A normal life

Sometimes I like to pretend I live a normal life.  When my neighbor's yappy chihuahua wakes me up in the morning (I've decided against the shotgun approach so far), I close my eyes and pretend that the thing's bark is my alarm.  I imagine getting out of bed, taking a shower, putting on makeup and heels, and running out the door to beat the traffic.

Boots laced.  Hair in a ponytail.

I create this whole office world in my mind–a frustrating boss who yells a lot, co-workers who act like high schoolers.  An air conditioner that doesn't work blasting lukewarm air into my office.   Of course I'd be in an office.  My temperament would not agree with a cubicle. 

Jacket from the kitchen, pear from the fridge.  Shoulder holster?  Check. 

But then, I wouldn't get to shoot people as they run away with someone else's stuff.  I'd never get away with wearing jeans and leather boots in the world of power suits and lattes.  Seriously, those people can't even function without drugging themselves every morning and afternoon. 

"Got the map?"
"Yeah, it's in my pocket."
A revving engine.  The click of seatbelts. 

I would listen to books on tape performed by full casts of actors with voices like James Earl Jones and Julie Andrews.  When people cut me off in traffic, I'd just smile because it might mean four more seconds of someone else living a life of adventure, while I was in the (relative) safety of my car.

Scrrreeeeeee!
"#*$&!  Learn to drive!"
"Geez, Méli.  Calm down."
"Sorry."
The target is in the university library.  Right turn, left turn, left turn.  Wait.  

At work, I would gossip by the water cooler with the other girls.  If there wasn't a water cooler, I would buy one and put it outside my office door so I could listen.  There would be a lot of drama that would make each day feel like the end of the world.

"Don't do anything stupid."  A linked pair of zip ties tucked into the waistband of my jeans.
"You know me, Tiberon.  I'll be fine."  As wicked a grin as possible. 

When I got home after work, I would wind down with a glass of wine.  Maybe scotch.  I'd watch old TV shows and knit hats for my friends.  My cat would curl up next to me and try to bat the knitting needles while I worked, and I'd scratch her ears and smile when she purred.

The whoosh of automatic doors.  Hushed whispers and footsteps.   
Up, up, up to the stacks.   Books.  Books.  Books.
The target.

I would go to bed early, wearing a silky pajama dress.  My dreams would be about waterfalls and rainbows and people at work and things I had read in the books I had stacked by my bed.

A gun clicks.  Zip tie around his wrist before he turns around. "You?!"
Another wicked grin.  "Me.  Let's do this quietly, yes?"
Down, down, down the stairs.  

Saturdays and Sundays would be for sleeping in. I'd have a living garden and green grass.  Clean carpet.  A fridge full of fresh food I bought at the market.

"I'm not getting in that car."
An elbow crunches into a nose.
"I'b gettinb in da ca!"
Squealing tires.  The drop-off. 

My friends wouldn't know what you had to pack to pick up a target hiding out in Sao Paolo or Niamey.  At our get-togethers, we'd talk about their children and PTA meetings and remodeling our houses. 

"Six grand." 
"Sweet, thanks." 
The dog's tail physically can't wave any faster. 
The holster and guns go back in the den.
I toss my jacket on a chair; it slides to the floor. 
Avel is waiting for me in the kitchen.  He grins.  

I think I would hate having a normal life.

Avel and the Alien, Part 4

The story began in Parts 1-3! -mg

After Ezequiel's declaration, Avel and I stared at him.  I'm not sure what Avel was thinking, but I was thinking "&*$@#".  I don't know if there are actually any curse words with five unspeakable letters, but if there are, I was thinking them all.

I broke the silence with: "Come again?"

"Those buggers don't come off, man," said Ezequiel.

"I'm not sure I believe you," I said.  I didn't.  I didn't want to, that is.

Avel was still silent, taking it all in.

Ezequiel sighed and ran a thick hand through his thinning hair.  "I don't know, man.  Did you try cutting it off–"

"It broke my scissors."

"–with a saw?" Ezequiel finished as he glared at me.

I hadn't realized he wasn't done with his question.  I glared back, sullenly crossing my arms over my chest and giving him my best impression of a bouncer.

The alien squeaked, and we all jumped.

"What if it gets hungry?"  Ezequiel asked. We all looked at the alien.

"That would be bad," I said.  "Like, really bad."

Avel poked the alien, then prodded his red and purple-y skin where it met the tentacles.  The purple was spreading.  I mean, I could literally see it moving, like clouds across the sky on a windy day.

"Have you eaten anything today?"  Ezequiel asked suddenly.

"Ezequiel!  How can you think about food right now?  There is an alien poisoning your friend!"  I threw both of my hands out, gesturing to Avel.

"Yeah, so?  I'm hungry.  You hungry?"  he said to Avel.  Avel nodded.  They left me standing along in the bathroom, open-mouthed and making all sorts of surprised sounds: "Ah...uh...huh...oh."

After I recovered, I found Avel and Ezequiel eating triple stack roast beef sandwiches in the kitchen.  Ezequiel's woman of the week was there, wearing booty shorts and a tank top so small it was probably, in reality, a bikini top.  These things are often confused in some people's lives. Not mine, mind you.

"It's a garage sale," Ezequiel was saying.

As he spoke, a small group of teenagers walked through the kitchen, all with fumbling grips on a ginormous flat screen TV.  We waited for them to go through before speaking.

"Why...er, why are you having a garage sale?" I asked.  "Nothing going?"

Ezequiel shrugged and then grinned.  "I've gone straight."  His smile went even wider as the chick in the bikini top slid into his arms, gazed into his heartless eyes and smiled like a kid grabbing cookies out of the cookie jar.

"Ha!"  I said.  It came out as half of a snort.  Very ladylike, I know.  "No, really.  Why are you selling all your stuff?  And who are they paying?"  I turned slowly, my arms open to the clothes, furniture and knickknacks on display.

"I've got a man in the garage," said Ezequiel.

I rolled my eyes.  "Don't we all."  I didn't mean anything by it; I just couldn't think of anything more clever to say.

Avel was still quiet, carefully finishing his sandwich and being busy looking super thoughtful.

"Avel?  You OK?"

Avel nodded and took the last bite.

"Do you need anything else?"

Avel shook his head and swallowed.

Ezequiel and I didn't know what to do.  Usually Avel was the one with the right words or plan for a situation, so we were in completely new territory.  I didn't like it.  We waited for twenty minutes – TWENTY goshdang minutes of customer after customer walking through with stuff.

And then finally, finally! Avel cleared his throat. "I'll be right back," he said.  And he just got up and left the room.

"Where's he going?" I asked, appalled.

"Dunno."  Ezequiel turned in his chair and watched Avel for a second.  "Out back, I think."

"Should we go with him?"

"Nah, I think he's good."

I took a few steps in the direction Avel had taken, but Ezequiel grabbed my wrist – he had surprisingly soft hands.  "Let him alone, Meliora."

"But..."

"Alone."

So I had to actually sit there and wait with him and the other chick, which was awful, let me tell you.  Too many sickeningly adorable things happened in the next few minutes.  I'm not going to tell you a single one of them, because just thinking about that terrible time makes me want to throw up in my own mouth.  

Finally he came back in, looking a little more refreshed.

"Well?"  I asked.

"It's gone," Avel said.

Ezequiel and I exchanged looks, which was a rather uncomfortable bonding moment for me.

"What?"  Ezequiel said.

Avel shrugged and began to make himself another sandwich.  "I just asked it to go away.  It was very compliant once I explained the situation."

I grabbed the bottom of his shirt and lifted it up.  His skin was only faintly purple, and it was definitely minus one medium-sized shaved alien.  I dropped his shirt and looked at the cuts on my arm.  They were almost healed, and the purple was fading there, too.

"Weird," I said.  "Do you feel OK?"

"Sure," Avel said.

"So, where's the green bugger now?" Ezequiel asked.

"It crept into the bushes by the trampoline."

A moment later, we heard a woman scream from the backyard. Avel winced.

Ezequiel groaned.  "&*$@#."

I closed my eyes, then opened them quickly and grinned.  "Time to go!"


end.