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9. Hi, Cousin.

Chapter Nine:
|Hi, Cousin|

•••

ADRAIN MCCLERON.

Carl is my version of the Red Queen from when Alice fell through the rabbit hole to wonderland, whose only best catch phrases were wails of "OFF. WITH. HIS. HEAAAD!". I admit, his head may not be that large, but this asshole-ness, topples Everest. The shortest people really do have the tallest attitudes.

Carl was my afternoon boss, the penultimate shift before I retire to the loggerheads of coffee bean, an espresso machine, and the Starbucks apron.

Fat puffs around his cheeks, and sags under the jaw. His neck is swollen too, with a silver chains encircling it, threatening to choke out every ounce of life is has left. His body plum, and fingers stuffed with rings so tight that his flesh pops like a yeasted dough. His hair is brown at most, and gray at some: sixty-something doesn't do too great on him, especially not with all the chicken buckets and cake frostings.

Regardless, I do admire how he carries himself with so much prestige and confidence, one thing I envy him for.

"Carl it's about —" starting off softly might've been the very reason his abrupt cutoff felt like a sledgehammer slamming against my chest.

"Stack the top shelves. The packets should orderly be side by side to each other, and the cans should lie atop the other..."

I see the rings on his left fingers he orders about, than even his lips. If men didn't have heads, I'd have said that his fingers were where his brain was. He flaunts them with so much vim.

"Carl I..."
I try getting his attention, but then again, he's Carl.

"—Once you're done, take out the empty cartons in the back, and...I don't know, put them in the trash or something—"

"Carl?"
Again, futile.

"—just make sure you get rid of it, okay?"

Now!
"Carl!"

"What?"
He looked very displeased.

"My shift ended..." I looked into my wrist watch, then back at him. "Over twenty minutes ago." I added.

"So?"

"I have another which I'll be late for if I don't get going soon."

He anchored a brow over the other, as he asked.
"Okay?"

"I gotta go Carl—"

Again...

"What about what I just asked you to do?"

"I'll do it tomorrow, I promise!"
I pleaded.

"So, this place is gonna look like a train wreck all day, until you finally show up tomorrow by 4:30PM?"

Why does it feel like the next thing I say, might get me fired or even worse?

"I....I think so." My response held a lot of jitter and a bucket of self loathing in it. I tighten my grip on the strap of the backpack running over my left shoulder, and I turn around, and decided to slowly walk away.
"I gotta go Carl. See you tomorrow."

He immediately dropped an exasperated groan. I turned around and his arms are locked together in a fold.
He grunts again, spreads his arms, and his lips move to speak.
"Amanda—"

"Adrian —" I correct.

"Amala..." He says it wrong again, but this far, I'm already used to the intentional mispronunciation of my name.
"If you fucking walk out that door, how about this..." He pondered before saying. "you're fired!"

"Fired? But I'm late Carl!?"
I'm stunned, to say the least. I've known him to be an asshole, but this...this is just an apex.

"Read my lips Aida..." Again. "I. Don't. Give. A. Rat's ass!" He marked each word by counting his fingers. "Now get back to work, before I fire you right where you stand!"
He bellowed.

Every inch of me cringed loathesomely. Tears well up within my eyes but I swiftly seize composure, take off my the bag from my shoulder, and dragged it back.

"I guess a minute or two won't hurt much. I can simply apologize for being late."
I muttered and pushed on a smile.
I do need the money, even though it means me keeping up with this fatso's bullshit!

I walk towards him. My aim is the door behind a he stands.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!"
He said with a  wide grin, and smacks my back the second I walk past. I bite my lower lips to stifle the wrath, and continued with my walking.

Inside the storage room, I hear him call out.
"Avatar, the top shelves out here is where you're to begin! Hurry!"

I left an hour later which translates to an hour late to my next shift selling cappuccinos and bitter beverages.

And I met that nerd.

My breath was in sync with my trudging feet. It felt automated like I was stringing my breath and steps together by the second: inhale-exhale, one step; inhale-exhale, second step; inhale-exhale, thirty-ninth step. And after about the fifty-something breath with steps in tow, I stopped and had my head heaved over my shoulder, staring far into the distance behind hoping to find his silhouette illuminated partially by the blinking lamps lining the sides of the street.

Successfully meeting the long awaited disappointment, my head flipped forward again and I continued my parade home.

"I wonder what his name is though..." 
I never got to ask. Or maybe I forgot?

Feeling a bit of guilt, I try to imagine what type of name nerdy folks like him would have.
"John? Nah...too common." After running a few list of names, I soon shake my head dismissing the thought all together.

Unknowingly my mind trailed off to mundane musings, and the sun in it's camp of bright blue entourage and fluffy white maids, seems to be making it way towards me. I should have been walking close to an hour now?

Dawn came, and with it a drape of rejuvenation.

The morning felt fresh, forcing me to pause and steal in the scent of new, tranquility, and ambience. The wind hid a hint a nostalgia that made my gut overflow with phantoms of sweetness; so tangible that my tongue could capture its fleeting ambrosial delight, but when my hands reaches out for it, it eludes me—I can only blindly wander its edges with my eyes closed as I feel for its lingering trail.

The dawn felt transient with a certain melody beckoning from within, and unknowingly I found myself pausing and sharply looking back at the direction I came from: a blond boy's face of sheer naivety and stupid stubbornness flashed through my mind. A subconscious smile traced a path to my lips but I simply turn my head away and continued walking.

"interesting." I chuckled.

Moments later I arrived. A large park, fluttering blades of grass shimmering in crystal coatings of the early unfermented dew; trees widely spread towards the edges of the parks like watchtowers, and an uneven yet systematic assemblage of dozens of campers.

Although widely spread like headless locusts, from a bird's view, a two truck-sized aisle can be easily traced cutting through the campers, sectionalizing them in ringed layers from the outer region to the central part. It looked more like a web, as vertical tracks ran through the circular layers like a link connecting two layers—concentric circles with vertical paths.

These spiral sections did not cause any form of marginalization or a form of hierarchy; those who occupied the park earlier gets to have their camper parked towards the central region. And like the few hundreds of orbiting campers, mine was at the very dot in the middle, and thus my good relationship with Mr. Hart, the landlord. He did not own the hundreds of campers in the park, he simply owned the piece of land, and thus occupants have to pay rent for occupied a certain square radius. 

"Mr. H should either be dead or asleep by now..." I muttered as I discreetly made my way to the concentric center. "It's barely 7AM. I'd just get in, wash up, and head out to my next shift."

Barely fifteen meters away —

"Fuck!" My guts grinded nearly causing my to blurt out. "SHOULDN'T HE BE DEAD OR ASLEEP?!" I screamed within the space only I could hear.

My stupidly diabetic landlord seemed to be in a permanently stationed vigil in front of my camper.

"What can't this piece of shit just get a heart attack or a stroke! FUCK!" I've never wished for anything more in my entire life. I genuinely felt frustrated. I hated having to do this tug-and-pull cat-and-rat game with him—it mounts at the very crown of my head and the pressure is melting my knees.
I swear to Christ I don't hate Mr. Hart, but given this circumstance, I am utterly weak against it. My salary and wages can barely cut it, there's been an outstanding debt that I met, coupled with this forth running one. Having to solo it all alone is dreadful. My mind couldn't help but wander back to a simpler period.

Yet, I've got no choice.

"Good morning Mr. H..." I called out somberly as I walked forward. I have no choose; a shift in two hours, and I am thoroughly exhausted.

Mr. H relaxing in a lawn chair had his fiercely alert gaze scanning me. Thinly visible mist leaping from the mug of coffee in his hands, lashes against his face and he would occasionally inhale deeply and contentedly. In a white cotton robe—I swear he is stark nude under those— and a pair of dainty flip-flops, Mr. Hart excitedly jerked up and smiled at me.

"Kiddo, you've been gone for a while." Strolling largely towards me, a massive grin tore through his face.
"I've warned you not to be working too hard...you'll die young with lots of wrinkles." He began to laugh, apparently pleased with his own sense of humor. But that didn't matter to me as much as Mr. Hart's sudden 180 curve of behavior.

"Uh?" A prank. "I am yet to receive my pay, Mr. H." Trying to be a bit more intimate, I shot my walls to the sky.

"Oh, that...we can talk about that another day. Besides, other than the previously accumulated debts," My landlord walked over to me and patted my shoulder. "You personally no longer owe me any money." Mr. Hart was clearly happy. Even his laugh felt too genuine and...alive. With such happiness he might just live a bit longer than needed.

But that isn't the point right now—
"WHAT?!"

"You don't —he hasn't told you yet it seems." Struck by certain realization, MY LANDLORD began to grin sneakily.

Welcoming his chagrin, was the creaking of the camper's door up front. Mine.

From the shadowed jaw came the very familiar silhouette of a young man; I could spot his mature smile and expectant gaze; most of his feature were stolen by the absence of illumination, but that silhouette... I wouldn't forget one as such even in a millennia.

Onomatopoeia wouldn't describe the pounding and bashing my head, chest, and heart struck my ears with. A treacherously threatening tsunami of emotion broke all my defensive dam and lashed headfirst unto my soul. My visions nearly went black but I stubbornly stood firm.

"Brother?" He-he-he came back?!

The young man strode forward and finally said,
"Hi, cousin."

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