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.