Left-Handed Engineers From MARZ
Ringing in the new year

---

"Got any plans for New Year's?" Connor asked Zephyr on Tuesday afternoon.

"Nah," Zephyr replied. "We'll just sit around and watch the ball drop."

"Oh. I'm going to a party with my girlfriend and her friends."

"They're not your friends too?"

Connor gave Zephyr a puzzled look, and then shrugged. "Not really. I don't have anything against them; it's just... I don't know. I'm just trying harder to do right by her. It's my new year's resolution."

Zephyr nodded into his paperwork. "Good luck."

"Do you have any new year's resolutions?" Connor asked.

Zephyr thought for a moment. "Nah," he said. "I'm already under enough pressure to be perfect. Resolutions seem like overkill." He jotted down a correction on the supply list and continued. "I think if I were to have a resolution, it'd be to lighten up on myself. You know, stop caring so much about living up to what everyone else expects out of me."

"That's a good one. Like, respect yourself better for what you do instead of beating yourself up for what you don't do. Maybe I should do that too."

Zephyr smirked at him skeptically. "Can you do that and please your girlfriend simultaneously?"

Connor considered that for a long time. "Maybe," he finally concluded.

****

Zephyr searched the house for Reg. Come on, he thought, it's a tiny house; it couldn't take this long to find him. But he wasn't in the garage or the yard and the Buick was still there, and Reg's shoes were still in the closet. Then he noticed a Reg-shaped lump in the bed.

"Hey, man, I thought you were going to stay up and watch Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve with me! I got us some ginger ale and those little hot dog oh-doovers and everything!"

"It's 10:48:54," Reg mumbled from under the covers.

"Yah, so, just a little more than an hour before the ball drops! C'mon, man, get up."

"Tired."

"Yeah, I know, but..." It was no use arguing with him. Reg had made his decision... and he had worked hard ever since Sunday evening. Zephyr supposed that if Reg were returning to his usual sleep schedule, he shouldn't sabotage the effort. Even if it were New Year's Eve. Maybe he'd even call it quits and go to bed too. What kind of a celebration would it be by himself?

What difference did it make, anyway? Tonight wasn't any different from any other night, aside from the date. But then, going to work and telling everyone he watched television all night was slightly less humiliating than saying he'd slept through it.

But hadn't he told Connor just today that he was going to care less about other people's opinions?

He wasn't tired enough to sleep anyway... may as well stay up and watch other people having fun. Zephyr got a beer out of the fridge, put a batch of hors d'oeuvres into the toaster oven, and settled into the easy chair with the remote.

It sure was lonely, though. He half wished someone would drop by, but that wasn't likely. He needed to make more friends. Maybe he'd make that his resolution. Stop living such a goddamn insular lifestyle and go out and be with people. Hah, he thought, not likely.

Just then the phone rang. "Hello?" Zephyr said as he punched the speakerphone button.

"Zeph? It's Marsh."

Zephyr blinked. "Oh. Hi."

"Doing anything?"

"I... uh, yeah. I'm watching Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve."

"Hmm." Marsh paused. "You guys mind if I join you?"

Zephyr hadn't expected this at all. Okay, so he'd wished for it, but that was completely different. And he wasn't sure he really wanted to spend a holiday with Marsh so soon after the last one. It hadn't even been a week yet. What if their friendship couldn't handle it?

"Sure, come on over," he found himself saying anyway. "It's just me, though. Reg is feeling overworked."

"Oh. Okay. I'll be right there." Marsh hung up.

Zephyr put on his slippers and a sweatshirt and popped another batch of mini hot dogs into the toaster oven. He put more beer in the fridge for Marsh, but then 15 minutes later Marsh showed up with a six-pack of hard cider.

Zephyr waved Marsh toward the couch and took his own place in the chair. "Here we go again," he observed as Marsh cracked two ciders open and passed one to him.

"Yeah, well," Marsh replied. They both turned to the television to fill the awkward silence. A series of very young musicians paraded across the stage, shouting and dancing.

"Who are all these kids?" Marsh inquired after a while.

"I don't know. I've never heard of any of them before. Maybe they're the bands Connor goes on and on about. Did they mention Limp Biscuit yet?"

"Limp Biscuit?" Marsh asked in a what-the-hell tone of voice.

Zephyr shrugged. "It's the only one I remember."

Marsh took a gulp from his cider and waved toward the TV. "There's nothing limp about her. How can her parents allow her to go on national television wearing next to nothing? She can't be more than sixteen."

"Anything for money these days, I guess. And she'd be very pretty if she emphasized her face more than her belly."

Marsh gave Zephyr a strange look, but Zephyr ignored it.

"How can Dick Clark condone this crap?" Marsh asked as he opened another bottle. "Isn't he 70 years old or so?"

"Well, they call him the world's oldest teenager," Zephyr mused. "I think that's just another way of saying 'dirty old man'."

"No kidding. Did you see how he was eyeing that little girl? Man, if I ever caught some old fogy ogling my daughter like that, I'd have his head on a platter."

Zephyr laughed. "Marsh, dude, your vicious side is coming out!" He finished off his bottle and motioned for another one.

Marsh obliged, opening it first. "That's my daddy side," he explained. "There's something about seeing kids the age of my own kids getting exploited that makes me want to get all overprotective. I mean, look at her! Tomorrow she's going to get on an airplane and pull out her algebra homework."

"Hopefully while wearing a full set of clothes," Zephyr added helpfully.

"Yeah, hopefully."

They watched for a while and polished off all of the hors d'oeuvres and a box of crackers... and all of the cider and most of the beer.

"Well," said Zephyr, "Here we are in another new year."

"Same as the old year," Marsh added.

"Yeah... two thousand and tuh..."

"Three."

"Right. 3, like the cat." Zephyr laughed.

Marsh laughed too. Then he looked around groggily. "Hey, where is that cat, anyways?"

"I dunno. Damned cat's probably off in some corner, doing... uh..."

"Cat things," Marsh offered.

"Yah. Here's to cat things." He raised his beer.

"And years named after cats," Marsh said, raising his beer too.

"And... and... maybe we should get another cat and name it 4 for next year," Zephyr joked.

"A cat per year! Yeah!" Marsh laughed.

Zephyr groaned. "Oh god, no. That's a whole lotta cats. I'd hafta... move out or something."

"Mebbe... mebbe you can just keep remaning the one you have," Marsh suggested.

"Remaning?"

"Rena... give the damn thing a new name. Name it 4. Y'know what I'm try'n t'say?"

"No, Marsh, I got no idea," Zephyr assured him.

"Okay." Marsh put another empty bottle beside the collection he already had on the end table. "So you've got this cat named 3, right? Well, next year, instedda..."

"I was pulling yer leg, dude! I get it. Really, I... do."

"Oh." Marsh chuckled. "You bastard."

"Yah," Zephyr agreed. "Tha's me."

They both laughed and then they both sat there. The TV droned on and on with a string of obnoxious commercials, and eventually the news came on. And then Marsh said, "Hey, where's the bathroom again? I gotta piss like nobody's business."

For some reason Zephyr found that enormously funny (must have been because Marsh was saying it in his already deeply altered reality) and when he composed himself, he pointed around the corner. "Can't miss it. It's the only room with a toilet in it."

When Marsh returned, Zephyr thought of something else. "Hey, man, are you okay to drive?"

"Yeah... uh... prob'ly not," Marsh replied.

"Hmm." Zephyr thought for a moment, or at least tried his best. "Hey, you can crash in the den. It's the room to the left. I mean the right. I mean... yeah, the right."

Marsh nodded and very slowly turned around to look. "I don't have my... my... toothbrush," he mumbled.

Zephyr couldn't help him with that. He pulled himself upright slowly and shuffled into his own room while Marsh settled into the den. He thought briefly about helping Marsh open the sofabed, but he didn't have that kind of strength. Or balance. He just managed to get himself ready for bed, slipped his slippers off, and climbed in next to Reg. He looked over at Reg sleeping soundly, the beginnings of dark stubble shadowing the blissful expression on his face. He looks like an angel, Zephyr thought; looking at him, it'd be easy to forget all the crap that kept happening to them in the waking world. All the... oh, what the hell; he really should forget.

He draped an arm over Reg's torso, and just before he fell asleep, he became aware of something small and furry purring near his head.

Previous * Next * Archives * Home