as I can see, walls are layers of the worst kind of fear.  Other people, other circumstances."

She shrugs,

"Havin' no agency.  Guardin' yourself.  Havin' names on your bricks.  That's nothin' to envy.  I would never wanna be like that."

A long time passes.

I listen to the crickets.  To the rustle of old trees.

My voice sounds wet when I whisper,

"... Ezra said magnolias hold up in storms."  I hold on tight to myself.  My fingers clasp so hard that they hurt and turn white at the edges.  "Her name is Magnolia.  Isn't that.... Well.  Isn't that —?"

I don't finish my sentence.  But Lexi smiles at me.

—

(I promised Ezra, but Ezra is present in the next chapter.  This ended up being longer and harder to write than expected, and was important for the story — as Lexi becomes something of a surrogate parental figure towards Milan.)