My mother always smacks her food due to her inability to breathe. She's eating nuts and they're clacking together. They snap from her buckteeth. She had had only me and lately she laments the death of my father. He died in the last war. I just wanted a car or something. Maybe a guitar or piano. Anything to help time pass. She looks at me with nicotine eyes. She chews nuts with a cigarette in her mouth like a penis and balls, like a lover in control.
"Ray when are you going to getta job?"
"When the gas prices go down."
"Wha?"
"I don't need a job. We're all dying."
She scrimps her cheeks into a cradled version. Babyish and old simultaneously.
"How can you say that when your father—"
"Died for me?"
Mom narrows the look now. She tilts her head forward and her eyes gaze through the floor like yoga concentration.
"You shouldn't talk about your father like that. He was a hero."
"I'm sick of hearing it," I say.
"Well he never got sick of you!" She bellows, haunted, ghosted.
"He's dead. No one's sick here...well except you."
"Get out of this house and go getta a job!"
The coat rack has my dad's old jacket. There's still the smell of weed on it. I put on that nearly holistic failure knowing the smell alone won't get me an occupation.
This is because I already have one.
The door hits back and forth. The rusty hinges and the backside of a tin roof on top are making it barely passable for code enforcers if there were any around. The hard part is the cough. Everyone can hear my mother hacking. She's bringing these dust storms some say. The way age and animals go with the sun. Second hand smoke. The bitch is bringing us baskets of disease.
The street has these people on it that hand me flyers I want to throw away. Sometimes there's a business card reference for salvation. Few leap to that conclusion, but even the smartest think about it.
Downtown must be high. My jacket is ruminating some of my wet fur. There's still contact and life in this coat. After a few mindless blocks, I get to my building.
An old wooden door whines as it opens. Fifth floor of a business complex. I'm inside the Station Square Detective Agency to see Mighty the Armadillo. He's pouring bourbon and orange juice. It's eight in the morning. The cocktail swirls as he stirs it with his thumb.
"Ray, you are late again. What was it this time? A pack of Tasmanian devils asked you to guess what pebble was in the cup and you guessed wrong seventy times?"
"They asked me for sex and I said my asshole was too raw."
"Pssh. Like you did that."
The quiet sweet slice of work. It's the way a job creeps in with horrible language.
"Well I've got an assignment for you."
"What is it? Do I have to kill someone again?"
The armadillo slams the desk with his fist. The top supply drawer pops out. His drink makes circles.
"You can drop the fucking asshole gig now. I'm not your mother."
I giggle putting my hands near the wall. The same wallpaper from the last business still applied; blue diamonds with red circles in them.
"You've never met my mother," I say.
He smirks and I should have known.
"I've been around a lot of people I'm almost as bad—"
"Sonic the Hedgehog. I know we're all whores whatever. Fuck what is it?"
"Rotor is apparently sucking the mayor dry."
"Sexually? Financially?"
"Both."
"Oh wonderful."
"Ray, I you need to take photos. Catch them in the act and then send me the shots so I can get the DA involved. We need Rotor busted."
"Sex with a woman isn't illegal in Mobius."
"Exactly."
"Annnnddddd?"
Mighty stares at me long enough to make me squirm. The ceiling fan makes my fur spike. The chill is matching the moment. Nerves for some reason with that shock of sweat.
"Sodomy is."
My digital camera is posted and zoomed in on Mayor Bunnie's apartment. I'm across the street at a library that luckily has a second floor for microforms. She's currently eating a salad with vinaigrette because I can't see anything on it except a gleam. The darling used to fight for freedom, now people pay her local politic dollars to do the same. She calls everyone" sugah" like they're her friend. The coin rolls anyway what does it matter? Just another person making things happen.
"Sir, do you need help finding anything?"
"I'm trying to do my job. Can you get me a coffee...do you have coffee here?
I turn to Amy Rose. My ex-something from what the last phone call said. She's wearing the skirt I bought her when I was 15. It's green with red checkers.
"Ray! How are you?"
"Old."
"Well, we are fresh out of coffee, but we have a soda machine in the back."
"Ames, you can drop the librarian act. It's your old flame."
She rubs her head quills and smells them. She used to do that when heavy with thought. I could remember that much. She leans in close to my ear.
"More like a bitchy spark I got over."
Her undertone is quiet. Other people can't hear because then they'll think badly about us. We don't even have a reputation. I keep looking out towards the apartment.
"Hahhhh, it's good to see you. I'll talk to you later."
I don't even know if she walked away. All I know is now there's a green curtain where Bunnie used to be. I went for the easy route thinking it was a window she never covers up.
Sometimes I wonder how I get paid for this.
Fire escapes are easy to climb enough. However it's still early dusk and I don't need the police asking why I'm climbing up an emergency exit.
I sit in a long hallway with bright ass halogen and stony walkways. My ass is getting numb. I have glasses on and I'm putting on my best college son impersonation. See I'm writing "The collected stories of Ray the Flying Squirrel" on my laptop. It's not like I'm waiting for a walrus to come fuck a bunny yet the stupid wumps come. Bump bump bump rings out and I can only assume it is Rotor. There's only stairs in this place. I put my head down into the computer writing literally the same sentence over and over; you're stupid for doing this.
The goofy walrus begins his mission. He buzzes the ringer. Door swings open and no one is looking at me. Apparently pretending to be a writer is easier than it seems. Everyone pretends you don't exist.
"How are you sugah?"
"I'm good Bunnie."
They both walk in. The problem now is I have to find out visually if they're doing anal. This is probably going to take years to complete. For all I know they're not even having sex. Mighty is getting back at me for not giving him a birthday present.
Of all detective things I keep a glass with me just in case I need to eavesdrop. I get over to the door relatively quick. The open part of the glass goes to the door. I listen in. Bunnie comes in soft. Rotor is lower, unintelligible.
"Kiss me."
murmurmurmur
"We can talk later sugah."
"mumblemumble"
"Let me feel good baby."
All there is now is the pop. The making out sound of passion is close to the cigar puff. I take the glass away.
The problem with sex is how fast people fall into it. Anyone could be watching. Most people pretend no one is there.
At this point my job can be merely considered under the table. I can break a entering and take pictures of scandal or illegalness. Bunnie is still married to that French fox Antoine. I can ruin lives for nominal fees. I'm almost a therapist.
The question is whether to come back tomorrow. Tail Rotor through his job or Bunnie through hers while I play the simple game of how can I catch someone at sex who lives at an apartment.
The glass quietly goes back to the door. I'm going to at least wait till I hear moaning.
Oh hell.
Footsteps come from down the hall, but the jerk hasn't made the turn. I put the glass inside my coat pocket. I rush back to the laptop. A dog catches me in the act. I'm close to the computer but it looks like I ran this way to get to it. He gives me a bizarre stare.
"You alright?"
"I thought I left this here!" I pretend to breathlessly say.
"How could you leave without it?"
Before I can answer he sniffs. He scoffs and walks past me about ten before the dramatic stop and look back.
"You need to stop smoking. It makes you stupid. What kind of dumbass are you?"
"The best kind," I joke.
"And that is?"
"The one that can afford to be."
He, like all old people who hate the youthful affluent, shakes his head and walks on stopping at his apartment near the end of the hall. I fake it and unplug my computer. Through my peripherals the doggie goes inside. I hear the lock click. Good job Ray.
So it's decided that I need to get to the balcony. Bunnie's balcony. Luckily hers does not face the street and if a bystander asks what I'm doing, I just tell them I locked myself out of the apartment. People know the world is horrible and they'll believe you pretty quickly.
I once begged a fast food server for a free food and got it. Didn't even need it, fifty dollars in my wallet. I was unshaven and skinny and still am most days. It becomes the question of my created story versus theirs and then the outcome happens based more on the reactionary. See I can appear to be a junkie who smells like weed and I wouldn't get what I wanted. They must have a moral code above the typical failed drug user. However, like the lady at the chicken hut, she gave me that sandwich for free because she understood the pain.
Being a flying squirrel means gliding. I can't fly like Tails but similar to Knuckles I can glide for a long ass time. I'm going to try and curve around the building. With luck I land on the first one. Without luck I glide into the wood bust my head, fall, break my legs, and have a reason to park in the front spaces at movie theaters, even though I don't have a fucking car.
Carefully putting my boots on the wooden barrier next to the stair's entrance I am really glad this complex is opened space. No glass barring you from looking out on the town. Jumping my laptop bag weighs me a little and my camera scratches the wall as I turn to find the balcony a bit higher. Fuck me I grab the top of it with my gloves putting a lot of pressure on the wrists. I pull myself over with a pretty good sounding thud, however this is the neighbor's. Bunnie probably thinks he/she dropped something. I've tore my jacket with a good slice on the lower back of it. There's cotton on the ground. Where the hell am I supposed to find a tailor?
The second jump has to be quiet. I need to pretend I'm meeting my dealer on this balcony or something. Again personas can help you.
This jump is smoother without the laptop. I land with precision. The blinds are cracked enough on the left side to see this show. I can still hear them. Please let this be buttsex. I need…shit Mighty didn't even tell me what I'm getting for this, god damn it; it could be ten dollars or three hundred.
I'm not saying I've done detective work for ten dollars. I've done it for five bucks when a kid told me to find out what his Mom's favorite ice cream was. It's Rocky Road.
Through the peep there it is. Walrus ass plugging up and down like a bobblehead on his ass. And the Bunnie is taking it bad up the back chute. I check the lens cap. It's off. I zoom in and take a shot. It's perfect. Almost a painting of passion, of adultery, of showing that even fat computer science majors can have sex with beautiful people, which despite my motives is a great thing. From what I've heard Rotor is a great conversationalist and personality should come before sex but this is Mobius. We're all popping corks at what we think beauty is.
I take three more shots. Even one where Bunnie is on her back eyes closed as if dreaming would come.
"Here's your proof. I got the anal you wanted."
Mighty starts laughing. His ears practically point in tense laughter.
"I can't tell you the last time I heard that."
"I can."
"When?"
"When I gave it to you."
"Ray, you've got a lot to learn about sex."
"I think I just learned a lot from Bunnie. Did you know half her ass is metal?"
"You serious?"
"I'm surprised there's not cum in the circuits."
We both start chuckling. This horrible idea pops into my head that Rotor or Antoine is going to die of electric shock from fornication.
"Here's your payment."
I take the security envelope and it's heavy. Part of me is excited. It could be half a grand. Opening it there's a…
candy bar.
It's the king size chocolate bar with almonds of all things. I'm allergic to nuts.
"Is this a fucking joke?" I ask.
"Maybe."
"You know I almost broke an entering for this shit right?"
"Ray, you've got a lot to learn about sex."
He's grinning from ear to ear like a fucking happy rat. That shit face you're screwed kind of stare.
"What the fuck did you do?"
"I sent pictures to your mom. She's going to see how much of a fairy you really are."
"I've only had sex with you. Doesn't that incriminate you as well?"
"You really think she's going to care whose dick is in your ass Ray? Besides you and Tails fucked last weekend."
"Wh—"
"Ray you're a junior detective here at the agency. I hired you because we both were death campers, and I felt sorry for you. But there's one thing you don't do to me and that is cheat on me. I said we were an item. You consented to that. Then you're plowing the fox boy. You think I'm not a detective? You really think I wasn't going to keep tabs on you?"
"Well I was really drunk and he came on to me and-"
"That's a real good excuse. Remind me to use that one."
"Do I still have a job?"
"Of course you do!" He chuckles. "However, it's going to take awhile before I start paying you with money and dollars and shit again. You're going to start with candy bars. After some successful jobs I will give you alcohol, but only the cheap nasty stuff. After that you'll get condoms, and finally after that you'll get actual coin. If you can get that far, I will reimburse you for all these jobs you've done. Can you remember that?"
"I can go get work on the side. What the fuck does it matter?"
He takes out the bottle from his desk. Pops out the cork and takes a straight shot. His face cringes a bit.
"A good detective doesn't tell me shit like that. You do any other jobs and I will fire you, plus everyone in this town will know you've got a track record with the boys."
"Literally, a 'fuck me'."
"I'm glad you understand."
"Why candy, alcohol, and condoms?" I ask.
"Because by the time we do it again I want the teeth in your head to rot out. I want the smoothest blow job you could ever give me. I want your asshole to be like a fucking valley. It'll be just like your mom."
Urge to scream or laugh. Fuuuccckk this is weird. Idea.
"I could tell everyone about us as well."
"Everyone in this shit hole called Station Square knows how much of a man-whore I am. It won't surprise anyone. You though…you're mom really wants you to be like your father."
"Dead?"
"A manly man."
I try to think about why for a second but it doesn't make much sense. Life is doing a three way with one dick in my mouth while the other one is in my ass, plus I'm a junior dick detective.
"Thanks for keeping me on. Thanks for this opportunity." I say with a blandness my cynicism hasn't seen since I was 16
I don't like to think about the death camps. Honestly, none of us do. See there was the first time we did it. I was probably 14, Mighty was 16 or 17. He rubbed my dick I rubbed his. There's wasn't much to it. We were trying to be happy about something. We both worked on robot parts all day until Sonic liberated us about a year later. By then, we had done it a lot, but we went our separate ways for awhile. After some time I moved back in with my mom. We finally ran into each other on the street. He gave me a job and I gave him jobs.
You know when people say fuck my life I don't think they really know what they're asking for.
"You're a fucking faggot! Get outta my fucking house!"
"Mom it's just—"
"You stupid son of a bitch! You know if your father was still alive you know what he'd do to you?"
"Mo—"
"He would hang you by your dick and beat the faggot out of you!"
"He wouldn't—"
My mom slaps me. The sting turns to heat. Everything gets hot.
"Don't talk about your father like you fucking knew him! He fought for your freedom! You'd be a robot right now if it wasn't for him! He didn't free you from the death camps so you could play patty cake who's the queer with that mutant fox!"
With this I rage.
"You know what Mom? Sonic freed us. Dad didn't. The war was a complete failure if not for Sonic and only fucking Sonic. I did what I did to survive. The camps fucked you up!"
"How dare y—"
"Dad was a communications officer whose station got blown up by a bomb! He didn't kill or do a damn thing. He didn't do shit for us! He's fucking dead and he was a bastard who deserved it!"
"Get the fuck outta my house! You fag! You fucking fairy!"
"You're a stupid bitch who can't change all because she doesn't have a dick in her cunt! I know how it is. The reason why Mighty fucked you straight."
Another slap and a shove to the gut. She falls to the couch now. Fruit flies buzz up. The place is a mess like usual. She starts wailing.
I close the door. The tin roof is rusting. It doesn't ever fucking rain here yet the sea makes up for it. Putting water all through the air. Walking off, the lights still on and I can hear her crying but then she stops. The silence comes in.
I turn my head.
And there's the cough.
It's like her hand finally let go of my balls.
The neon rainbow. There's cognac in my glass. Tails is sitting beside me drinking a black Russian. His ass folds over the bar stool. I keep looking at it.
"Mighty outed both of us to my mom."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Does she know it's me?"
"Two tails. I saw the pictures."
"Thank god."
"What do you mean 'thank god'?"
"I've been holding it back for so long. It's nice for someone to know."
This is a perspective I only wish I could understand, but Tails has a real job with a salary. He has a loft in uptown with a shot of the skyline that could make anyone cry. I hate to say it, but I need help until I can support myself.
"Obviously she kicked me out. You got any ideas?"
He looks at me rubbing his head fur. The look in those blue eyes. A blue that matches mine so fucking perfectly I feel unexceptional.
"I'll set you up in a brownstone. I got one I'm still leasing. Mighty can't see us together anyway. I guess were just friends until you make a decision about where you're going to go."
"I don't fucking know man. I don't have any money. Fuck I'm scared."
"Why does it matter if anyone knows you're gay?"
"If there's one thing I'm horrible at Tails it's facing other people's criticisms. All those horrible dumbfuck bastards."
I finish off the drink. It's funny. Sure this is funny.
Outside it's overcast. The military cemetery always seems cloudy. My dad is in the fifth row of some section. I don't remember I find it exactly. I just show up. Third to last if you head left. Randall Squirrel, thirty five years old. I sit in front of his grave cross legged as if there was a way to meditate the dead. I put down a bouquet of "forget me nots". Dead honoring the dead.
"Do you think dying was easy, Dad?"
The grave stays silent.
"I'm starting to think about it. It has always been this one thing that feels out of reach from me, but lately it just keeps coming around...asking me how I'm doing like we're friends or something. Like we've known each other for years."
The grave does not respond.
"You probably felt this way too. We're almost the same. Two loners wondering what it's all for. We're not even that special, but it's ours. I remember when I fought for my life. Like I really wanted it. Like nothing could stop me from surviving anything."
The grave stares back.
"But now I'm just taking risks. I'm being reckless for no other reason than just to see what happens. Nothing's happened."
The grave does not respond.
"Is that why you went to war?"
The wind picks up and the flowers move. There are footsteps coming. After hours bullshit probably. I smell perfume.
"I'm so sorry."
The voice is Amy Rose. She's holding some daisies. Flowers of the dead.
"What..." I pause out of embarrassment. "W-what do you want?"
"Do you talk to your father like this a lot?"
"He's the one thing I can talk to that doesn't respond back. Those are usually the best things to talk to. Dead things. It's also why I usually talk to myself." I say for once truthfully.
"Ray…you're beautiful."
"No I'm not."
Amy just smiles and spins her dress around in a half girlish fashion.
"You remember when you bought me this dress?"
"I just wanted you to look nice."
She nods and sits next to me. Puts her flowers next to the stone. We are now both on top of my father. The headstone stares on. Amy kisses my cheek and rubs my head. My dick doesn't even flicker.
"I'm sorry for calling you a bitch earlier," she says.
"You were right. I don't even know how to be anything. I can't even be gay right. Like I'm afraid to. What am I?"
"You're the best man I ever dated."
"You're lying."
"It took me hearing what you just said to your father. I was going to come up and cuss you out because you were acting like a cynical asshole earlier, but hearing how sad you are. It just made me realize how misery can barely hold company. How all we can do is look at each other and try to respond."
She hugs me, pats my back three times.
"Amy, why are you fucking doing this?"
"Shhhhhhhhh. You don't have to be angry right now. It's just your old girlfriend."
It's here that I remember what dad said right before he left for the war and ruined everything. That he wasn't mad that I totaled his car.
He said with valuable things you need to be extra careful.
I wonder how long Amy is going to hold me. The night is summered. We're warm but I'm shaking.
And there's nothing wrong or fake.
Author's Note: I reedited this story a bit. I wrote it three years ago. I may go on with more of it. Thanks for reading.
-Maverick87