Jake cracked his knuckles and rubbed his jaw, shaking off the pain. His retaliation had caused Vernon to tumble across his own bed and onto the floor behind. Jake laughed and bent down to look under his bed. He grabs his glasses, a rimless rectangular pair, and slips them on, as Vernon climbs back up his bed laughing as well and leaps over to Jake.
“Heh. Woke you up right quick, didn’t I?”
Adjusting his specs, Jake put his fist forward in a friendly gesture met by his chum.
“Yes Vernon, It really hit the spot! Who needs cold shower? Not this fellow.” With a pat to his chest, Jake mused on “No, I dare say a punch to the face is far superior! You did make me lose my page though.”
A few laughs tittered around the room, followed by a few groans by those yet still unwoken whom could have also used a friendly punch to the face. Jake shoved the book back under his bed for safe keeping.
Carefully Jake tiptoed across the wooden floors, trying to avoid splinters, toward the stairs and glanced over the railing. A line had already begun to form for use of the bathroom from the inhabitants of the lower floors.
“You had better get your keister down there if you would prefer not to piss in the street!”
Vernon waved him off “I ain’t eaten anything last night ta piss.” than began to rub his chin.
“Hey Jake, you work at that factory, why not snag a few cans for your fellow man eh?”
Jake began to walk down to get his own chance at relief and a wash, calling back up “Oh yes, that’s a brilliant idea, get one of the workers to steal, they get the axe, and look who’s ready to step in. By spit, I should have thought of it myself.”
Jake shoved through the noisy crowd attempting to reach the toilet, barely making out a teasing “You’re just a coward!” that was lobbed at him from the upper level.
‘Afterward’, Jake looked in the mirror and tossed a few economical splashes of water at himself. Around him was the din of the other boys, some less than half his age, as they talked, sang, shaved, shoved, cursed, and generally acted rowdy. Some traded “Hot tips” on the best spots in town to sell newspapers, a few teased their wet faced friends by holding towels just out of reach and saying they’d only hand it over for a dollar, while others still gave rude anecdotes of girls they had met last night. Jake was sure at least half of those were actually dreams passed off as reality.
“Hey Jake! Jake! How are ya this fine morning?” came a childish shout from Jake’s side. He couldn’t see for water in his eyes, but he knew by ear.
“Fine, fine, Little Marcus. And how about you?” Jake said to the little brown-haired boy at his side without even turning his head.
“It is not Little Marcus! Just Marcus!” the boy insisted.
“Fair enough ‘Not Little Marcus Just Marcus’. That is a bit of a mouthful I must say, but if that’s what you-”
The boy punched Jake in the side, only to bounce off. A few others catching the scene in the corner of their eye let out a laugh.
“Smartass!” Little Marcus jeered “But whatever. I gotta ask ya something.”
Jake held out his hand for someone to pass him some bathroom supplies, and he got a razor. He had been hoping for a towel though, for he hadn’t really begun to grow facial hair that quickly yet, but since he had it now, he went through the motions anyway. Meanwhile, he responded to Little Marcus.
“Yes? I am all ears, so long as I refrain from slicing one off.”
“S’it true you went out with a troll girl?”
Mercifully, Jake had at that point lifted the razor away from his face, leaving his ears intact. Interest, shock, and soapy water adorned the faces of those who’d heard the question, which were now pointed at none other than Jake.
“What!?” for the first time, Jake turned to look at the boy “By the Signless’s hiked pants! Who told you that?”
Little Marcus could not hold back a huge wily grin growing on his face.
“I have sources.”
“Well they are duplicitous fools.” Jake turned back and continued scraping the minute amount of hair off his face “No such thing happened.”
The boys sighed and began to turn back to the sinks and mirrors, and Little Marcus looked down dejected while Jake simply muttered to himself.
“I won’t even guess who would twist the truth into such twaddle, all that happened was I passed one on the street at night, that’s hardly-”
“Eh!?” chorused the boys, their attention returning to Jake whom had, once again, narrowly escaped a Van Goghlish fate. It was a time before Jake was able to relay everything he had seen, and longer to assure his compatriots that there was no more to tell.
Within a few minutes more, Jake was clean, shaven, dry, and weaving through the now sea of men and boys, all attempting to fulfill their daily routine, all trying not to be the one responsible for the customary musty odor that plagued the house. The usual rowdy pushing and salty language however, was now overshadowed by talk of a troll girl in town.
“Honestly…” Jake thought, as he’d already begun to overhear people retelling his story with their own far more interesting added details “Glad I didn’t say I saw two of them.”
Shaking his head in consternation, Jake walked back up the two flights of stairs to the attic beds. His work uniform, which happened to be his only pair of clean clothes, lay folded under his bed. Don’t make the mistake of pitying such a thing, for they are very serviceable and hardy clothes. Besides, the lack of alternatives stems from personal choice and lack of need as opposed to lack of funds. Not to say the young English has a cent saved to his name mind you, for he hadn’t, but that was due to… well…
Jake had made his way back up the stairs and, before even entering his bedroom, heard an all too familiar, yet almost hyperbolically loud rumbling sound. Turning the corner, he caught Vernon lying on his bed with his hand on a growling stomach. Jake let out a sigh.
“Yeah, yeah…” Vernon interrupted before Jake had a chance to speak “I don’t like taking your charity English.”
Jake paused. He had been about to remark that if Vernon was so hungry, he should show up when the working boys came back with the nights dinner instead of staying out so late. Incidentally, the largest portion of which was normally supplied by Jake, given his relatively well paying factory job, and penchant for not saving his money.
Jake obviously didn’t want his friend to starve, but he also respected his pride as a man. Jake didn’t want to feel like he was mothering anybody, but he didn’t want a friend doing something stupid and unhealthy either. It was one of those situations that were too complicated to find the right answers for, but that didn’t stop Jake from trying to think of something to help his friend. Something that wouldn’t just alienate him.
“No charity, fine. How does a wager sound?”
Vernon perked up “Yeah? What you got in mind?”
Jake brought up both his fists and flexed his arms, he had been wanting to do this anyway “A contest of strength! I wager you can’t beat me in push-ups! If I’m right, than stop blasted starving yourself.”
Vernon pushed himself off the bed “Aight I got ya, but if I win, you put in a good word for me at the factory, deal?”
Jake tapped his chin thoughtfully at the suggestion “Well, I wouldn’t expect it to help much, but it surely won’t hurt. Deal.”
They fell to the floor and began. Ten, twenty, each keeping up with the other, thirty, forty, one sped up, so the other would follow, fifty, sixty, they rapidly approached their limit, sixty-five, sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine…
“Ssssseventy!” Vernon strained a grunt
“Oooff!” said Jake “O-“ Jake gasped for air in-between pained words “Okay… You beat me… Looks like… I have to… oh fucking Signless my lungs…”
“Ha…Ha….” Said Vernon “So… hungry… bring something… good tonight… you big palooka…”
Whence Jake’s breathing had settled to a healthy rasp, he pulled out his clothes from under his bed. White socks, chest high brown overalls, white button up shirt, and black shoes. Not much to look at, but by the Signless were they serviceable. And of course, let’s not forget the most important part of a man’s outfit. Jake reached under his pillow, pulling out a floppy brown drivers cap, and snugly placed it on his head.
Say what you will, but a man’s hat is his pride. By Jove, you can hardly even be considered a man without your hat.
“Right, take care!” Jake leaves with the simple goodbye, which is returned in kind by many.
Stepping out the small bed house’s front door, Jake takes a whiff of the morning air and exhales a sigh laced with satisfaction.
“Beautiful.” he coos as he gazes to the sky and his hand adjusts the brim of his hat.
The yellow factory smog does little to detract from the brightly shining sun.
