Matt Cowper - The Clerk

“I don’t know…” In truth, Thomas did believe Emily was philandering, but for some reason he felt incumbent to uphold his sister’s faithfulness.

“ I do. I can see what’s gonna happen. She’s gonna announce her undying love to this other guy, divorce this lawyer husband of hers, take half his stuff, and be sitting pretty. She’ll probably take the kid, too, because the courts always let these bitches have their way. It’ll be ugly, Tommy. You don’t wanna be around when all this goes down.”

Of course, Thomas had considered this scenario, but having it presented in Reggie’s straightforward, profane style made it seem much more terrible. How should he act if such a thing happened? How should his parents act? Emily was his sister, and their daughter, but should they support such a selfish woman? Wives divorced husbands all the time, true, but not too long ago people whipped slaves all the time, too.

Or maybe Thomas was just being self-righteously indignant, like pretty much everyone in 21st-century America. He had never been married, he had never had a kid, so he didn’t know what it was like to grind through day after day with a family pressed in close around you. It was very likely he’d have done the same thing Emily did — but this was why he’d never gotten married or had a kid in the first place.

“I hope that doesn’t happen, Reggie,” Thomas said. “If it does…”

“If it does, then the Earth keeps spinning on its 22.43 degree axis, or whatever the fuck it is, and we get on with it. It ain’t your problem, Tommy. This lawyer guy married her, it’s his problem.”

“I feel like I should say something about family responsibilities…”

“Responsibility?” Reggie spat. “Fuck that. What did I just say about blood and arteries? A ball and chain, that’s what responsibility means, family or no family. People lock themselves up and throw away the key because they’re scare’t. If they didn’t have these responsibilities, well, then they’d have to live , and nobody wants to do that. Well, I say again: fuck that. I’m gonna live, and ain’t nobody gonna stop me. Not some bitch, not family, not someone at work — and not you, either.”

Thomas didn’t know how to respond to that last sentence; he couldn’t tell how serious Reggie was being. He said nothing, and waited.

“Ah, I’m just busting your chops,” Reggie finally said, smiling. “You’re alright, Tommy, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I ain’t dumb or cocky enough to think you’re gonna follow everything I just told you, but I hope at least some of it sunk in.”

“Thanks again for the talk, Reggie.”

“Anytime, man. Well — not any time. You know what I mean.”

“I think I do.”

“Alright, now I release you. Go forth, middle-aged man, and get some pussy! That is, if Allison ain’t moved on to some other dude, which is highly likely, since you and I been out here jawing forever. If that’s the case, looks like you’ll be sleeping alone tonight.”

“You act like Allison’s the only one here I have a chance with.”

“Wellll — hey, you said it, not me!”

Thomas was outside Oxendine’s Grocery, pushing carts in from the lot. It was sunny and warm; he was glad to get outside for a few minutes. Maybe he’d take a beach walk after work…

But then a fire-spewing dragon appeared in the sky, trailing storm-clouds and lightning behind it. It bore down on the grocery store with great speed, and Thomas knew he and the store would be incinerated, and that there was no escape…

“Good morning, Tommy,” a voice said.

Thomas surfaced from the brightly-colored, emotionally-charged dream into the grayness of his bedroom. He looked over, and saw Allison smiling at him. She was sitting up in bed, the sheets wrapped around her naked body.

“It’s Thomas,” he said groggily.

“I’m sorry?”

“My name. I prefer Thomas.”

“Oh. But — Thomas is so, well, proper . Don’t you think Tommy or Tom is more casual?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, it’s your name. You have a right to be called what you want.”

Thomas propped himself up on his elbow to look at her. The sun hadn’t yet risen, and the blinds were shut and the bedroom door was closed, but there was still enough artificial light seeping in from outside to make out some details of Allison’s face. She looked cherubic, and it was too early in the morning for anyone to look like that.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t looked. I didn’t want to, you know, ruin the moment by worrying about time.”

Thomas reached across her body to the alarm clock sitting on his nightstand. It had large red digits which displayed the time with electronic certainty, which was why Thomas pointed it away from the bed when he clocked out for the day; he’d never fall asleep with that red glare boring into his face.

As he reached, however, Allison shifted uncomfortably. Thomas hesitated, then continued until he’d turned the alarm clock towards them. 5:15 AM. They’d only been asleep two hours. He sighed; he’d be dead on his feet at work today.

As he drew his hand back, Allison again fidgeted. She looked at him like a squirrel that was about to get run over by a car.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Yeah. Nothing.”

“You’re acting like you’re afraid of me.”

She laughed, or more accurately neighed. Thomas suppressed a groan.

“Why would I be afraid of you?” Allison asked. “We’ve just, uh, churned the butter. A few times, even.”

Again, a groan suppression.

“But every time I move, you wrap yourself up tighter in the sheets,” Thomas said. “Look, you’ve got all of them over on your side.”

It was true. Thomas had just one sliver of a corner, and was lying there completely exposed, and a little chilly. The blanket had fallen to the floor; if it had been on the bed, Allison would surely have commandeered it too.

“Sorry,” she said feebly. “I just… I’m a little…”

“What?”

“OK, OK, I’ll tell you, but don’t get mad. When we came here, we were both a bit tipsy and it was dark, and then we, you know, made whoopee, and it was great, don’t get me wrong! But now we’ve — you’ve — sobered up, and if you see me, you know, in my birthday suit…”

“But I already saw you naked.”

“But that was different!”

“How?”

“Because we — you — were a bit tipsy, like I said, and it was dark, like I said…”

“Are you trying to say you’re self-conscious about your body?”

“Well, erm… not exactly. I just don’t want you to be disappointed when you, uhm, see me for real.”

“But I saw you for real last night at the party.”

“But I had clothes on. Now I’m in my birthday suit.”

“Can you please say naked instead of birthday suit?”

“I like saying birthday suit.”

“And I like saying fuck, shit, damn, and hell. Is that OK with you?”

“Y-es, if you want to be mean and vulgar…”

“Oh my God. What have I gotten myself into?”

“What do you mean?” she whined. “What have I done wrong?”

He could lie and say she’d done nothing wrong, and that he was always testy after he’d just woken up. Then they would cuddle, and maybe screw a few more times before he had to go to work. He could tell the blunt truth, which was that she was a neurotic child who needed to stop hiding herself behind the sheets. He felt like he was in a PG-13 movie, where the women were always fully covered after sex, usually by bedsheets, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Or he could simply kick her out and be done with her, the Reggie Willis way — or the Thomas Copeland spin on the Reggie Willis way.