Art by metal

Characters: Brian & Caden owned by wolf4life (me)

Little warm up for me on starting fresh with a new short-story after getting nearly done with two short-stories (hopefully done by today).

"Another Two Years..." by Brian Colfxire

We were going to have two-weeks to ourselves. That was our initial plan. But plans kept changing the closer we got to the flight-day: A week and a half. One week. Three days. A single-day.

Caden asked me if it was worth the trouble for so short a time. Against my better judgement, I didn't refund the plane-ticket. I put on my dress-shirt and groomed my tail out as I waited for a phone-call that morning since 3 AM. I redid the bed eight times before my smartphone buzzed at 9 AM. When I got the message, he told me that he forgot his extra clothes after I told him I had reservations.

"No worries," I typed out, "I bought you a new shirt in the back of my car."

We didn't say much in the car-ride over to the restaurant. I exchanged half a smile his way when I caught sight of him; he turned to look out the window as the droning noises of traffic kept the car lulled in its own silence.

No worries, right. Don't worry about it. Stop over-analyzing. Don't think. Breathe.

I offered him the dress-shirt I had left in the backseat when we stopped. He said he'd put it on when he got to the restroom.

It was a longer ride than I anticipated. Perhaps longer due to the nervous ticking noise in my head. Or perhaps it was the inability to move out of the car and go take a leak while I waited for all the other cars to leave. Or maybe it was simply the amount of time to think about what to say, to rethink how to say it right, to dread slipping up on my tongue in the process, to reevaluate my words so that I won't screw things up, to somehow make it all sound genuine and sincere. Or, simply, it was how quiet we were that put me in distress.

Cops sirens whirred-up out on the right-lane. Someone had an unfortunate day.

I sat at the table by myself with some bottle of wine Caden ordered. Pi-not-Noir, I think was how you pronounce it. The fox almost seemed surprised when I poured myself a glass. I mumbled something about drinking only on rare occasions. He went to go change into the dress-shirt.

I twirled my half-glass in my paw, sloshing it around from one side to the other, wondering as I watched it if the glass was half-full, half-empty or full of other things besides some wine. The thought almost made me want to laugh at myself.

Here I was wasting precious seconds and all I could think of was how I'd make things worse. I didn't ask him about the smell on his breath or the dilation of his eyes. I tried not to say something that would make him say, "This is too Hallmark." I bit on my tongue trying to come up with the right words to say but just kept biting it numb. All I could manage to focus on was one thing: He was smiling, and that made me want to try to smile too.

But that's not what I was thinking about, his smile; all I could think of were questions like, "How much longer do we have?" or "Why can't you be satisfied with whatever you get?" I wish I knew the answer to either question instead of listening to their echos.

I had down half of my second glass when Caden came back. He asked me how was it. I told him what I always told him about alcohol, "Tastes like kerosene."

He poured himself a glass, but he only took a whiff of his glass before he set it down. "Look, Brian, I have something to tell you..." I fidgeted in my chair, coiling my tail around one leg to keep myself from falling. "I lied when I said I could spare a day. I changed the ticket schedule so I could be back some time this evening."

"Oh." It was more of a exhalation of relief. "Is that all?" I asked.

"Just didn't want to tell you the bad news." He left it at that when our waiter came by and we ordered our food. To our good fortune, the kitchen staff brought our orders out immediately as some other table got their order mixed up by mistake. I didn't think either of us would complain about the circumstances.

But when the waiter left Caden didn't dig into his meal. He looked over at me and apologized with his fork half embedded in the plate and his glass in hand. He didn't ever say for what.

The wine must have kicked in since the sentiments rolled off my tongue before I could rethink them. "Two years of tomorrows, one lazy Sunday. That's okay." I kept the smile going for as long as possible until he started to dig in.

Another two years... And another two years.... And another two years... Plenty of time to waste. There's still time.

I thought about the mess I forgot on the floor. It was right there in-front of me, but I was too busy making sure the bedding was fine. It's good he won't stay long to see the creases I forgot to fix. That's one way to look at it.

Prose by myself (wolf4life)