Sick Day

Friday

Nick lies on a blanket on Irene's recliner after moving from his bed and fixing some cheesy eggs for lunch.

He had felt a tad drained after last night's escapade (who wouldn't) but then figured a shower and night’s sleep (by that point well assured) would do their usual magic, but this morning was still sluggish and by the time he got to the tech building door Sue happened to be right there.

"Morning pardner, you....ummm...gonna make it?

"Actually not so sure."

"Well then GO HOME, I'll tell your cohorts down there, see you Monday, if you can."

"Thanks, chief," and then pivots on a dime without giving it another thought.

After a trip back that seemed much, much longer than the one he'd just made he has the house to himself left with random thoughts as consciousness comes and goes.

First of all he should have realized yesterday was a setup, as his interest in carnal delights tends to peak just as an infection is setting in, it had always been that way, seems the most vivid scenes would play out just before the head would shut down and the body longs for not moving.

He had put off bathroom visits as long as possible, trying to let the micronaps do their magic. Sooner or later they always do.

Back in junior high he was also home alone with this kind of crud and spent the afternoon listening to some preacher interviewed on one of the big AM stations about explicit rock lyrics, he was a child of the 60s and loved the innocent stuff of that era, but still a good Baptist, and Nick eventually shut off the radio, went for a washcloth and thought about girls from school. 

For some reason he had been wondering if they would get a dishwasher in the kitchen, since Irene is thinking of going back to teaching. There's probably nothing in that one cabinet that can't go somewhere else, either Goodwill or another space, he can think of stuff like the old meat grinder that hasn't seen use since he used to put slices of bread in there only to grind them to crumbs and call it 'pies'.

At one point he sleeps really good and dreams about words on a computer monitor, maybe some kind of programming code.

Invasion of the Booty Snappers: aliens land and nail everyone in the ass with towels. Yeahhh.

He realizes he had spent a good part of last spring being afraid to see Noreen's feet for the first time, just, since she was a bit older, is the best way to try and say it. Sometimes he gets a weird heebie jeeb about feet stuff, but then realized when they finally got together in the jeep that day he didn't give it a second thought, she has cute bony feet, kinda long as you'd expect to keep her height from blowing over. This makes Nick chuckle.

Seems she's been doing a bit of grooming in the ol' garden lately, when he reaches for some morning dew there's less tangle, maybe that's the point. God it's nice to feel around down there and make her squirm.

It's starting to sound like a good idea to finish soldering up his RTTY circuit during downtime at work, seems it's better to look busy, well, BE busy than just wait for something to happen. 

Nick has been listening to the rig off and on still but is nervous about getting on the air, Paps always said that's natural, gotta be a first time for everything.

His first time with a woman seems like an eternity ago, a different lifetime. She was pretty hairy down there but she was pretty eager so she spread things out and boy was she ready that night, he pictured an IR camera, just glowing. Sometimes he wonders how she is doing, good ol’ Rosetta, now gone without a trace but the probably needed to start over and hopefully he helped in some way.

A few times he's listened to the contests, they really fly with the Morse code but after a while you can pick up on the pattern, sometimes they have a sequential number but sometimes it's their first name, then the TU, thank you? And then some of the contesters go slower and do a 73, which is hard to miss at any speed. That repetition must be key to it, you know what to expect and then can ask for a repeat if you miss it or the signal fades momentarily.

What he hasn't consciously admitted is wondering if they should be living together soon, or how he would bring up the subject, or if she would, or if her brother would come get him with a shotgun and make it easier to bring up. Even though it's only been a few weeks they are settling into a good groove; Ned has a daughter type around that he never had and Irene sort of has a little sister that she also never had.

Noreen has a standing invite to stay in Tim's old room and she wants to hang out here more often once school gets into a rhythm. Nick can't picture them living in her cabin, as cozy as it is, they would have to bounce back and forth. 

The comfort level seems to be that they don't actually sleep together in their normal space, but once in a while is OK. His parents respect their privacy but nobody is fooled, seems everything is going to some sort of plan and she can't conceive so it's all good.

But still, they can't go on living like teenagers forever. He would want a place for radios, there's no reason his bench would go away anytime soon. Goody has even hinted he could wire up stuff on the roof and maybe start a school club. 

For some reason this dude comes to mind who Nick had tried to avoid at first in the building, back around his second term there was a rough-hewn stocky fellow, unforgettably bold facial features, thick brown hair down to the neck, around 40 and just had a way of really sticking out. In time he realized this fellow was a top student named John and gradually started dressing more professionally, but there was still that blackhead. Nick's eidetic memory wouldn't let it go, the thing on the side of John's nose must have been close to an eighth-inch diameter, how much trouble would it cause to sneak up on John with a desoldering tool and get that sucker out? 

But then what would he do with it? He'd have to plan to run into the bathroom then not be able to look at it then just have to toss a perfectly good desolderer. One day all that hit him about the same time as some stupid toe jam heebie jeeb and he almost had to go walk around outside to recover.

As for the RTTY, old Baudot teletype that he had come to know and love, is still the main squeeze on the air, but now, not surprisingly, they were slinging around ASCII that had the full character set as a computer plus upper and lower case. So recently he had been decoding a bit of that here and there, mostly from the bulletin transmissions that are a repeat of the Baudot version but with prettier casing and without need for the converter class for five-bit Baudot to 8-bit ASCII since the latter is native to the PC.

It seems once he got his license he would have to try a bit of this on the air, at least on the highest band in his privileges, if he hears someone, great, if not, all the more reason to upgrade his license, and he wouldn't even have to wait for the FCC for an upgrade since you can use your certificate as a temporary authorization.

Nick had been saving money but a lot of it goes into the 'Doba, especially with two or three trips a week out to see his wonder blond. Might be time to think about something smaller, maybe front wheel drive to dig out of snow easier, unlike that time he got shoved into a ditch on a side road that time and had to knock on someone's door to call a tow truck then have the driver follow him to an ATM to fetch 35 clams.

Well one or more of his folks should be here soon so best vacate the chair and not give them reason to avoid it, the protocol is to quarantine upstairs but he put the blanket down so it should be OK. Nick finds the Sunday paper in the basket with the car ads, it's something to do at least.

As soon as he gets settled in upstairs, and after a good pee, the phone rings, said wonder blond.

"Oh sweetie did I make you sick?"

"Can't complain considering."

"Oh you sound awful. Can I stop over?"

"Like I'm gonna turn that down, just gonna look at some car ads."

"What?"

"Yeah might be time to downsize, you know, the old, well, not old gal-"

"Oh is it the gas?"

"Yeah..."

"Hmm....let me talk to my siblings before you make any decisions, kay?" 

He remembers how Bart always has his eye on it. "Ahh yeah, I think I smell what yer steppin in."

"Well I've been wanting something better too so you might end up with my Celeca for nothing if we play our cards right - WINK WINK."

"Well get your sweet hiney over here maybe we can play cards for reals."

"I'll bring you some soup."

"That sounds lovely,  not sure when the rents get back but they may skip out on us once they find out I'm like this."

"I have been meaning to call your Mom so if you need to rest more we can catch up, just lie there and I'll see you soon."

"Be careful."

So he hangs up and realizes that talking took his mind away again. He tries to lie on one side but something in his head burns like a stray ember, the other side won't work, he doubles up his pillows and that does the trick, usually the answer for sinus issues.

This election, anyone's guess, the old guard and this southern dude from little ol' Arkansas. He gets the feeling Bush doesn't really want the job anymore. The student groups are all about debates and getting folks to vote, which is great, but Nick can't really get exited one way or another. Ned has been listening to the afternoon talk radio where that guy bellows out about the difference between liberals and conservatives, is it all really that cut and dry, two camps?

Nick can't see himself in any group like that, especially after getting away from the Evangelical world. This Clinton has been on the late night shows and even played sax, he has to wonder, were earlier presidents on Carson over the years or just in the stodgy 60 Minutes or Barbara Walters kind of interviews?

Noreen says some gals find Clinton sexy, daring, maybe a bit unpredictable and that could threaten a lot of folks with the older values.

Eventually he recovers from the trek upstairs and turns on his light to look at some car ads. He had always wanted a stick shift, her Celica is automatic but it's been well maintained of course and it would pretty much come with a lifetime labor warranty. 

His head gets heavy once again so out goes the light, he enjoys the haze in the silent darkness, this house really is cozy, who knows how much longer he will actually live here, that seems uncertain but then there has never been a year like this.

What kind of ride is she wanting, something a couple years old to make payments now that she has a steady gig? It's probable there's a near complete rebuild in the shop with fresh paint and a low mileage power plant from a wreck and it just so happens she was going to swap that out for the Celica. Yeah, that's it. Seems there was a pickup sitting out for sale that made sense to rebuild and it seems the shop is licensed to scrap wrecks; if you do that kinda thing a lot it would be almost self-sustaining. Hmm.

Ned probably wouldn't have too much to say about trading the old fellow, it had served him well and they hadn't put much money into it, just some work like resealing the massive heads that time over Christmas break and geek out over using a torque wrench. A $1,500 car with 70k miles is still worth about that much two and a half years later with 96k.

Next thing he knows it's the doorbell, takes two rings to get him cognizant, we need to get her a key. He slowly gets up to let her in. 

He has to pee again; she'll understand.

Ambushed

Thurs Sep 24, 1992

Nick steps out front of the Tech Building shortly after settling in and then re-locking his office. Nothing and no one yet needed his attention so he took a walk around then for some reason headed out into the cool morning with wispy clouds. Some of the trees had started to turn, mostly in the distance. Now that the term has started he wants to be here about the same time as the earliest faculty and before most if any students. It's just nice to be the first, always had been, even back in grade school.

Out of the corner of his eye there's motion, and right away it's unmistakable, even from most of a football field there's that familiar gate, his gal, hunched over with two bags with determination to face the day even through two armies and a shit creek. She's wearing a plaid skirt and beige top and always seems much shorter than 5-7 in this state, she does tend to slouch a bit at times as it were. Smartly she's got on sneakers and must have office shoes somewhere in that luggage. 

Now, it's stricken him at times how he wouldn't have picked her out of a crowd as someone he'd get to know, a fine woman for sure, one that most fellows would call "alright", but to Nick she's secondarily a babe, primarily, it's her woman-ness, a mature feminine, like the actress that gets cast for a thoughtful, capable role you can set your watch by, maybe a Meryl Streep. You don't get overwhelmed by the visuals but if you're lucky you're in tune with the vibe, her needs, and that's where the trouble starts, bruddah.

Once she's out of view he heads back inside and takes the long way round for a peek at the robotics lab. He's talked to Glen Reeves a few times over the years but hasn't yet been brought in on any of the wiring, seems they still have a tape-punch rigged up to the mainframe as a printer of sorts to program the old CNC tools therein.

Nick sits back at his desk and tries to find something to fidget with besides a catalog or solitaire. Noreen just happens as she always does. Later on he'll go to her place and they'll be food and she'll probably take initiative for some sort of dessert. Something stirs. 

Wait a minute. Just because she's more mature in years and life doesn't mean she always gets to start trouble.

This takes on a life of its own as he writes his first name in cursive on the wooden veneer desk as he does with his fingernail, with an emphasis on making the letters diagonally to the upper right, he's right handed, with a curly thing to dot the little “i”.

It feels like someone will suddenly appear at his door but no one does. The phone might ring, but it doesn't. He goes up front to check for mail, there's none in his box. Seems Brian used to always have something going on but maybe it was just the way it appeared; the preoccupation was just in keeping occupied and trying to avoid pointless complications, pointless conversations.

He could stop in on the mainframe guys but it seems weird if he doesn't have a reason. He stops in on Goody and plops in the guest chair.

"Whaddaya know bucko?" Goody looks up. "Seems we should have our tickets within a month now."

"Yeah, that'll be nice. Been listening to more code here and there, those contests are crazy."

"Well it's all yours -"

About then King walks in with a question that doesn't involve Nick so he just sits there and tries not to think about what he's thinking about. Then the light comes on.

After King leaves, "Think it's alright if I bug out a little early?"

"Sure, kinda doubt anything would prevent that. Big plans?"

Nick struggles to find the words. "Well, just thought I'd surprise someone."

Goody catches on and grins, "Ahhh, roger roger, have a great time."

Back in his office Nick feels like he may have given up too much of the plot, or else be over thinking something, but as long as he can get there just before she does, well...

Evidently it's the norm to do a lot of waiting in this role, all the preparation is during the off-season, as it were, then it's pretty dry. As a student there was always something that needed done. 

At one point he hits the locker-room head and thinks back to the Whicker caper. The things you get away with as a student, just another patron of the institution, how going pro changes the physics, but man, that was some good game there, crazy stunt like that for a sophisticated gal, albeit, with a pretty crazy side of her own.

He's alone in there at a urinal and can take his time, squeezes the base of it a bit as if to make sure things are ready for later. It's never been like in those dirty magazines where it points up, just kinda bobs around at best when it wants attention, but seems to do the job when the moment's right. The door opens so now he has to pee through this bobbing monster and try to finish up as though he'd just gotten started.

For lunch he purposefully sneaks over to the crowded snack bar and grabs a to-go to enjoy at his desk, she might be at the cafeteria, or maybe at her desk, but this is safest.

Instead of the usual phone tag she catches him, "How's your day going?"

"It's bearable. Thinking I need to find a hobby."

"Oh really."

"Is the term taking shape?"

"Yeah I think so, I should have permanent rooms next week, and you know how things thin out...."

"Hopefully we get left with the good ones."

"One can hope. You coming out tonight?"

"Thought about it."

"Well I could use a neck rub, and I think Sandy is making a bunch of stuff we can mooch."

"Mooching works." He tries not to grin and just sound kinda out of it. Neck rub, eh?

"OK, you sound tired, everything OK?"

"Yeah I'll catch you up on the family stuff."

"Oh, yeah, well I'll get home around 5:30."

"Sounds good hon. Be careful."

"I will, you too, behave." He can hear the smile in her voice and good ole Bugs comes to mind, 

"BYEEE-EEEE"

By 4:45 the building is near desolate save the night class folks, just lectures tonight so no surprises. Nick carefully makes it to the 'Doba along a vector that should keep him hidden in case she's up to an early egress as well but no sign of her, or her car, but this still feels like the inner track.

On the way out he remembers where she keeps a spare key behind some tree bark and ponders where he could park out of the way and sneak in, but then that would feel pretty weird; he's never been in the cabin without her and it would seem rather intrusive, even at this stage. 

He thinks back to the Def Lep show when they played Make Love...Like A Man...

After a drive that seems longer than usual he pulls into the drive and can't decide exactly where to go, so he just parks in the normal spot, shuts it off, and right then there's the tow truck bringing in some business so he gets out.

Bart yells "HEY DUUUDE" out the window and stops to BS for a minute, after which, yes, she pulls in.

Bart waves and pulls on to the inner sanctum and Nick gets ready to carry her bags in. 

She parks and steps out, "Well well now." He gives her a squeeze, especially around the waist. She says nothing more.

"You got stuff to carry?"

"Just me."

So he scoops her up and nudges her car door shut, sets her down so she can let them in. 

Once inside he makes sure it's locked, and starts nibbling and licking wherever he can.

"Sweetie at least let me freshen up."

Nick just scoops her up again and plops her on her bed and gets on top of her.

After a bit more of the same, just horizontally, she squeaks out, "What do you want?" 

"I want you," Nick offers, keeping a rhythm. At this point he's felt just about everywhere at least once.

"What...do...you...want," emphasizing each syllable this time.

"Pussy."

Her breathing gets a bit erratic. "You keep this up you're gonna blow my fucking mind."

This brings to bear some images he doesn't like, just the way it goes sometimes, but he just pulls her skirt off then starts unbuttoning her top, she finishes the buttons and he loses his pants.

At one point he gives her a decent bite on the cheek then, realizes she's wearing the full wrap-around pantyhose that she would have gotten free from had he tarried, so he just pulls them up, finds her amply ready, pulls himself out of his shorts and gently slides home.

She grunts and nearly stops breathing, so he starts the chug, those fine legs on each flank, she smells wonderful, like a full day that he caught off guard, and then, the phone rings, she just grabs his shoulders almost painfully.

"Don't stop...don't...ever...stop..."

He keeps up the pace as she writhes about, his capture, her bra is still on, 

"Show me your tits."

She fumbles to pull her bra away from its bounty, they jiggle just enough and he gobbles them whole.

The machine picks up in the next room, sounds like Sandy's voice.

"Oh baby give it to me, harder,", she bites her lip and he chugs harder, actually worrying she will bite through her own lip at first but it gets the best of him, it's closer, 

"Fffffffffff...fffffuuuu...ffuucccck..." as she flops around, and he feels a warm flow, remembering he hadn't given her a chance to go to the bathroom, so there it is, this is too much, and he joins the flow heartily, but, alas, she's wilted lettuce. Elvis has left the building.

Well this is awkward. Nick has to fight off the sense this is a violation, how can she get so lost before the cannon goes off? Had he really worked himself out of a job? 

What a mess, he surely didn't mean to do this to her bed. After contemplating, he slips up and finds a clean bath towel, hell, make it two, cleans himself then carefully lifts her seemingly burlesque-outfitted middle to get one beneath her then tries to towel off what he can. No use redressing her, she has drifted off to who knows where, not a care in the world, nips still alert, but maybe she's cold. This is almost a disaster, he grabs the afghan from the couch and covers her up, trying not to get their fluids on it. Will she be mad when she wakes up? 

Embarrassed?

Nick tries to lie next to her, unsure if for his comfort or hers, but she's in the middle of a twin bed and he doesn't want to make her move. Several eternal minutes pass by. He's too aware. 

Finally he goes out to play the message on the machine, Sandy says whenever they want to come over for sups, beans and ham tonight and corn bread. 

He strains to remember the number to their house and Sandy picks up, he asks if he can do a to-go order since Noreen is pretty tired from the day, and of course that's fine, he's a sweetie for doing that, she'll have it ready. 

Back in the bedroom he pecks her forehead gently as a test, she barely stirs, so he trousers up and sneaks over to grab the grub, comes back to find her in the same state. He sets dinner in the oven and lies next to her, she scoots over and draws a breath in the darkness.

"Sweetie."

"Yes dear?"

"What....what brought this on?" He can hear a smile forming, he kisses it.

She persists, "Nick, seriously."

"I was standing out front and saw you across the courtyard this morning."

"Is that....so, now. And?"

"That's it."

She inhales deeply again, and in a throaty timbre, "I'll have to walk that way more often..."

"Was it like the fair?"

"Hmmm," with a guttural growl, then eventually, "that sent me to the moon, this was like...Mars."

"Well I got some venus for sure."

"God you're an asshole," through an obvious smile, but before Nick can think of a zinger, "we need to get cleaned up for dinner, you'll have to carry me again."

"Dinner's sitting in the oven."

"What? How?"

"Told Sandy you were tired and she was glad to wrap some up."

"Oh, Nick...."

"That's me."

"Sorry I pissed everywhere."

"Well I didn't really give you a choice."

"Am I complaining?"

He leans in and they snog a bit, then he slowly helps her to the bathroom, where she checks the mirror with one eye,

"Good lord! I'm right out of Rocky Horror Picture Show - just for this you're renting it and we're watching it, you daft...TURD!"

Then they shower, find The Simpsons on a new evening lineup and have a wonderful supper.