I HATE when people call me a "thing" or "a they/them" or try to just assign me a gender. I don't mind as much when they call me a boy in theory, but in practice I've only ever been uncomfortable.
This one is a little bit short and ends pretty abruptly. I have one chapter that is: A N G S T Y that has been sitting in my back pocket since I started the story. I think it will be up next. Then I’m writing something a little more light hearted.
It’s dark when they reach Portland.
They never actually reach Portland. Dan stops just outside of what most people would consider to be the city and drops off the trailer. He signs a few papers, unhitches the trailer from the tractor, and they take off. Blondie can’t help but feel a strange sense of sadness when they pull away from the loading dock, leaving the remaining oranges that had traveled with them all the way from Miami.
According to Dan, they have some time before they need to pick up the next load, so they get some supper. Their only option is a Red Robin’s with a “pet friendly” sign in the window. Neither Blondie or Dan complain, and they both take full advantage of the bottomless fries that come with their burgers. When they leave, they are stuffed beyond comfort and Blondie is ready for bed, but he stays up. He doesn’t like to make Dan drive alone at night, even though Dan has told him he doesn’t mind whenever Blondie wants to go into the back and lie down.
They pull up to a lumberyard at 9:30 pm. The lights in the warehouse are still on when Dan backs the tractor up to the loading dock. This time he’s hooking up a flatbed which has been loaded with long beams of wood. When Blondie rolls his window down he doesn’t smell the sweetness of oranges anymore, but instead, the spice of cedar and hickory.
After everything is hooked up properly, which Dan checks over three times, they drive for about 30 minutes until they reach the nearest rest stop. It’s 10:25 pm.
Dan rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms and sighs.
“Hand me the box of cigarettes, will you...” He asks.
“Where?”
“Should be in the glove box.”
Blondie has never opened the glove box. He’s thought about it, but that would be snooping. He knows his master wouldn’t really mind, probably, but it’s still rude.
Sure enough, when he opens the glove compartment, a box of Marlboro lites and a bic lighter nearly come falling onto the floor. He catches them just in time and hands them over. Dan thanks him and smacks the box against his thigh a couple of times before opening the driver’s side door and hoping out.
“You can come out here, Blondie.” Dan calls to him because he knows the kid won’t come out unless he’s given express permission. “Stretch your legs.”
They’ve both been sitting so long that it hurts to finally stand but it feels amazing at the same time. Blondie stretches his back until he hears one or two cracks and shuffles around to Dan’s side. A cigarette is already hanging from his master’s lips, and the familiar smell of smoke wafts through the air to him. He can taste it.
“Sorry.” Dan says, taking another puff. He inhales slowly and leans back against the side of the tractor. The smoke is lifted away by the breeze in the opposite direction from Blondie. “I’ve cut back. Limit myself to one or two a week, but sometimes I just need one.”
Blondie nods.
“I used to smoke like a chimney. It got bad, and then my dad got lung cancer and I decided emphysema didn’t sound like too much fun, so I’ve been slowly weaning myself off for the past two years.”
“I’m sorry.... about your dad.” Blondie mutters.
A glowing flake of ash falls from the end of the cigarette. Blondie watches it as it flutters down to earth, but it burns out before he can see where it lands.
Dan shrugs. “We all knew it was coming. The man smoked a pack a day for the better part of 64 years. It was a matter of time.”
A group of rowdy looking teenagers come tumbling out of the truck stop with two cases of beer, and Dan remembers the first time he and his friends bought alcohol for a party with their fake IDs. His lips twitch up in a half smile. His name on the card had been Warren Olsen from Hartford, Vermont. He chuckles thinking of himself and his buddies hopping from bar to bar, thinking they were hot shit, fooling everyone with their fake ID’s. In reality, they weren’t fooling anyone in Red Wing, Minnesota with their Vermont state ID’s, but it was 2008 and no one really gave a shit about four high school boys trying to sneak into bars.
Dan asks, “Do you like beer, Blondie?”
Blondie watches the group of kids as he considers his answer. “I like champagne.”
It’s a simple and honest answer, and frankly Dan wasn’t expecting any response at all. He chuckles. “When have you ever been around champagne enough to know that you like it?”
From the dim light of the rest area, Dan can see the faintest of smile grace Blondie’s lips. It’s shy and bashful, and it nearly sends Dan over the moon.
“Nana used to make mimosas, and every once in a while she’d give me a sip of her champagne.” He says.
Dan raises an eyebrow and takes another long drag from his cigarette, then flicks the ashes off of the end. “Unfortunately, your taste in alcohol might be a bit out of reach for my wallet. I can maybe afford a hard seltzer or some sparkling grape juice. I’ll let you pick.”
And at that, Blondie giggles. He actually laughs.
Dan thinks he’s probably just so tired from staying up so late. They’ve grown accustomed to Dan’s work schedule: wake up before dawn, drive for 11 hours until the sun is starting to set, and be in bed by 8:00. Either way, he feels a weight lifted from his shoulders when he feels Blondie relax a little.
The sound of gravel crunching alerts them to a figure passing between trailers. It’s a large man, much older than Dan with a grey and wiry beard that is tied in two braids. He’s wearing a camouflage sweatshirt and a pair of very heavily worn blue jeans that are frayed near his boots. The glasses on the tip of his nose and the brim of his hat shield his eyes, but Blondie can feel his eyes on him.
It’s nothing out of the ordinary. He’s just a man headed towards the rest stop, probably to use the shower or bathroom. Maybe to get a late night meal. Blondie tries not to pay much attention as he walks past. It would be rude of him to stare.
But unlike Blondie, Dan is locked on the man like a target. He keeps his head down and his eyes up, pinching the half burned cigarette between his lips, never taking his eyes off of the man. They’re dead locked in a stare as he passes by and slows down ever so slightly.
“No need to look so hard, pal.” The man says with a chuckle and though his voice carries no malice, there is an underlying challenge in his tone. Dan remains silent, still staring, and flicks the ashes off of the end of his smoke. “Looky there. You're a pretty one aren’t you?”
Blondie blushes when he realizes that the man is talking to him. He looks up and sees a grin but the dim light still makes it hard for him to see any other defining features of the man’s face.
“I‘ll bet you’re a good little pet too, huh? You’re a good boy, aren't ya?”
Good boy? Blondie can’t help but perk up. I’m a good boy?
“Keep movin.” Dan’s voice cuts in smoothly, but there is a concealed edge to it. A warning. The man says nothing. He nods and chuckles like maybe he’s the one that won this round, and Blondie feels his heart plummet down into his stomach. He was mistaken. He was not a good boy. In fact, reacting to another person’s praise that is not his master’s is a deeply punishable act.
He has been bad.
You shouldn’t have even looked at him. Should have stayed in the truck. Should have kept your head low and ignored him as he walked by. Now Dan probably thinks you’re weird. You are weird. It’s weird to react like that to strangers. You probably look like you’d run off with anyone who gives you attention. You probably would. Fucking pathetic. You really thought someone was calling you a good pet? You think you deserve to be called a good boy? What a joke, you sorry little piece of--
“Blondie.”
The mean little voice slithers back behind his brain and Blondie looks up at Dan.
“What’s with the face? You alright there? You look like you’re thinking too hard.”
“I-I’m...sorry…” He croaks, face down. He’s not really sure of what he’s saying. Not really sure if he should be speaking at all. It would probably be better if he just shut up, but he keeps going. “Sorry if I...did something wrong.”
Dan doesn’t appear angry, but the way he shut the other man down after calling Blondie a good boy was enough to make him feel dejected. It’s pathetic to be so excitable from such simple praise. He feels like a dog. But a dog wouldn’t know any better. Blondie has no excuse.
“What is it that you think you did wrong?”
Blondie shrugs. He really doesn’t want to explain things to his master, that all he really wants is to be a good boy and make his master happy. He doesn’t want to explain that that simple thing is all he ever thinks about. “It’s just that...you seemed...upset...when that man said I was...a good pet. Am….am I not being good? I’m sorry if I’m not, I-I can—“
“Hold it.” His master takes a tone he rarely ever uses with Blondie. It’s authoritative and commanding, the kind of voice a master usually uses when addressing their pet, like when telling a dog to sit or stop barking. It’s an order, and Blondie feels himself turn rigid when he sees the cigarette pinched between Dan’s fingers. It’s nearly gone—smoked down to a tiny like stub, but the end is still hot—still perfect for burning a naughty pet. The ash could still stick to his skin and fester if it wanted too. He had spoken out of turn. He had rambled on too long.
It seems strange that he almost craves a punishment. He knows better than to believe that Dan won’t lose his cool. If he can get the first one done with, then he can learn. If Dan would just show him…
“I’m gonna stop you right there.”
The smoldering end of the cigarette flares once again as Dan takes one final, long drag of the smoke before tossing the butt into the dirt. With a twist of the heel of his boot, the end is snuffed out. Blondie wants to whine at the wasted opportunity for his master to finally punish him. He wants to pick it up to see if the end is still hot. Maybe his master could light a new one, a fresh one. He feels Dan grab his chin and twist his face up.
“Listen to me, Blondie.”
Dan hunches over. He leans down so close that their noses are almost touching. Is this it? The moment feels like it’s being suspended over his head. Did he finally snap? His master’s eyes dance back and forth between his own, searching for something, or maybe just observing. His stare alone keeps Blondie in a headlock. He can’t budge.
“Are you listening?”
Of course he is. Blondie nods.
It takes a few seconds for Dan to believe him. “You didn’t do anything wrong, honey. I was just...put off by that guy, and I didn’t want him commenting on you. He didn’t sit well with me.” He says. The smoke still smells heavy on his breath. “It was nothing you did. I promise.”
At this point, Blondie can feel frustration boiling in his stomach. It’s unreasonable and makes him feel like a toddler for wanting to pout. Disgust pools in with the frustration. He knows he shouldn’t be mad about not getting his punishment. It’s not normal. It’s wrong. But he hates walking on eggshells and if Dan would only teach him a lesson just once then maybe this annoying hunger for punishment will go away.
And then Blondie feels a hand running through his hair, smoothing down all of his prickly emotions. It smooths over his back in a circle and comes back up to the roots of his hair only to smooth back down his neck again. Dan places a gentle little kiss on his temple and smiles. “You’re a good boy, Blondie.” He whispers and places another kiss on the top of his head. “Don’t worry. You’re a good boy.”
It’s as simple as that.
The world starts to turn fuzzy and soft, and goosebumps crawl over his skin. It feels like stepping into a warm bath. The effects of that tiny little reassurance is all he needed for the harsh edges of the world blur for a moment, and now Blondie can only see Dan who is smiling at him bittersweetly. “You’re a good boy.” He says again, because he knows it’s what he wants to hear and he’d do anything to put a smile he caught a glimpse of back on his face.
“Good boy.”
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