Chapter Two - LautiR
Plates empty, Keats munching on leftovers under the table, and two now noticeably fatter (Run’s portions are no joke) friends just sitting together on the patio of their favorite Thai place. This is how things should be, no need to perform, no anxiety about what to say next, just… Letting things be for a while.
A humid gust of wind sends a chill across my skin, causing me to stop watching a street performer fleece a bunch of tourists with the cup-ball scam and look up. Even here in the heart of the city, where the looming skyscrapers would have you believe they are where life begins and ends, I can still make out an intimidating wall of storm clouds barreling towards our little corner of the world.
I turn to Alex and nod up, “Looks pretty serious up there.”
My tired friend startles at my voice and takes a moment to reorient himself to the world outside of his constant calculations to process my words, look up, and notice the storm. He stands up and stretches his back and neck in a series of pops and cracks you could record as death sounds for movies, “Hah, yeah, better wrap up here, don’t want to be stuck in traffic with all that going on.”
As Alex, who lost our latest bet, gets up to pay the bill, I stack the dishes to make them easier to clear away. Then I lean under the table to get a look at my silly dog, who is happily panting, just vibing in his post meal zen.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
I reach down and scritch his belly while asking, “You ready to go boy? I think we could make it home before the storm really hits if we take the riverway.”
Keats’ tail starts wagging the moment I mention the riverway. The old boy starts the ritual of getting up (you’ll understand when you’re older) stretching and grumbling his way to his feet. I chuckle at all his noises and once he is ready, guide him over to the Norway Maple (I know cuz I asked) that Run had planted as a sapling outside his shop the day he opened.
The now substantial tree shakes excitedly as the wind plays through it, every flowing leaf catching and reflecting light off its deep purple leaves. I lean against its trunk, tracing my fingers along the patterns of its bark and ask, “Bet you're looking forward to the rain, huh?”
Alex manages to exit the restaurant just in time to see my conversation with the tree. I turn to him and find myself facing the business end of the blue sucker (Run gives them out to people who tip well) being held out to me like a sword at a duelist.
As I take it from him he snarks, “Do they ever talk back?”
I plop the sucker in my mouth, waving my goodbyes at where I know Run must be behind the opaque windows of his place before turning and walking down the small stairway that separates this magical place from the rest of the world.
I turn to Alex as we both cross the threshold, feeling the pressure of real life settle once more, and grin at him, “Not yet, but Ents take a long time to decide on what they want to say you know? I imagine years from now I’ll hear a woody sounding “Yes.” on the wind and have no idea what to do with it.”
Alex rolls his eyes, “Get home safe dork.”
“Back atcha nerd.”
We bump fists and part ways, him to his car, and Keats and I to our walk.
