I’m really not doing my best today, dammit.
7
Darcy is denser than he looks. He looks like he might weigh a hundred pounds, and while that’s heavy, it’s not too heavy for me to lift, but when I get him into my arms, I swear he’s twice that weight, like his shoes are made of gold. Maybe he’s the one made of gold—who knows? He’s not human and could be made of anything, couldn’t he?
Well, maybe notanything. Probably limited to things fleshy flesh can be made out of. IDK. I don’t think my molecular biology class covered what alien life would be made from.
I put him on the floor because I don’t want coffee stains on my couch and I don’t want a wet spot on my bed, and there aren’t any other options besides the table where he fell unconscious and the floor. I don’t want the coffee to stain my table either, so I move him to the floor onto the throw I used earlier (no coffee stains for my carpet), and then I clean up my table.
I checked his breathing and his other vitals, in case you were worried. He’s fine. Asleep because of the brightness, and if that isn’t a magic thing, I don’t know what is. If he doesn’t wake up in a few hours, I’ll call Chet. He’ll at least be able to point me in the right direction for getting Darcy some help.
Having cleaned up the table, I take care of myself next. I absolutely hate that I have to change my pants. It’s the worst thing ever. It’s hard to do because of my prosthesis. The pant legs get caught on my foot, and it takes time and energy to get them off around it, and it’s so annoying unless I take my foot off, which also takes time and energy and is really annoying to do after I’ve put it on for the day.
The osseointegrated prosthetic is a damn sight easier to get on and off than the socket prosthetic I lived with for most of my life, but I still hate detaching it for a simple task. It’s probably an attitude fostered over my socket prosthetic days, and I could probably stand to work on that.
No matter how much I dislike detaching my limb, I’m not walking around with a coffee stain on my crotch all day. I do havesomestandards. Not looking like I peed myself is basic, I think.
So I change my pants, and then, because I’m nice, I dab Darcy’s black graphic T shirt. I bet he’d be ok with me taking it off and laundering it, but we haven’t actually seen each other naked yet, and I’m not going to mess with his clothes until that happens. I mean, it would have to happen fairly regularly for me to be comfortable taking his clothes off him while he’s unconscious. That’s kind of the thing nurses do to unconscious people, and everyone understands that it’s their job and not a matter of consent, but everyone else has to have consent before removing clothes. I’m not a nurse—although, I probably could be if I put off graduating one more year…
No, no. I can’t do that. I already said I would graduate this spring, and I’m sticking to that plan.
After Darcy is about as dry as I can reasonably get him, I don’t know what else to do, so I go back to my lappy (it was not on the side of the table that got spilled on) and start making a shopping list of all the books and supplies I need for the nextsemester. Thankfully, I already have some things. I dig a little into the online marketplaces and find a couple of people selling the textbooks I need for less than I’d have to pay for them from a bookstore (the campus bookstore is the worst and last resort of those who don’t plan ahead), so I make arrangements to meet up with the sellers.
After that, I text my grandmother.
Me:Hey MawMaw, I have an approximate cost of books this semester.
MawMaw:How much do you need, sweetie?
Me:It’s going to be around $450 for books and supplies. That ok still?
MawMaw:Of course, sweetie pie. I’ll move the money into your account and tell your mother to send you some too.
Me:Thanks, MawMaw. I appreciate you.
MawMaw:I appreciate you too, sweetie. Love you.
Me:Love you too.
MawMaw and I both immediately delete the chat. She’s paranoid about that, so every text exchange is deleted, and if I don’t adhere to her rules, I’ll get an earful about it. I’m all about respectful communication, so I do as I’m told.
A moment later, I get an incoming call from my father, Ford Penn, who’s going to ask me how to pay for this semester’s classes like he does every semester, as if the online portal has changed since the last time we did this. Spoiler alert: it hasn’t.
“Hey, Pops! It’s Elijah.” Even though he’s the one who pays for my phone, he wants me to identify myself when I answer it, because “You never know who’s going to pick up the line.”
“Hello, son. It’s your dad here. MawMaw just told me that you signed up for classes. I’m ready to pay, but you’ll have to walk me through it.” His deep voice makes me long for home again. Not enough to turn around and go back, since I just got done visiting, but I do miss them when I’m not there.
“Oh Pops, thanks, but I won’t have a bill for them for a couple of days. How about if I call you on Friday after work? You get off at two still?”
“I do, and that would be fine. I’ll look forward to hearing from you. Proud of you, son.”
“Thanks. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
We end the call, and I check my bank accounts. MawMaw sent me twice the amount I told her and my mom sent me enough to pay rent for the next six months, which is good because I like to have all my stuff paid up so I don’t have to concentrate on adulting while I’m studying.
Since I have the money, I schedule a billpay to the management company that takes the payments for the apartments for rent through December. It won’t go out for another month, but now I don’t have to think about it. I add credit to my internet provider and update any subscriptions I have because my card number has changed since the last time I paid any of them. I like to overpay on my monthly bills so if I forget to pay them I don’t wind up having to pay late fees, and I always pay a year in advance for my subscriptions.
