Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Chapter 7

Blair hadn't known what to expect, seeing her grandparents again. A part of her hoped for answers, maybe even to orchorstraite reconselation between them and her mother. She didn't expect, however, for Joe and Anne to treat everything as though she had never left. It was weird, almost like coming home for the summer had been something she had continued to do all growing up. Sure, they had asked her the questions she had expected, was she in college, what was she majoring in, had she been seeing anyone special. But beyond that, they never once brought up her mother and father.  She soposed that the simple fact that her mother had not replied to her grandmothers letter, was reason enough for Anne to not want to discuss her seemingly non existent daughter. Even so, Blair wondered how it would be excepted if she casually said something like "mother and father are going to the keys for the summer" or " Dad's new sports car is something to see". Both were useless facts, but they could provide an opening. But try as she might, she could never quite get the words past her lips. Oh well, the summer was just beginning and she was sure the right time would present it's self, or so she hoped.
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Food, He needed something to eat. He could go to the bar and grab a burger or something, but he wasn't really wanting to hang out with the guys shooting the crap tonight. His options were limited at this point.  Everything closed down pretty early in this town, but even so it was almost midnight. Taco bell, Mickey D's or Wendey's  seemed to be his options. Oh well, chicken nuggets it was. He wasn't much of a taco kinda guy.  He had no reason to hurry home. Tomorrow was the first day of his short week, meaning the next two days were his.  He check his clock again. He only had one friend who would still be up and raring to get into something.  He dialed the number, listening to someone singing about popin champaign on the ring back. "Whats goin on brotha" the scratchy voice on the other end answered. "Sup Garrett, how bout we catch the hell out of some crappy?". 
Garrett laughed "Aight man, but you gotta drive, I've been throwing em back sense 5 this afternoon".
Mason shook his head, somethings never change "I'll be there in 10. Got anymore beer left?"
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The sun was just coming up when Garrett and Mason drug the john boat out of the watershed. They were moving a little slow. It had been a long night. Two six packs and a cooler full of crappy later, all was right with the world. Garrett yawned and streched before climbing up into his lifted GMC. "I'm feeling a chicken strip biscuit from Jake's. How about you?" Mason opened the passenger side door, contemplating how to climb in without looking like a monkey, " I couldn't have said it better myself". He replied, grunting a little as he gripped the dash with one hand over his head, and the other he pulled on the door. It took him a miniuent, but he got in. "Dude, you really need to think about some running bars on this thing" 
Garrett laughed "Then the girls wouldn't need any help getting in! Now where's the fun in that?" 
"Your wrong for that man" but Mason wasn't surprised enough to even laugh. They drove along in silence for tail they hit mile marker 13, just inside the city limits. Jake's was hoppin as usual this early in the morning. Cars coming and going. If you wanted biscutes that could clog your arteries in a heart beat and coffee with thin film of grease floating on the top, this was the place. To Mason and Garrett, who had been coming here weekly seense they were to little to see over the counter top, it felt as welcoming as a mothers kitchen. The boys ordered their usuals, a chicken strip biscuit for Garrett and a Tenderloin for Mason. Kyle stood behind the counter running the grill, same way he had been doing every day that Mason and Garrett could remember.
Two cups of coffee later, they were full, but could hardly keep their eyes open. Neither one of them had to work today, so the logical and most inviting idea was to park on the couch, dozing and watching the hunting channel. Garrett would mumble from where he was streached out on the recliner every once in a while that he really should go skin a duck, or mount a turkey. But truth be told, neither one of them moved until well after 3 in the afternoon when Garrett got up saying something about more beer.