"In Which Reality is Getting Stuck on Incongruous Nicknames"

(Pt. 3)

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(Still) The Arm Bar (gym), Behind The Garage

8:??PM (Don't ask me. Just don't)

Ciaran, in a surprisingly smart move (what? he stole my jacket, that still counts him as stupid), doesn't comment and takes his hand.

They high-five, which quickly transitioned into a man-hug. Deck, however, takes his sweet time in getting an extra feel out of Ciaran's huge biceps.

"Just kidding, I'm straight"— he gawks at the heavy band of muscle and stage-gasps — "most of the time," he chuckles under his breath.

I just felt my eyes roll past the pearly gates of heaven.

I should've known Deck would flake out. He exactly can't help but hit on any hot person — regardless of gender, age, wealth, and whether they're out of his league.

I still gotta hand it to Deck, though.

He was a man of multiple talents, none of which were limited to having the language fluency to sexualize every word in the dictionary, the emotional resilience of a cockroach, and a charm that would usually end him up with a 50-50 chance to get slapped or punched in the face. Of course, taking multiple hits is also one of his shining skills.

Even with his floppy medium-length 90s boyband hair, the permanent 5 o'clock shadow, arms covered with tatts, a rangy build covered in lumberjack street fashion, and sneakers perpetually caked in dirt and dried grease, don't underestimate this guy. Ever.

Deck was a genius with the propensity to use that intelligence for social evil.

He was one of the very few people in this town who landed a full scholarship to Brown* — Pre-Med. He was also the first person in town to have ever been kicked out in his first month.

So you can imagine the trouble he can unleash if he puts his mind to it.

RUFF! RUFF! The scraggly bundle of fur In his hand barks, struggling to breathe between the two of them.

"Cockblocker," Deck curses, stepping back to calm the tiny pup. His gaze lands on a stone-faced Pops.

"Po-o-o-ps"— he begins slowly with a sheepish grin — "What'd you do, raid a box of Red Bull? You look... And I don't wanna say it coz my gramps says that word a lot to me, hames?*"

Pops crosses his arms, causing his chest to make a rippling sound. "One of those furball friends of yours there decided to puke a dump on the yogurt machine."

Deck gasps and raises the tiny pup at face level. "Who did it? Was it Victor? Pupusa? Squiggles? Shitsalotsa?"— he wags his finger in front of its nose — "You better tell me the truth, young man, or no belly-rubs for you. Nope, don't you dare look at me with those eyes. What's that?" — he lowers his ear next to the puppy's mouth — "Uh-uhn"—

Pops pinches the space between his brows. "Jesus H. Christ! You gotta stop bringing in strays. It's bad enough you keep havin' your flies make a scene here"— he looks hurriedly to me — "not that all women are flies"*'— I raise a brow at that. He wipes his hand across his mouth.

I pat his back with short sharp strikes. "Look on the bright side, Pops. He might just be your only chance in seeing a grandchild in this world."

"What am I, chopped liver?"* Dax exclaims, offended.

I glance over his sweat-stained week-old overalls and innocently bat my eyelashes. "Hm-mm, you were saying something?"

"Don't lump me in with you," he retorts.

I mouth-shrug, one brow raised. "Oh, so it's wrong not to conform to society's heteronormative and child-centric standards?"*

Pops pinches the bridge of his nose again. "Both of you, cut it! I'm running an auto repair shop for crying out loud! Not a pet hotel with"— he gestures wildly at Deck — "Dr. Dolittle* here"

Deck tilts his head, batting his eyelashes with a sweet smile on his face. "Aw pops, I'm flattered, but I'm no Dolittle."

Pops snorts, smacking his forehead with his palm. "Good point, I barely see you do anything* about your strays."

Deck looks at him, aghast. He quickly points at me. "Ave's the one who keeps bringing them to me. If anything, blame Jane Wick* here!"— he draws a sharp sudden breath, clapping his mouth.

'Traitor', I silently glare at him with a slitting throat motion.

I guess the other cat's out of the bag. Yup, you guessed it. I have a dog allergy.

Psyche! I like animals (There, I said it!).

In my defense ('coz it feels like I have to), I had a reputation to uphold. Animal-lover isn't exactly what makes people run to the hills, or shuts people off from reaching a conclusion that I do 'care'.

"Bruh" — Dax places a hand on Decvs shoulder — "Nice try. But we all know..."

I tune Dax out and drop my gaze at the scruffy fluff of fur. 

A spark of recognition lights up within the puppy's one adorable gold eye as he notices me. He was a mix of dachshund and pitbull with a busted eye on one side.

I tilt my head, and the puppy does, too.

"...No sane male — man or animal —would take a look at this person" — he motions at me — "and say"— he clasps his hands next to his cheek and bats his eyes — "'what a lovely human lady. So sweet, caring, compassionate and blessed with a golden hear—Ow-wow-ow!" he howls in pain as Pops drags him by the ear.

"Don't talk about your sister like that," Pops chastises.

I smirk. Payback's a bitch. "Dax was in on it."

Dax sputters. "W-what the—No!—What's the matter with you? I didn't throw you under the bus. He did"— he points at Deck.

I shrug nonchalantly. "And now we're all under it. You're welcome."

He cups his ear. "Oh, what's that?"— he shoots me a deadpan look — "That was just your personal masseuse telling you your evening back massage was just canceled. Indefinitely."

My jaw drops. "Oh, come on! I was just joking. Nobody has that god touch as you do."

He crosses his arms and shakes his head. "Facts are facts, but still a hard no."

"I had my back slammed on the floor because of you!" I remind him.

Pops stretches his arms outward in an 'X' formation. "That's enough. I swear a stranger would walk up that door and get the wrong idea. Declan," he barks, "get those pups a new home by tomorrow."

Dax gasps, appalled. He juts his chin, his thin lips curled into a pout. "Pops, just look at him"— he lifts the puppy in front of Pops's face — "Can you really turn him away?"

The puppy's head lolls,  its tongue wagging happily.

I slide closer to Pops and peek at the sheer innocence radiating from the puppy vs expression. I cup my chin between my thumb and index finger. " He does have a point."

Dax chuckles. "I'll say. He looks like he'd seen the teeth of a comb more times than you."

"Or you," I sweetly retort.

I lean in to touch the pup. The puppy enthusiastically squirms inside Deck's arms, its stubby front paws reaching out towards me, eager to be cuddled by another human being.

A heavy finger drags me back by the collar of my towel. "Whoa, hold on there, trouble. Don't you think it's too soon since the rottweiler incident?"*Pop asks, a line forming between his brows.

I blow a stray strand of hair off my forehead, not exactly over my loss of good ol' beef jerky.* "It's a puppy."

"Hey, Pops," Dax cuts in. "Looks like Santos is here to see you"— he jabs his thumb at some stout shadowy figure by the door.

Pops sharply inhales through his nose and glares at us warningly. "We are not done — the three of you"— he points at Dax, Deck, and me and sees the puppy — "make that four! Dax, Ciaran, I might need you in there with me after all." 

A personal visit from Santos was as rare as finding giant pandas in zoos all over the US.* The only difference is that you get an exorbitant dose of fluffy cuteness once you see those black-and-white marshmallows.

With Santos, well... let's say the only thing this shop is getting is bad news.

Question is, what kind and who's in the dead-center of it — this time?

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Finally got to close this episode — and it only took me... (holy shee-it!) one year! 

To all my awksome readers who might still be here, reading this,  I deeply and humbly apologize. I never planned it would take me this long to come back. But, who does, right?

Still, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for your continued viewership. 

Know that your thoughts and feedback are always appreciated. 

I missed you all so much!

 And though I'm not completely active, I look forward to hearing from you again. 

Sincerely, 

Lei 

P. S. Scroll further down below for a short sneak-peek of my next chapter: "In Which Reality is the Calm Before a Clusterf*ck Storm".

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*[F/N]*

Brown (University) — a private Ivy League research university in Providence, Rhode Island. Aside from liberal arts, Brown is known for strong science programs, especially in medicine, math, and computer sciences.

Hames — (Irish Slang, pronounced as "heɪmz") means "a complete mess".

Flies — (One of Pops' Dated Slang) to describe women who are trying to be sexually alluring but are basically coming off as, well, cheap and irritatingly hovers around. 

Chopped Liver — a person or thing regarded as insignificant.

Heteronormative and child-centric standards—  (Allusion) A phrase once said by Captain Holt in Brooklynn-Nine-Nine. He talks about the concept that heterosexuality is the preferred or normal mode of sexual orientation and that having children completes the set of standards determined by society to define contentment and success.

Dr. Dolittle — (Fictional Character) a physician who shuns human patients in favor of animals, with whom he can speak in their own languages. He is also the titular character of the series, Dr. Dolittle.

Do anything — (Pun) Pops clarifies that Deck hasn't done anything about the animals at all.

Jane Wick — (Allusion)  Jonn Wick is the titular protagonist of the neo-noir action thriller film series John Wick. There is a running gag that John Wick is the ultimate dog person, going as far as to avenge his murdered pet. Jane is the feminine variant of the name, John. 

Rottweiler incident — (DITCH: Episode 6, Pt. 2 Reference)  Ave, Tia, and Kiana once found themselves having to escape a couple of rottweilers after accidentally trespassing. 

Loss of good ol' Beef Jerky — (DITCH: Episode 6, Pt. 2 Reference) Ave had to sacrifice her expensive pack of beef jerky just so she can distract the dogs and escape.

As rare as finding giant pandas in zoos all over the US — Pandas can only be found at four zoos in the United States.

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SNEAK PEEK

Rivulets of ice thread down my skin, my body was frozen stiff like a marbled statue. Ears pressed to the ground, still ringing from a not-so-distant memory.

The smell of damp earth, rust, and burnt rubber cloy around my nostrils.

Drops of crimson rain stream down my face.

My vision is rendered like frosted glass, each fragment of light forming fractals when they explode into a thousand pieces.

Yet, in my blind disorientation and the ringing in my ears, an ear-splitting cry pervasively cuts through the numbing haze.

Like a banshee, the weeping voice continues to wail in sorrow and despair.

My instincts told me to move, to regain reasoning, but agony attempts to take over.

Scalding hot tears running down my face, I slowly realized the voice was mine.

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Copyright © 2017 Lei André