Page 39 of Why Cheese?
Brie chuckles at the memory while I would be absolutely terrified of scaring or enraging the giant man. Shaking his head, Brie picks up one of the sponges and a spray bottle. He starts to scrub the encrusted sink without me asking. “I haven’t had anything new in a long time. But, that’s okay. There’s a lot of work to be done.”
“Is that why you became a clerk?” I choose the bottle of Febreze and attack the mattress. Opening the nozzle as far as it’ll go, I spray with wild abandon. There’s not a lot to do about the yellow stains beyond closing my eyes and pretending they aren’t there. “Easier access to books?”
“Ah, no. It was decided for me by my father. He is…was not a man to be easily crossed. Have you ever read a tale of the Vikings?” Brie asks me and I nod. “Those pillagers would mess themselves if they had crossed him.”
I waft my hand closer to the mattress and wince at the stench of stale cigarettes and salt. After unscrewing the top, I place my finger over half of the opening and anoint the mattress in Febreze.The power of Christ compels you, odor demon!
“That sounds like Roq,” I say, not expecting a hand to touch my elbow.
Brie’s electric blue eyes tear me to pieces and he shakes his head hard. “Nothing at all like Roq.”
“He orders you around. He decides what you do. Where you live.”
“Roq protects us for our sake. He has his reasons, we all do. He can be a bit of a challenge, I know.”
“A challenge? I’ve talked to the broad side of barns that were more personable,” I say, hoping for a laugh. When it doesn’t come, I spit out fast, “I don’t actually talk to barns.”
“No, I understand. He takes a lot of warming up, and he can be rather…”
“Fussy? Demanding? Inconsiderate? Terrifying? Cold?”
“Fastidious,” Brie says.
“Oh well, if you’re going to show off your fancy vocabulary, I’ll have you know I can use a thesaurus too.”
Rather than shrink back, Brie laughs. “He can also be a complete pain in the ass.”
We both get to work trying to unclog drains, scrape off decades of grime, and air out the place. Brie braves the horrors of the bathroom while I close my eyes and hand him whatever he asks for.
“Scrub brush, bleach, scalpel.”
I pause with my hand halfway inside an old toolbox we found under the sink. Brie jerks his arm through the curtain.
“Best I can do is a box cutter,” I say, placing it into his waiting palm.
He leans out through the curtain enough I can see him inspecting the blade coated in rust. “This will do,” he deadpans and returns to whatever horrific surgery awaits inside.
“How’s the patient looking, doctor?” I ask.
“I think…I think Mister Toy Let shall make a full recovery,” Brie declares, his voice singing with joy. It’s so infectious, I’m tempted to linger but there’s a lot more to do. I shake out a tablecloth I found on deep clearance and lay it over the peeling card table. With my palm, I test the mattress to find it’s mostly dry and unearth the sheets I snagged. All those years of coupon clipping and digging through old junk piles to make ends meet are paying off.
I unroll the fitted sheet when a loud clank breaks from the bathroom. “Oops,” is followed by gushing water. “I’m gonna need a bucket!” Brie shouts. I turn to find one when the waterfall stops.
“Never mind,” he declares before tugging open the curtain. “We’re good.”
“Oh, no.” He’s drenched from head to waist. Fetid water drips from his hair and pools at his feet. “You’re soaked.”
Brie lifts his arms and rain pelts the floor. “Sorry about that. I’m making a mess.”
My arms stuffed with towels, I make my way over to him. Brie tips his head down and I rough his hair up with one. “Maybe I should get out of here before I make this worse.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s cold tonight. You’ll freeze to…”Could they die if they were put in a freezer?God, that’s a morbid thought. “Here.” I leave one of the towels on his head and try to mop up his shirt. That poor thing bore the brunt of whatever happened to the toilet.
The water pressure was so high, it tore open the buttons, exposing his also drenched undershirt. “I, um, is this helping?” I ask, dabbing down his chest.
Brie pulls the towel off of his head, his damp locks nearly as dark as Cheddy’s. They stick up like an electric hedgehog and he sighs. “This will be easier.” Without a care, Brie unbuttons his shirt. It thuds to the ground with a soggy flop, and he pulls his undershirt over his head.
As he bends over to pick up his lost clothes, I’m entranced by the tattoos sweeping down his shoulder blades to his ribs. They’re symmetrical on both sides of his body and look like a bird in flight without being a bird, if that makes any sense. Brie wrings both of his shirts over the sink, and I draw closer.
