afternoon. It's
not until he moves to his desk and turns on the computer monitor that he notices
the day on the menu bar—Tuesday. He's not sure if he is two days ahead or
five days behind. He isn't sure what there is to be ahead of or behind, so he
lets it alone and clicks over to check on the latest available torrents.
Once he has the
new downloads going and has watched a few things that finished overnight, he
goes to the fridge. It's not empty, but the cartons in it are. The cans and
bottles on the counter are empty, too.
"Where ya
been keeping yourself, Allison?" the homeless man on the corner calls out
as he does every time Spencer walks by, even when he's on the opposite side of
the street. There is probably a real Allison. Spencer thinks she must be the
homeless man's lost love. He used to think so, that is; now he tries not to think
about it.
He used to
answer the homeless guy. "Around," he would say, deepening his voice
as much as he could in hopes the homeless guy would recognize his masculinity.
The homeless guy just kept calling him Allison, though, so Spencer gave up. Now
he tries to get from his apartment to the convenience store as quickly as
possible, with a minimum of interaction. He shoves his hands into his pockets
and keeps his head down as he walks. There don't seem to be many people out
today, so he decides to go the extra few blocks and try for the grocery store.
There are a lot
more people in the store than there are on the sidewalk, but Spencer is here
already, so he picks up a shopping basket and starts down the least-crowded
aisle. After collecting a few bottles of water and some instant noodles, he
finds himself standing in front of cheeses. Cheeses from all over the world,
cheeses from cows and goats and sheep. He wonders what other animals you can
make cheese from. If all it requires is the ability to produce milk, why isn't
there human cheese?
"Are you
finding everything today, sir?"
Spencer looks up
at the too-bright voice into a too-bright smile. "Yes," he says
rather too loudly himself.
"Well, let
me know if I can help you find anything!" the young woman says. She's
nothing like the girl at the convenience store, Spencer thinks as he edges
away. He leaves his half-full basket at the end of the next aisle.
He likes the
surly teenage girl at the convenience store because she doesn't say anything
and rarely bothers to look at him anymore. Unfortunately, though, it's the old
lady today. Spencer takes a deep, wishful breath as he puts his things on the
counter, but as she rings him up, she says it anyhow, like always: "Nice
day for a race."
Spencer has
tried different responses, including no response at all, but he has learned
that the old lady cannot be dissuaded. The best thing to do is to play along
with her and get through it quickly. "What race is that," he says
without inflection as he counts out the exact change.
She answers like
he has truly asked, showing off a full set of teeth, or maybe they're dentures,
as she beams: "Why, the human race, of course!"
Spencer takes
one last look at her teeth. "Okay." He drags the plastic bag off the
counter by the handles, the fingers of his other hand still hooked into the six
pack.
"Hey,
Allison!" the homeless guy shouts from across the street.
Around, Spencer
thinks but doesn't say. Around, around, around.
There's a box
outside his door when he gets back, and he can tell from the return address
that it holds the Man's Art DVDs he ordered last week. He doesn't feel like
taking them out just yet, so he leaves the package unopened, though he at least
brings it inside.
He decides to
watch an old favorite instead. It's the one he used two years ago when the
classical music blasting through the thin walls from next door got to be too
much for him, and he was forced to counterattack with high-decibel pornography.
He hadn't noticed that the music had stopped until he heard a knocking on his
door. He had pressed the pause button, but hadn't
Marguerite Henry, Bonnie Shields