A Butcher's Block

Water lapped around Spot's body as he swam toward the ladder leading to the dock, its warmness missed as he reached the last step. He shook his head, clearing the water from his ears and shaking it out of his hair. The droplets fell to the dock in splatters and Flash shielded her eyes from the sun to peer up at him, her body stretched out on the warm wood.

"You look like a wet dog. Smell a bit like one too," she smiled, her nose scrunching up. She let her hand fall back to her side, running her fingers along the rough patterns of the dock.

"If I'm a dog, then you're more like a cat. Move over," he demanded, using his foot to casually poke at her leg. She shifted to give him some room and he sat down next to her crossing his legs.

"Cats and dogs are opposites and they hate each other. You saying you hate me?" She turned her head to sneak a peek at his face and saw the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Spot licked at a stray drop of water on his cheek and Flash felt the blood pool in her stomach. She looked away quickly and tucked her hands behind her head.

Spot let out a small chuckle and shook his head. "Nah, 'course not. If I did, you certainly wouldn't be here. Not now and not every other day like you are. I'm just saying, you always stretch out like a cat, monopolizing the space like you own it." He gave her a cheeky grin and she playfully slapped his arm.

"Shut up, you're ruining my favorite part about swimming."

"Drying off is your favorite part?"

Flash shrugged her shoulders. "I like the way the sun feels on my skin. Reminds me of home."

"You like it there? Your home?" Spot asked her inquisitively. Up until now, their conversations had mostly consisted of witty remarks and playful banter with the occasional quips of personal information sprinkled in. He liked the personal aspects a bit more than he liked to admit. He didn't really let many people see too much into his mind, thinking that as more of a weakness or self-sabotage. People can't use your thoughts or experiences against you if they don't know them. But he didn't have to worry too much about it with this girl because they still weren't on a first name basis yet. He liked it that way.

"I liked parts. I miss certain things about it. Like making homemade ice cream with my ma, and swimming in the pond. Milking the cows. The smell of burning leaves and the way the dirt squishes beneath your feet after it rains. The sweet smell of the wind as it whips through your hair. I miss all that." She finished. She avoided looking at him because she could feel the hot prick of tears in her eyes. Times used to be so simple in her early years and she ached to feel that again.

Spot gazed at her outstretched body while she wasn't looking, examining the many scars that covered her body the way a child would examine the wings of a butterfly. "You paint a mighty fine picture, little bird. But I feel like you're leaving out the nitty gritty details. Mind telling me why you look like a butcher's block?"

Flash glared up at him frowning. "I do, actually. It doesn't really concern you, does it?"

Spot shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head to the side, his hair grazing the tops of his eyelashes. "I wanna know about the parts you didn't like. The good stuff is great and all, but the devil lies in the details."

Flash snorted and cleared her throat before looking away from him. "I don't feel comfortable cleaning out from under my doorstep with someone I don't even know."

Spot feigned a look of hurt and put his hand over his heart. "Ouch, little bird. How could you say such things? We enjoy each other's company at least three times a week. Sometimes more. I'd hardly say I'm a stranger to you."

"We know each other then?" Flash challenged. "Alright then, I'll ask you the most basic question about myself and you answer. What is my name?"

"Got me there," Spot smirked. "Okay, so we don't know each other's names. Who cares? That's just useless information if you ask me. Not important. But if you asked me something else, I'd know the answer. For example, if you asked me if you were graceful, I'd say no."

Flash tried to hide her smile but by the look on Spot's face, she could tell she was unsuccessful. "Piss off, I am graceful."

Spot laughed and shook his head. "I've seen you dive. Ain't nothing graceful about that. You're about as graceful as a bag of bricks."

"And that kind of thing matters to you?"

"Not really. It's just proof that I know you."

"I'd hardly call that proof."

"Agree to disagree then."

Flash sat up and popped her back, crossing her legs and facing Spot when she was finished. "You don't think it's weird that we hang out all the time and don't know what to call each other?"

Spot grabbed at the crate that contained his bottle of whiskey and uncorked it, drinking deeply from it before wiping his mouth and offering it to Flash who refused.

"I don't drink whiskey."

Spot looked at her awestruck. "Are you dumb? Whiskey is by far the best drink there is. Why don't you like it?"

Flash pushed the bottle further away and grimaced. "The taste. The smell. I hate it all."

Spot grabbed the bottle back from her and drank some more. "You don't drink for the taste, doll. And you certainly don't sniff it. What's your drink of choice then?"

"Rum," she stated definitively.

"Weak. Whiskey is better."

"Agree to disagree," she mocked him.

Spot grinned and shoved the bottle back in the crate. "What is the real reason you don't like it? You have to have a bad experience. Bad hangover?"

Flash shook her head. "Tell me your name and I'll tell you."

"You can't use that as a bargaining chip."

"Just did," she said smugly.

Spot sat back and pondered what to say. "How about this: I'll tell you my name. My real name. And you can call me that. Because no one around here knows it anyways since we go by nicknames as I'm sure you've noticed."

Flash spit in her hand and held it out to shake and Spot followed suit. "Hell, I'll even tell you my real name too. Sweeten the deal a bit."

"Sounds fair." Spot beckoned for her to go first and she shook her head.

"No, you first. Gotta make sure you keep up your end."

Spot rolled his eyes and let a smile slip through. She was sly, he'd give her that. "Alright, alright. Sean. You can call me Sean."

"Sean," she said wistfully, and Spot couldn't help but to smile at the sound. He liked the way his name sounded coming from her lips, almost like a song or a prayer, every letter catching in his eardrums.

"I'm Allie. And I don't like whiskey because it was my pa's drink of choice." Flash glanced sideways before looking back at him, focusing on the slight curve in his eyebrows.

Spot swallowed and knew where this conversation was going. He leaned back on his arms and stretched out his legs, looking up at the clouds, trying to give her a moment of peace before continuing with his next question. "Was he a mean man, your father?"

"That's putting it lightly," Flash muttered under her breath before laying on her back beside him. They gazed up at the clouds in uncomfortable silence for a while, the tension of the question thick in the muggy Brooklyn air. Flash knew he was waiting for a real answer and she had a hard time coming up with one. She knew what to say but she had a hard time articulating it the way it was in her head. Flash rolled over on her side and looked at Spot. She could tell he knew she was looking at him but he didn't stir, choosing to let her speak first instead.

"My father was... well he was something. Mean is an understatement. In the past, I've used many terms to describe him. Asshole being my favorite with evil coming into a close second. He's the reason I look like...what did you call it? A butcher's block?" She willed him to look at her and raised an eyebrow at him when he finally did.

Spot could tell that she wasn't normally privy to talking about things like this, her expression a bit tight on her face. He felt that if she wanted to tell him, she would. He wouldn't press the issue. "My father was an asshole too," he offered, trying to take some of the heat off her.

"Yeah?"

"Would leaving your pregnant wife and three small children to live with the waitress of a diner qualify for asshole status?"

Flash gave him a sympathetic smile and nodded, propping her head up on her elbow. "I'd say that constitutes being considered an asshole." She tapped his shoulder lightly with her free hand, letting it linger there for a split second. "I'm sorry we have shitty fathers. But I'd say we turned out alright despite that, wouldn't you?"

Spot grinned at her and brushed his hair out of his eyes. He grabbed his cap and placed it firmly on his head, tucking his hair under it. "I'm more than alright, no thanks to him."

Flash lit a cigarette, puffing on the end deeply before letting the smoke out through her nose. "I'd like to think, in some fucked up way, I am who I am because of him. I've put up with a lot of shit, and I can handle more than I ever could have without him."

Spot snorted. "You're right, that is a fucked-up way to think about it. But whatever works for you, I guess." He let his eyes wander around and they fell on the soft curve where her stomach met the base of her hip and traveled up her torso, arms, neck, and finally to her face. She raised an eyebrow at him and he cleared his throat. "You're uh... starting to pink up," he said pointing at her.

Flash looked down at her body and let out a frustrated groan. "Shit, I hate burning. Fucking Irish blood in me." She got to her feet and started rifling through the clothes strewn precariously about the dock until she found what belonged to her. She pulled her shirt over her head and shoved her arms through the sleeves, grabbing for her pants. Spot watched as she slid her pants up over her knickers, a sly gleam in his eyes.

Flash noticed him looking at her and gave him the finger. "What are you smirking at, Sean? You're starting to burn too." She threw his clothes at him and they smacked him in the face.

Spot hastily pulled his clothes on and sat back down, lighting a cigarette of his own and patting the place beside him for Flash to join him. She took the invitation gladly and rested her arms on her knees.

"Hell, since we're airing our dirty laundry so to speak, you seen a kid around these parts by the name of Joseph? He might go by Trooper. Looks a bit like me, just a boy." Flash asked him.

"Why, did he do something to you?" Spot asked, furrowing his brows.

"No, wichser, he's my brother. We got separated and I'm trying to find him. You claim to know Brooklyn and the surrounding boroughs so well, I figured I'd ask."

Spot shook his head and let his cigarette hang from his mouth.

Flash sighed and took out a picture from her pocket, sliding it in between his fingers for him to look at. He took it and studied it, his eyes falling on every face. "Is this your family? You look so small."

Flash nodded and took the cigarette from his mouth, putting it between her own lips. "Yeah, that was taken years ago. Troop and I were about 9 in that picture. And there is my ma," she said pointing at the beautiful woman standing behind her brother, "And that is the asshole himself," she finished, gesturing towards the tall man behind her.

Spot looked at the picture again. There was something strangely familiar about her father, and Spot felt like he had seen that face before but he couldn't place it. He studied her mother and she looked familiar too. It made him feel uneasy.

"I'm guessing Trooper hasn't changed that much since then. He probably still looks similar to that. I haven't seen him in about 5 years so I dunno." Flash held her hand out for the photograph and Spot gave it back to her.

"I don't think I've seen him around before but I'll keep my eyes open. Promise."

"Thanks, I guess."

They both sat in the quiet of the moment, breathing in the smell of water and letting the sun dry the remaining water from their skin and clothes. Flash knew she had to get going soon and she was dreading it. It was the worst part of her day in her opinion, but the sun was starting to set above the buildings and she had to get to the factory girl's lodging house before all the beds were gone. After that night in the alley with Racetrack, Jack demanded she stop sleeping on the street. He talked with his friend Spot and got permission for her to call Brooklyn her home for now. So thanks to Race and his big fat mouth, she had now taken to sleeping inside. She couldn't complain too much; at least she had a bed now.

Flash let out a long sigh before catching Spot's eye. "I have to go."

"No you don't."

"I do though. But I'll come back tomorrow, yeah?"

Spot smiled; his dimples prominent in his features. "Alright, fair enough." He stood and held out his hand for her to grab. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. "One more thing though."

Flash raised her eyebrows in surprise. "And what is that?"

Spot gave her a little shove toward the end of the dock in response, sending her falling over the edge and into the water fully clothed. She let out a shriek when she resurfaced, giving him the coldest stare.

"That's not fucking funny, Sean! It'll take forever for my clothes to dry. Help me up out of here, it's the least you can do."

Spot grinned and leaned down to grab a hold of her arm. She smiled mischievously before tugging hard and he lost his balance, toppling into the water.

"Now we're even," she sing-songed in his ear.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now, little bird."

Flash laughed and swam backwards. "Gotta catch me first, don't you?"

Spot smirked and swam toward her, listening to her shrieks of protest as the sun started to sink down below the horizon.