by Paul Vayro
Chapter Eleven
An arm appeared from beneath Brick’s duvet. He was pleased to discover it was his own, yet slightly saddened it wasn’t that of an exotic lady. It darted back to the warmth as soon as it had relieved the alarm clock of the waking duty it had been about to perform. Brick had been watching the digital display for the last eight minutes, each numerical progression tearing another strip of will from his heart. As the moment to rise came, the full intensity of the duvet’s comfort struck home, pinning him to the bed and begging him not to leave. Tears began forming in the corner of Brick’s eyes as tiredness threw more weight behind the quilt's pleas. He agreed to one last hit of rest and closed his eyes for an extended blink.
Six minutes later a knock on the door interrupted Brick’s mistaken slumber. It was Spiritwind.
“Bathroom’s free.” Spiritwind had cleansed his body and headed downstairs to take on hunger.
“Really.” Brick no longer had a viable reason to stay in bed. He would always wait for Spiritwind to finish before getting up. He took a soothing pleasure from hearing other people perform their daily hygiene rituals while he remained at rest. At times it enhanced his level of comfort to a sensation akin to floating. ‘One more minute.’ He thought to himself. ‘The next time the clock display changes I’ll be up and dressed in seconds.’ He poked half a foot out from under the cover. A gentle nip in the air made its retreat instant. Making a mental note of where his clothes lay, and the order they should be visited, he gripped the corner of the duvet and waited for the time to change.
The mattress factory the pair were currently temping in provided overalls, meaning the journey to and from work occurred in the pairs own style. Both opted for their favourite jeans and T-shirt combination. Brick added a threadbare cardigan that had been worn until it had grown as natural as a second layer of skin, and Spiritwind adopted a jumper that gave comfort and practicality over aesthetic pleasure.
Spiritwind heard four clear thuds emanating from upstairs. The final one was the biggest and seemed to incorporate a piece of furniture. It coincided with the toaster releasing its burden. Spiritwind gave the newly heated bread a moment to seal itself before applying the butter. He used the time to remove the numerous sausages from the heat of the grill. He prided himself on his ability to give a sausage an even colour around its entirety. ‘Breakfast is good.’ He thought to himself as Brick could be heard stumbling into the bathroom. ‘Not as good as teatime. Anything goes at teatime. Neither quantity nor quality could be criticised when it came to the evening meal. And it held such a wide window of opportunity; anytime between four and ten ‘o’ clock. What a deal.’ Spiritwind continued musing until interrupted by Brick careering down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Brick had a simple routine in the morning: up, dressed, cleaned, pint of water, work, mumble at people, dinner, and wake up. Being up, dressed, and cleaned, he stood at the tap waiting for the water to chill enough to down a pint of it.
“Are you ready?” Spiritwind stood at the door with two sausages in his mouth and a sandwich large enough to worry a hungry mammoth.
“Just the one minute required.” Brick egged the tap on with his body motion.
“I my friend would give you all the minutes I possess, however I do not drive the bus which is due at this very moment, and so we must hurry.” Spiritwind took an enormous bite to punctuate his sentence then left the house ahead of his friend.
Brick turned off the tap and opened his throat to allow the reviving liquid access to his stomach and various vital organs. The empty pint pot sat on the draining board as Brick turned. “Right then, let’s go and see what the day has planned.”
Walking at a pace commonly known as ‘about to miss the bus,’ Brick hurried through the open front door, pulling it hard enough to close behind him. Checking his pockets, and fly, as he travelled took most of his attention, which is a shame as it would have prevented him from walking into the back of a stationary Spiritwind.
“What the….” Brick had no time to launch a protest as Spiritwind had something to say.
“Did you put that there?” He nodded towards the front garden.
“What?” Brick checked for injuries. He tried to recall the symptoms for concussion.
“That.” The few remnants of the sandwich became a tool for pointing.
“Wha…Oh that. No. Did you?”
“No. Why would I ask if you did it if I did it?”
“Double bluff?” Brick had no reason to suspect such a thing, he just liked saying words.
“Who’s to say you’re not triple bluffing?” Spiritwind entered Brick’s world of logic.
“I’m not even sure what a triple bluff would entail never mind do one.” The pair stood in perplexed silence as the bus trundled past the garden without stopping to ask if they needed it or not. The pair took a moment to acknowledge the fact. Neither wanted to suggest running to try and catch it.
“We’ve missed the bus.” Spiritwind verbalised the conclusion without removing his gaze from the object in their garden.
“Looks like we’ve got the day off then; if I’m quick enough me bed will still be warm.” Brick beamed as he turned to the door.
“You can help me carry this in first.” Spiritwind approached the neon sign that had found its way to their home.
“Well of course. That’s what I meant. Once we’ve carried this inside.” Brick didn’t know what he was saying or why.
The pair moved to either end of the mysterious pulsating sign. It declared the name of the club it used to be attached to: Flashin’ Passion. Unfortunately the neon gases that powered the declaration were no match for the sun, even on this cloudy morning. It blinkered pathetically with no explanation as to where its energy came from.
“You get the ‘F’ end and I’ll handle the ‘sion.” Spiritwind took the role of organiser.
“The ‘F’ end looks like the heavy end.” There was no visible difference. Brick was just being tetchy.
“I’ll grab the ‘F’ end if you phone in sick for us.” Spiritwind negotiated expertly.
“Sounds fair.” Brick enjoyed phoning in sick. “Are there any excuses left in the hat?” Brick secured his grip on the ‘sion’ end of the sign.
“There should be a few left. Right. After three.” Spiritwind braced himself.
“How long after three?” Brick needed some specifics.
“Imagine I were to carry on to four at the pace I’d established with the first three numbers. Rather than say four we shall lift.”
“So on four then?” It shouldn’t be this hard.
“No because there won’t be a four.”
“There’s an unspoken four.” Brick wasn’t entirely sure of the point he was trying to prove, but he was determined to prove it anyway.
“Your bed gets colder every second we crouch here.”
“Good point.” Brick stood up effortlessly. “It isn’t heavy at all.” He started to drag the object to the door, leaving Spiritwind to lift and follow in one stumbling movement. “I didn’t think it could be that heavy if it had been dragged here from town.”
“Then why…?” Spiritwind didn’t want to get in to it.
Brick opened the front door. The two shuffled into the hallway.
“In here?” Brick’s nod in the direction of the dining room received an agreed look to the ceiling. No dining ever occurred within the room leaving its label something of a lie. Usually it held things that would otherwise get in the way. The item was logged and leant against the far wall.
“We’ll have to think of a use for that.” Brick’s sincerity was admirable even if the motivation to see it through was absent.
“I’m sure we will.” Spiritwind’s cynical tone sat nearer the truth.
“Right. Phone call.” Brick picked up an old cloth hat that sat next to the phone. Spiritwind quickly visited the kitchen to grab a few packets of food that required minimum preparation before heading to the living room for some morning telev
ision.
Only one tightly screwed up ball of paper remained in the hat. Brick kept Spiritwind informed. “There’s only one left.”
“It’s an easy choice then. Don’t cheat by having a cheeky look first.” Spiritwind idled past with various glistening packets.
“As if I would.” He would.
By the time Brick had remembered the number, and dialled it, Spiritwind was already on his first lap of the television’s numerous channels. Brick kept his hungry compatriot informed. “It’s ringing.”
“You’re not cheating are you?”
“No. The tightness remains embedded in the pap..oh hello. May I speak to Mr Finnigan please?..........Yes of course. It’s Brick Wall……..Yes Wall…….No it’s not a wind up…….Thank you.” He covered one end of the receiver. “She’s putting me through. She sounds lovely.”
“She’s probably sixty; age and stone.”
“And I’ll bet she…morning Mr Flanagan. How are you this wonderful morning?......Me? I’m fine. Well not entirely fine. That’s why I’m ringing………Of course there’s a perfectly good reason.” Brick struggled to unfold the paper and maintain the natural flow of the conversation, leading to verbal filler. “Myself and Mr Spiritwind Jones will be unable to attend work today because…” Finally the words revealed themselves. “…there’s a large, scary looking dog on our doorstep which is refusing to let us leave the house………Yes I agree……..Ridiculous is a word……..That’s a fine suggestion Mr Flanagan. We’ll definitely try it………Goodbye then.” Brick smiled as he entered the living room.
“Which one was it?”
“Scary dog on doorstep.” Brick took up his position on his armchair.
“Was that one of mine?” Spiritwind had given up flicking channels and settled on rolling news.
“Couldn’t say. I don’t remember writing it but that means nothing does it.” Brick observed the television before searching for more comfort in his chair.
“What did Mr Flanagan say?”
“He said we should poke it through the letterbox with a stick.”
“Surely that would only serve to infuriate the beast.” Spiritwind thought one last flick through the channels may reveal something he’d missed.
“We both know this to be true, but Mr Flanagan does not live our wise lives, a fact he may come to rue when attacked by an infuriated dog on his doorstep. What did the weather say it would be like?” Brick had almost settled on a position. Only his head struggled to find the required support.
“I’ve no idea. They started talking about yesterday. I could tell them what happened yesterday. I don’t watch the weather to find out what I already know. My fury caused me to stop listening and flick instead.”
“The weather report’s a tricky beast. It wants commitment from you. They throw you off the scent by filling the first few minutes with statistics and completely irrelevant information. Then, just as your interest wanes and you start daydreaming, they announce today and tomorrow’s weather in a flash before moving on to next week. By the time you realise you were meant to be paying attention it’s too late and they’re informing you of Berlin’s rainfall three weeks last Tuesday. You have to give it your life for that few moments or reap the punishment.” Brick’s rant served to find the perfect position for his head.
“They should place a clothing symbol in the corner of the screen: a t-shirt of an afternoon leading to a light pullover as night rolls in. Then you’re free to watch all the technical jargon if you wish, but those that don’t can simply find out the relevant information and move on with the day.” Spiritwind found a few emergency chocolate bars down the side of the sofa. He added them to his buffet.
“I agree. Why the world doesn’t come to us to solve these little problems is beyond me.” Brick closed his eyes.
“I thought you couldn’t wait to go to bed?”
“It turns out I could.”
“You’re not going to sleep are you?” Spiritwind couldn’t decide what to eat first.
“Not at all mate.” Brick had no choice in the matter. Comfort of such stature could only ever lead to sleep.
“Well if you do, on your head be it. There’s a good chance I’ll get bored in a while.” He opted for the giant cookie.
“Life brings what it wishes.” Brick felt his mind disappear into the realm of the subconscious. It felt like home.
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