Bones and Drones

by K A Goodsell

  Was he really telling me about his video game collection?

  Now I wanted to play both games. Another reason I didn’t hate him.

  “Apparently, there are some new ones I haven’t tried yet, so I’m going to jump into that once you leave.”

  “I’ll play,” I cut in.

  He considered for a moment and blinked at me. “You like video games?”

  “I do.” I pointed to the screen again. “I’m more of a PC player, but I play.”

  “Awesome, we can later if you’d like.” Then he headed for the hallway to my right. “Over here is the kitchen. This is where I eat food.”

  We walked through the hall and into a small galley kitchen with a two-person café table by the window.

  “This is my little table where I have countless tacos and lasagnas. Food is a huge inspiration for me.”

  I stared at the table for a moment, suddenly caught off guard that he sat here sometimes and ate by himself. He probably cooked for himself, too. What the heck did people eat when they lived somewhere away from parental guardianship and had to feed themselves? Nat was the real cook in our house, but I hardly made anything other than eggs with toast and avocado or pancakes. Those were my staples when cooking on my own at home.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I love frozen fish fingers and ketchup, too. But I haven’t actually pooped in three days and I don’t think I’m putting enough good stuff into my body, but I don’t know how to make it taste good.”

  I snapped out of my zone and looked up at him. It sounded like he was in the same boat as me with cooking efficiency. “Food is the essence of life.”

  “Grimes, well said. That should be on a poster.”

  I wondered what’d it be like to live on my own. I wondered if it’s boring or if it’s too quiet. Then I remember Nat and Mitzy. No, I was sure it’d be wonderful to be alone for once.

  “Thanks. It’s small, but it is what it is. Kind of nice to have my own place, you know?”

  I didn’t, but I was sure it was great.

  “Well, thank you for joining me on my tour. I hope you enjoyed this episode of MTV Cribs All-Stars.” Gage turned sarcastically.

  I nodded at him, suddenly remembering I was freezing and wet from the lake. “Where can I dry off?”

  “Oh, shit. Sorry.” He walked past me into the hallway and pointed to the second to last door. “Bathroom here.” He pointed to the next door. “Bedroom here.”

  I hesitantly followed him.

  “T-shirts are in the top drawer, and in the bottom drawer there are sweatpants if you want to change into something dry. The divorce rate among my socks is astonishing, but if you need any, they are in the drawer next to the shirts,” Gage said. It surprised me he even had T-shirts in a plentiful number. “I’ll be back, just need to make sure of something, and I’m going to go grab your bag from the Jeep.”

  I opened the top drawer of his dresser and scanned the T-shirts. Most them were black or neutral colors. Some had patterns on them, and all were evenly folded into small rectangles. How was he so messy on the outside part of the world, but so neat on the secretive side?

  I selected a black T-shirt with a galaxy print on the front. When I unraveled it, I found something even better: a print of a cat flying through space (stars, galaxies, and planets behind the cat in bright purple and blues) and the cat is reaching out to grab onto a cheeseburger.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered. “This is amazing. What the hell is it?”

  I threw the shirt over my head and flattened it out before picking out a pair of grey sweatpants from the bottom drawer. They were too big for me, but I tied the string as tight as I could, making them at least stay on my hips. For once, I thanked my genes for giving me wide “birthing” hips, as my German father always said. “It’ll come in handy one day, and then you’ll thank me, Paislee.” Well, I was thanking him earlier than expected.

  There was a knock at the door. “Come in.”

  Gage carefully walked through the door, peeking around the edge to make sure I was decent. When he saw the outfit I picked, he burst into a huge smile. “Galaxy cat? Really?”

  I pointed to it. “What do you mean ‘really’? I’m pretty sure this is my spirit animal.”

  He nodded and entered the bedroom. “You are ‘out there,’ so I guess so.”

  He walked over to the dresser and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a plain black T-shirt for himself. “You cold? Want a sweatshirt?”

  I thought back to Elgort’s sweatshirts. When I wore his sweatshirts, which smelled like him and were a bit too baggy for me, it was always a turn-on. It was something about being comfortable and warm. Or maybe it was just him letting me wear something that was his.

  “Yes, please.”

  He looked through the clothing in his closet and pulled out a black sweatshirt for me and a Pine Grove Film Festival 2015 sweatshirt for himself. When he handed me mine, he had a shit-eating grin across his face. “I think this one will top Galaxy cat.”

  I took the sweatshirt from his hands and turned it over so I can see the design. It was a cat surfing a piece of pizza. “Where do you even get these things?”

  He made his way to the door. “The Internet is a dark place when you’re bored at four in the morning. Are you hungry? I’m thinking about making some sandwiches or something.”

  I pulled the sweatshirt on, fighting to get my head through the hole. It must be a newer. It was soft, too. “Yes, I am. I just need to have you drop me off at my parents’ house in only two hours. Deal? And if so, I can make pancakes.”

  “You love pancakes, don’t you?”

  I slipped a pair of socks on. They were huge, but I didn’t care as long as my toes were warm again. “They are a Grimes staple. You can also make a ton of different kinds, so it never gets boring, you know? Plus, they go with every occasion and adapt to any mood: Suffering from a bad breakup? Add chocolate chips and whipped cream. Celebrating an engagement? Add blueberries! Heading off to college? Wrap a pancake around a sausage, tie it with a strip of bacon, and get the heck out of Pine Grove.”

  “We never really did pancakes or anything breakfast-y at our house.” He walked into the hallway. “I’m going to change. I’d love some pancakes if you’re offering. I should have everything you need, and I can help.”

  Pancake time.

  I passed the bathroom Gage was changing in and entered the kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets to get accustomed to where things were kept. I pulled out the ingredients and the baking tools I needed:

  2 cups of flour

  4 teaspoons of baking powder

  1 and half teaspoons of salt

  2 eggs

  2 tablespoons of sugar

  2 cups of buttermilk

  1 third cup of whole milk

  2 tablespoons of butter, melted

  Despite me being an absolute mess in all other domestic categories, I was not too shabby at cooking simple dishes. Part of it was because I probably burned off most of my taste buds eating sweets when I was younger (it was normal for my mother to give me Sweet Tarts when I would help her at the funeral home), so I chucked in every sort of seasoning I could because it was the only way I could taste something.

  Pancakes were simple. My mother taught me to use the oven when making pancakes to keep them warm. It was one of her secrets; I think because she raised us—all three of us were late risers. We were night owls. So she knew how to fight the battle of the pancakes getting cold before we hit the table, preheating the oven to two hundred degrees and then popping a cookie sheet onto the center rack so she could throw the pancakes inside once they cooked on the stovetop.

  With the oven preheating, I grabbed a mixing bowl and added buttermilk and sugar from a fresh bag. It only took scissors, a knife, a hammer, a machete, and a light saber to open it. No biggie.

  For the wet ingredients, I took hold of a larger mixing bowl and added milk, butter, and eggs and whisked it all together.

  I mixed the contents
of the two bowls, and the batter was done.

  Finally, I coated a large pan with some butter and let it heat.

  I poured the batter one pancake at a time, careful to flip them to create the perfect shade of brown.

  While I waited for the first few to rise, I spotted a Keurig beside a stand full of small coffee and tea pods. I rummaged through them until I found a green tea and placed it into the machine, wondering where, or if, Gage had any coffee mugs. He must if he had a coffeemaker. I opened the cabinet right above the Keurig. Bingo.

  He had all sorts of mugs, just like me. Some had to do with Pine Grove’s film community. I chose a bright purple mug for myself and a Monty Python mug with “It’s only a flesh wound” printed beside the handle made to look like the knight’s arm.

  “Alexa!” I called toward the kitchen counter. He had an Alexa from Amazon—I loved those things. Elgort’s father had one in their house, and it was great for asking stupid questions or getting news briefs.

  “Play No Diablo by Umphrey’s McGee.”

  “No Diablo by Umphrey’s McGee.” She repeated, and the song filled the room.

  “Nice.” The jam band’s sweet melodies pumped around me. If I could have a theme song, it would be this one. Partially because of the beat, it just sounded like a theme song where someone is trucking it down the street in Manhattan after having some amazing happen to them. But also because they were probably my favorite band. My father and I saw them at least twice a year, either in Connecticut or down in New York City. Also, holy shit, their light show was amazing. Highly recommend.

  I danced to the stove and saw that the pancakes were all set. I worked through a few batches and pushed the last set off the pan onto a plate to keep warm. I liked to sprinkle some powdered sugar on the top and then bring everything out in a this-looks-fancy-but-mostly assemble-it-yourself-style with fruit, butter, and maple syrup.

  I stood back admiring the mini-buffet of pancakes I’d laid out for Gage and me on the island. It was the ultimate comfort food. If I’d had a bad day, if I was feeling a little off-kilter and was looking for a familiar, welcoming flavor to transport me to a more tranquil Zen—then these, my mother’s recipe for pancakes, would do it.

  “Paislee.” Gage walked into the kitchen, drying his head from his shower. “It looks like a Waffle House and smells even better in here.”

  Oh crap, did I go too far? I felt my throat get tight.

  He turned around, and his face transformed when he saw me. He smiled so bright that I wondered what I’d done to earn his good cheer. “I love it,” he concluded. “Who is this playing? I like it.”

  I poured creamer into our tea. Maybe the way to a guy’s heart really was through his stomach. “Umphrey’s McGee, one of my favorite bands. I play them a lot for John Doe. I try to be a good musical influence on him.”

  “Good, he has virgin ears. It needs to be the best.” He grabs hold a plate from the counter and forks on a heap of still-warm pancakes. Thanks for the tip, Mom. “How many do you want?” he asked me, and I almost fell over. It was so gentleman-like of him to make me a plate—first, before himself.

  “Three, please.” I wiped my hands on a paper towel before taking my cup of tea and heading toward the table.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t grab the Monty Python mug,” he joked as he put the plate down in front of where I was sitting before picking some pancakes for himself and sitting down next to me. Not across from me, but next to me.

  I raised my eyebrows and gestured to the mug of tea he hadn’t yet noticed I’d set out for him. He laughed in appreciation when he spotted the mug in question.

  We ate, enjoying the silence as we took in the flavors. Classic pancakes. The nice thing about Mom’s pancakes was that I could taste them. I wasn’t sure if it was the sugar or maybe because they were so familiar and comforting, but they tasted amazing.

  “These are really good,” Gage said, breaking the silence as he waved around a piece of pancake on the end of his fork. “Thank you.”

  “Sure,” I acknowledged the gesture with a smile and continued eating.

  As I was focusing on my pancakes, I looked up to see that Gage had pulled a pizza box off a nearby dining chair. “Coco, time to go.”

  Squinting, I watched as a cat leapt onto the table in front of me. “You have a cat?”

  He nodded. “She was wandering around Old World Cemetery for a while, and I brought her back here about six months ago. She likes pizza, apparently.”

  Coco was carrying a small piece of pizza in her mouth. When she turned and stared, in awe of her one green eye and one blue.

  “It’s like inception.” I laughed and gestured at the sweatshirt I wore. “If only she rode the pizza now.”

  Gage chuckled as he tugged the pizza from her mouth and set her gently on the floor. She scurried off, angry at the displacement.

  “Hey.” I put down my fork for a moment and folded my arms on the table, looking at him. “Thank you for not being a jerk. Some people when they work on projects together can be total jerks. You know?”

  “No, thank you for not being a jerk, Grimes. Thank you.” He shook a finger at me as he remembered something and got up from the table. He brought in my backpack from the living room. I’d forgotten he said he would grab it from the Jeep for me. He opened the front pocket, and my mind flashed to the pads and tampons in that pocket in anticipation of Harvey. Slightly embarrassing, and I pointed at him while he opened the pocket and winced. “Seriously? Are you really upset I’m looking through your bag?”

  I shook my head. “No, no, it’s all good.”

  He squinted at me, and without breaking eye contact, he pulled a tampon out of the bag. “You know I have a sister. These things are like a dime a dozen in the main house’s bathroom. I could give two shits. It's human nature.”

  Wow. Elgort and Nat would freak out when they knew Harvey was in town, too grossed out to bear even a hint.

  Gage really was a different breed.

  He continued to look through the pocket, grumbling about how all women have periods and how it’s really not that gross at all, just a “nose bleed that just comes out of another part of the body” and people needed to get over it. Then he pulled out the body cam. “Want to take a peek?”

  “Isn’t that against the law?”

  “Actually,” he said, picking up a laptop from the bookcase behind him and taking the Go Pro out of its protective shell, “I program these bad boys and monitor them for the station. I found this camera while we were looking for your notebook and I noticed it may be damaged. I’ll need to see if it is, right?”

  “Right.” I nodded. “Of course. Definitely.”

  “Okay, calm down. It’s just a body cam.”

  He plugged the Go Pro into the computer, and I waited for the screen to pop open with the video footage. Coco ran by with a sock in her mouth, dragging the majority of it behind her. I hoped it was a clean one.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I was called here for a complaint.”

  Tag’s voice rang out from the computer’s speakers.

  I frowned and leaned over to watch. A group of people maybe Tag’s age or so, in their early twenties, was laughing around a VW van.

  “Who called? The jackass who lives across the lake? Let him get over it,” one guy told Tag, hurling a beer against the ground with enough force to shatter the bottle, spewing what was left of the liquid spewed in all directions.

  “Sir, I’m going to need you to relax and leave.”

  “Tag, you know me. Don’t call me sir.” The guy approached Tag, his aggressiveness toning down. “We just saw each other earlier at the boathouse.”

  The boathouse.

  “I have to ask you to leave. When there’s a complaint, you have to leave voluntarily, or I have to take you all down to the station. Pick what you want to do.”

  “Oh, come on,” the guy sighed.“Can’t you just say that you told us to keep it down and be on your merry way?”

  �
��I’ll give you a moment to gather your stuff and the beer you threw or you’re going to come with me.”

  “Tag?” Rebecca stepped out from inside the bus and walked over to him.

  “Re-Rebecca?” he asks as she opens her arms up to him for a hug. “What are you doing back in Pine Grove?” He embraces her hug and the Go Pro goes black.

  “I’m visiting my brother,” she says, voice muffled in the embrace. “I need your help.”

  Her voice changed then from bubbly to concerned.

  “Okay.”

  “Act like we’re just talking about old times,” she whispered.

  “Okay.”

  “I’m worried about Teddy. He said he was going to be here by now and he’s not here. I can’t say anything to them because they don’t want him around. He’s not himself lately.”

  “Where do—” Tag was cut off, and the screen lit back up. Rebecca was being pulled away by another guy with his arm around her shoulders. She was trying to act natural and normal, but you could tell by her facial expressions that she wasn’t comfortable.

  “We’re leaving, man,” the guy said and ordered Rebecca to get back into the van.

  “It was good to see you,” Rebecca told Tag. “I’m pleased that you’re well.” “Pleased” and “well” were enunciated oddly. She wanted Tag to check on Teddy and make sure he was okay.

  Just as the van doors closed, Tag turned around to reveal my Beetle pulling into the space next to him. I put the car in park and stepped out of the vehicle.

  It was so odd to watch the viewpoint of Friday night outside of my head for once.

  In the distance, Andre was making his way back to his truck.

  “Andre, can I speak with you?” Tag called to him as Andre said hello and walked past. I hadn’t even noticed he had done that Friday night.

  As the video played on, there was a knock at Gage’s front door and it swung open. Tag walked in, soaking wet in a raincoat.

  “Andre, have you seen Teddy by any chance?”

  “Was Rebecca in that van?” Andre called back at Tag in the video.