Chapter Nine
~
By the time we got home I was in an odd space. Mind wise. I love Mama and Papa. Despite Papa bein’ more than a bit challengin’. Funny I would think that. I adore Hale to pieces and back and his ways affect me a lot more. I’m in his company ten times more, and he’s a bit more closed emotionally than Papa.
So why am I so irritated with the two of them—the parents, not Papa and Hale? Got a lot of up and downs goin’ in my head. The irritation of Woriz freakin’ Hale out. The fun watchin’ washed up bulls ramblin’ on the court. Mama and Papa’s arguin’. The thought of livin’ with Mama the comin’ year.
What would Papa do without Mama? Sure, Grand says before he and Mama mated he’d been on his own since high school, but the evidence implies he’s less capable of carin’ for himself today than he was then.
The bull might surprise me. Every time he opens his mouth a surprise comes out. I get used to thinkin’ of parents as irrelevant, and bam, I discover a whole new reason to appreciate their existence. Funny how that works. As though they get smarter everyday.
Mama’s never not amazed me, honestly. She peers at me with those deep green eyes and picks thin’s right out of my soul, as though she’d known it was there and just waited for me to find it my self.
I turned off the shower, and gave a little shiver. Without noticin’, must have gotten used to the warmer temperature maintained on campus and the dorms for the few humans about. They still wear winter coats inside. We don’t accommodate them that much. But comin’ home, the house always feels chilly. Livin’ at about eight-thousand feet higher here may have somethin’ to do with it.
I spent a few minutes ringin’ the water out of my natty braids. Maybe I should cut my hair like Hale. Papa almost had a coronary when we returned that semester break after Hale had it cleaved off. Poor Papa.
Mama grimaced. Funny, the one who can’t share emotion much, displayed an enormous amount meetin’ us at the airport.
One more day at home and we head for the hoedown, ogre butt crack of dawn on Monday. Funny that Hale wanted to drive. I mean, be driven versus flown. Mama offered her car. Yeah. Wasn’t travelin’ to the West Slope in Hale’s ancient contraption. I love her car. Replaces a lease every thousand miles. Amazin’ Papa goes along with that. He’s stupidly frugal considerin’ the money he has in the bank. Not that I know the balance. But Mama’s dropped unintentional hints. She’s sorta embarrassed to be part of the one percent. Happy to belong to the Birs clan, but she’s from humble roots and proud of it.
We’d put three times what Mama drives in a year, goin’ to the West Slope and back.
I wouldn’t mind flyin’. Only take a couple hours instead of thirteen. But Hale doesn’t ask me for much. What’s so important about clearin’ the West Summit and takin’ in the valley below? He said with a good scope ya can see all the way to the ocean. That would be cool. Haven’t been to the shore in a while. Though our first few semesters at TIT, we made the sojourn across the desert and the Eastern Mountains to do a little body surfin’.
Whoa. Did we get sunburned. We’re from the land of trees—snort. Not like we knew the dangers of a full sun.
~
Hale
~
The hard knock probably brought me out of the deep-think I tend to fall into when I’m dreamin’ of my next, significant project. Have five requests slash grants sittin’ on the shelf waitin’ impatiently for me. I searched out my phone to check the time as Bele breached my sanctuary. After eight. Where’d the day go? Maybe the thirty sketches litterin’ my draftin’ table could explain that.
Ya’d think sittin’ in a studio with three glass walls to suck in as much light as possible, would clue me in that the sun had been below the peaks for hours.
Bele hefted the jug to my right and growled. The troll genes in us can make that sound so mean.
“We played five games of hoops. Three hours. Have ya hydrated at all?”
I found myself crunchin’ inward.
“Don’t even,” she hissed. “Do I have to stand by ya all day to make sure ya take care of yarself?”
She gave me her wimpy slap to the back of my head. My embarrassment eased and I managed a smile. She likes to see me smile. Does she know they don’t mean anythin’ to me? That they’re just for show? Probably.
I accepted the mug she pushed at me and sucked in a long drink. Felt good on my throat. Maybe I was thirsty.
“Mama sent me to retrieve ya. She’s after Papa, so we have a few minutes before she texts me with an angry emoji.”
That implied she had somethin’ to say to me. I waited.
“I don’t want to wait. Suspense is killin’ me. Where do ya stand about the North thin’?”
I’d spent a bunch of minutes composin’ how I would answer her. All of the words escaped me. Sigh. By experience, I did best just throwin’ it out there thought by thought, without a lot of worryin’ about sequence. The brain, it seems, has a way of workin’ that out, most times.
“There’s an art professor up North.” That wasn’t a good startin’ place. “Gave me an open invitation to meet his staff.” My mind clogged. “Says he can acquire a ten-day cultural visa for us with no problem. Just needs a few hours warnin’.”
Bele’s face was contortin’. Anger? Irritation? “What? Yar in contact with a professor up North?”
“Uh. He’s visited TIT, me, a couple times.”
She repeated my words as though I didn’t hear myself utter them.
“He’s a big uppity up in the art world up there,” I said. “He wanted me to continue my art education up there.”
Air was comin’ out of her throat. Not a lot of sound. “How long have ya been, ya know, talkin’ with this guy? A human? Ogre?”
“Man. Uh. A few years. Always said he was eager to get me in the art world up North. Guess he thinks we’re mostly troglodytes down here, when it comes to art.”
“A few years?” Her shout made me twitch. “And ya never thought I’d be interested in knowin’ that?”
“Ya stay really busy with yar studies.” Heat crawled up both sides of my throat. Don’t know why.
I found myself studyin’ the hair that flowed across the tops of her toes, as her feet arched left and right, as though teasin’ if she was gonna cut one way or the other. In basketball, I was coached to watch the hips of the person I defended. I found the feet were a better indication of which way the rest of the body intended to go. Some folk could really fake ya out with their hips.
“Here.” She was pointin’ at her eyes. “Look me in the eyes.”
She knows I hate that. I fought it for a few moments, but peripherally I could sense her finger still swing to and fro, a few inches from her face. I sighed and looked up.
“Now cop to all yar secrets or I’m gonna plow ya in the face with my ogre-troll fist, and maybe repeat myself a couple times.”
She likes to sound mean. Must be the ogre in her.
“Now,” she said.
I repeated my sigh. Seems that’s meanin’ful to those not on the spectrum. Somethin’ like a surrender, sometimes. Other times, an expression of impatience. Either worked right now.
“Seems we ought to visit up North before committin’ to livin’ up there for a year. So a visit to the professor would serve a couple duties.”
“Ya’ve given this some thought, huh?”
Had no clue what to say to that. Folk make statements like that, which confuse the heck out of me. Too full of emotion. So I shrugged. Let her figger out where I was on the matter.
“Clearly ya have. And I take it, ya wouldn’t mind visitin’ this human?”
“Wouldn’t hurt none.”
Her lashes were workin’ more than seemed necessary. I wish everyone could just explain how they feel, instead of paintin’ it all over their face.
I waited, and waited a bit longer for her to reply.
I couldn’t wait any longer. “We could grab a flight up after the hoedown. Could tell Mama and Papa we were takin’ the long way home back to view the coast.”
“Lie, ya mean?”
“Ya wanna tell them we’re goin’ to visit a Northerner, up North?” I asked.
“Not like either of them would throw a fit, if we did,” she said.
I gave that some thought. She was probably right. But it would worry Mama more than a little. Not like we haven’t been travelin’ on our own for years. Often times, them not knowin’ where on the continent we might be on any given weekend, until after the fact. Mama paid our credit card, after all.
“We tell ’em we’re goin’ before we leave, or after we get there?” Bele asked.
Wouldn’t have to put up with an attitude from Mama if after.
“Or just tell ’em up front we’re gonna do a coast drive about?” Think that’s what I suggested. Folk like to double up on statements. Maybe because they aren’t sure I’m followin’ the conversation.
I hate conflict.
“Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission,” Bele said, and pushed her lips up against her tusks. There she went only puttin’ her emotions on her face.
“Think that’s a human expression,” I said.
“So. Still relevant.” I think a soul would say she snapped at me.
“Not an ogrish way,” I said.
Her face wrinkled a bunch. Nothin’ trollish about it.
“Ogres lie,” she hissed.
No ogre had ever lied to me. Trolls just won't give ya an answer. More likely growl at ya.
Her phone pinged. She gave it a quick look. “Time for crickets,” she said.
That tingly sensation vibrated from my throat to my gut. Never know what it means. But I do enjoy the sarcasm, think it’s sarcasm, between Mama and Papa.
There’s significant differences between my ogre and troll sides. Mama and Papa blended ’em together seamlessly—to me—except for food choices. Papa wouldn’t touch a centipede with a mile-long staff, but I’d never eaten at the grands’ without that favorite dish bein’ set out for dessert.
~
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