The Calm

So much for comfort and stability, I mourned, shuffling back into the shop. This is what I get for opening that stupid book. Now I've got no Beck, my hand's all chromed up, and to top it off, the biggest b***h in the Conclave was my personal babysitter. At work. 

Maybe I'd quit my job, stay a step ahead of her. And then what? Stay on the lam? I'd have to get a job eventually.

Ah, who was I kidding? I wouldn't want to work anywhere else. It was either sort myself out and act like a responsible adult... or attempt to join the Conclave. And somehow I knew, even if I got my act together and worked a straight job, in a suit and tie and probably a pair of gloves, the Conclave would still find a way to have somebody supervising me. If they were willing to let a capable member sit around in a bookstore watching me now, they certainly wouldn't hesitate to place someone in a Fortune 500 company.

Branded, indeed. 

I slumped into my reading chair, hanging my head. Buck came back from the rear of the shop, holding a fresh burger. 

"That girl's something else, huh?" he whistled, looking at the door.

"That's an incredibly appropriate way to put it."

"What do you mean?"

I hesitated, wondering how much I should tell him, trying to decide how he'd react to various levels of information. In the end, I decided on the truth.

Buck sat on the counter, paying, for him, an incredible amount of attention to my story. I told him that the book was supposed to be Beck's, and that I'd gotten it by accident. I told him how It'd branded me after I left the store the previous night. And I told him about the Conclave.

He was very disappointed that Lee wasn't really into him. "She's good, man. Like a succubus."

I sighed. "Actually, she kind of... cast a spell on you."

"Fuuuuck," Buck said, sounding impressed. "Wish I could do that. I'd be at the club every night. Alakazam, b***h, you think I'm sexy now. Ha!"

"You're not mad?"

He rolled his eyes. "I spend half my life trying to be out of my mind. A little voodoo can't be worse for me than what I already put into my brain."

"You're the man, you know that? How do you just roll with everything?"

"Well," he said, sounding thoughtful, "I'm almost always some degree of high. That makes things a little easier to cope with. But really... I work in a bookstore, man. Look around us. Every crazy idea people have ever written down. There's got to be at least something to at least some of it. I've always thought there was some unusual s**t floating around in the world. Now I'm seeing it for real, and yeah, it's a little harsh, but it's also pretty cool." He sat back, looking satisfied with himself.

I didn't know what to say. I'd known Buck was deep, or at least capable of depth, but I always thought it was just the ramblings of another pothead. This, though, was a philosophy that actually made sense to me sober. 

My curiosity had always been somewhat frantic. Buck, on the other hand... he was just genuinely interested in the world. 

What did I tell you? He was a daily stoner, and incredibly lazy, but he was a pillar of stability. 

Somewhat reassured, a little less anxious, I settled into my chair. They say a good friend is someone you can sit in silence with, and still be totally comfortable. I don't know if Pink Floyd counts as silence, but we lounged around, not saying much, and after awhile I eased into the soothing world of The B Word. 

I would miss this. Lee, of course, would change the whole dynamic, just by being there. And no matter what I did, I knew my brand would inevitably change the course of my life. This, I realized, could be my last pleasant evening at the bookstore.

"Hey Buck," I said, after a minute.

"Yeah?"

"We ought to do something... special." I must have sounded kind of grim, because he looked over at me with an expression of... pity?

"That's a good idea, man. I've got just the thing." He got up and went into the back room, plastering a grin on his face. "You're gonna love this." He emerged a moment later with a small metal box, with a combination lock on the front. He sat down, grinning ear to ear, and started spinning the wheel, carefully selecting numbers. 

"What've we got here?"

He giggled. Which was weird. "What we have here is a personal experiment of mine. You've got your Conclave and your Text and your shiny fist and all that oddness... but this, this is magic. I call it... Ghetto Romance."

"You're f*****g with me."

"Not even a little."

"I don't even know what to say to that."
"That's good," Buck cackled, "because you're not even gonna remember how to talk in about five minutes."

I watched him extract the dry, powdery buds from a double-bagged lump that'd been carefully folded into the small lockbox. It occurred to me that I had a book in my pocket that could set things on fire.

"Hey, just one thing. Before we get all crazy," I said.

"Yeah?"

"Hide my Text, would you? Somewhere I won't find it. I don't want anything bad to happen."

*

Reviews

[UponATyme]

I heart Buck.

[Vanessa]

I really like that we got to know Buck better in this chapter, and that he's more than just a lazy stoner, haha. But his personality is also consistent and what he says/does is true to his character.