7
Matthew's driving instructor, a beefy blonde German, grunted at him to continue. He jotted down notes as Matthew smoothly made his way through the course. Eventually, a smile crept up on the man's face. Matthew was the best student he had ever had, and he was passing the test with flying colors.
Little did he know, Matthew was hardly focusing. His mind was constantly dragged back to the feel of Kat against his back and her tears, falling like comets; shimmering, across her face. He had seen her since then, but the meetings were brief, since he hardly had money to spend on her. So it was obvious that those memories would stick hardest in his mind, eating up everything else.
He often found, while bagging groceries at his job, that he imagined feeling Kat's skin, exposed and firm, beneath his fingertips. It gave him an elevating feeling. Yet, the fantasies evaporated whenever he saw her. He would love her, kiss her nose and lips, taste her chapstick and pity for him. She always managed to slip him a small amount of money after each meeting. He would drag himself home, feeling more and more attracted to her body. She was well endowed, anyone could see that, but he wondered…
"Good job," the teacher, Ludwig, said, thumping Matthew's back proudly. He dug around for the permit. Matthew smiled, accepting it, and handing him a piece of paper that allowed him to take the course in the first place.
Matthew walked home. He entered his apartment briefly, to pull on his work uniform and to wash up. He still had thirty minutes. He dug around and found a plastic box Kat had given him during their last meeting.
"You're so thin and only getting thinner, Matthew," she had said and given him some food she had made. It was a slice of finely cooked meat, with a cabbage-based salad to the side, surrounded by some fried potatoes, all topped with a handsome dollop of sour cream. He ate it cold, taking care to savor the flavors. A heavy meal could make him sick and that was the last thing he needed. The clock ticked in the corner, above a TV set he hardly used. Sighing heavily, he put away the meal, hardly half-eaten, and left to work.
He was about to walk to work, when he remembered that he could drive instead. He stopped at Alfred's truck, green, old, sitting mournfully in the parking lot. He frowned and ran his fingers along the hood. He pulled open the door, getting in. It smelled heavily of Alfred. Matthew shoved the key in, it was connected to his house keys, if Alfred came back in however long it would take, and he found the car gone, it would break Matthew. He revved the engine up and it sputtered pathetically.
"Come on…" Matthew groaned, trying again. That time it woke. The car rose to life, happy to be ridden again. He pulled out of the parking lot, driving on to work.
The smell kept coming back, the faint cologne Alfred wore mixed with his own signature musk. It was painfully forcing memories up Matthew's nose. He never knew how lonely it was without Alfred. Some days he didn't even believe that Alfred was somewhere behind bars. He kept expecting to find the blonde man grinning at him, sitting on the couch with a beer in his fist and a packet of ice on his biceps.
He always managed to hurt himself while working, but didn't dare let Matthew worry his head over it. Matthew, every day after work, expected to be scooped up into strong arms and smothered with all sorts of sibling signs of love; most of which were painful.
And yet, when he opened his door, he was greeted by stale air and silence.
Matthew sloppily wiped away his tears, trying to calm his breath. He parked in the designated parking space behind his workplace. He still had a quarter of an hour to go before his shift began. He pulled the key out and leaned his head against the steering wheel, allowing himself to sob.
After ten minutes he disentangled himself and wiped his eyes, putting on a faux positive expression. He didn't want anybody to know his condition. As far as his coworkers, besides the kindly manager, knew, he was just a kid scraping up money, probably to buy the newest game console.
The second his fingers brushed against harsh plastic, his mind floated away into a reverie. First, he imagined coming home to find Alfred there, waiting for him. He would explain that they let him out, he wasn't really responsible for the problems. He would have a scratchy beard that would tickle when he kissed Matthew's forehead, a habit he had after their parent's untimely passing.
Then, because the sadness was too much for Matthew, he went on to planning what he would do with his new permit. He could now drive to school, to anywhere really, and he had to pay for gas too. He frowned, placing the billionth bag on the millionth shopping cart. That would rip away any spare money he had straight from his hands. He would be walking again before he knew it. At least he would save some to take Kat on nice dates. Yes, Kat.
His mind wandered to that place again. It would begin innocently, like two birds nuzzling each other on a tree branch. He and Kat would be in the back of the truck, parked in an empty lot with no one around for miles except for the twinkling heavens above.
Mat would trail his hand down her front, feeling the soft fabric of her favorite sundress, the pastel pink one, and feeling all the grooves and places beneath. Kat giggled, touching his hand and guiding it along her body, tweaking all the right places, until it went below her skirt, warmth beyond everything he could encompass with words and poetry.
Matthew stopped the fantasy in its tracks, violently thrusting it out of his mind. He couldn't have any of it at work. He wasn't ignorant to the fact that he could have a physical, very real, reaction to his mind's images. In public, at that.
He had an apron on, at least. He reached in it, picking up a pair of scissors to apart two bags that had stuck together, via some strange factory accident. He couldn't even rip them apart.
He worked well into the night. When he checked out and went back into that dumpy truck, he felt a considerable weight leaping off of his shoulders. He went home, enjoying the cloaking darkness of the night, swept away by the fan produced by his headlights.