“No, because I’d do the same thing”, Oliver said with complete confidence, knowing it was the truth. The pair both had their qualms for doing work for Grace, but they did it just the same because Grace was their friend. Now that he thought about it more, it didn’t feel so farfetched. There was always that friend that you couldn’t give up on, that took and took, but what they gave made it worth it. Being older only sweetened the deal for the elderly woman. If it were say, coming from a young slacker of a man they’d eventually falter and call him out on his shit. Grace though, the day might never come. She probably knew that too. He couldn’t help but smile at that, even chuckle a little before shaking his head and focusing on the dresser and Sam both.
“California to Annapolis, wow. And I thought I had a long move. I hail from Mayfield, Ohio”, he said proudly. “Population, oh about 3000. Yeah, it’s that tiny. I don’t think most would classify Annapolis as huge, but it is to me.” He wondered what it was like for her, coming from somewhere so different than he. Yet here they were now, both in the same city and helping their mutual friend. It sort of made the world feel a lot smaller, but bigger at the same time. Following Sam’s lead Oliver grabbed a few tools, accompanied by their rightful screws and listened to how she met Grace. He leaned down to pick up a large plank of wood, but stopped short, engrossed by her story.“Sounds like she’s a very good friend to you.” Oliver grinned, his heart strings positively pulled. “She really taught you how to embroider? Wonder if she’ll teach me too”, he teased, somewhat getting back to work. In the short time he knew Grace she’d been there for him as much as she possibly could, it made the favors that much more… worthwhile.
He made a mental note of Sam’s lack of cooking skills. Another one for his list. Silly as it may sound Oliver kept a small amount of people in his mind at all times that he could cook for. He accepted that fact that he couldn’t cook for only one, so there had to be more than a few lucky people that got to rake in from it. Perhaps he and Grace could collaborate on it too. He making the meal and she making the dessert. He never was much of a baker unless it was simple and out of a box. “What?” Oliver laughed, dropping the piece he held and smiling at Sam in disbelief. “So you see dead bodies?” he asked, actually curious on the matter. “You uhh don’t have to go into detail on that”, he added, to save himself. He stood and looked down at all the pieces, trying to make sense of them in his head. When an aerial view gave him nothing extra to deal with he leaned back down and brought two pieces together in question. “These look right together?” he asked, face scrunching in question towards the readhead.
“Wait why do you hate Ikea?” he interrupted himself as he finally addressed what she said, slightly letting the pieces falter. “It’s great, they have Swedish food in the cafeteria and you can lie on the couches and pretend you’re at home.” He chuckled at his childish Ikea experiences and brought the pieces together once more. “What does the instructions look like? These go together, yeah?”
Her fingers drummed along the side of her leg. When she hears how small the area he comes from is, she cannot help but to raise both brows. In her childhood she had lived in various small towns or bases. As much as she would like to say she enjoyed them, she never liked how everyone knew everyone or everything about everyone. It had always been a habit of hers to keep away, to lock herself away from others like a secret. And one thing was for sure, was that in small towns privacy was difficult. People were friendly, too. Though he was right about about Annapolis probably not being seen as small to some people - she saw it as small. And she began to notice how the people of this city had slowly began to chip away at the bubble she had become so accustomed to hiding behind.
The drumming of her fingers helped her keep the conversation going without over-thinking or saying the ‘wrong’ things. Since she had arrived to Grace’s and had me Oliver, she did not see him as a threat. And as she picked up a hammer to accompany the screwdriver in her pocket, she was fairly convinced that he could be a friend. “Was it one of those towns where everyone knew everything about everyone?” she chimed in, not being able to help herself to another question. To help quicken the task of building the dresser, Samantha picked up a few boards herself and placed them off to the side. “Yep -” she stated more enthusiastically than she probably should have given it was embroidery. “By the way she was looking at you earlier, I’m convinced she would do just about anything you asked. I rarely ever see her smile like that, y’know. She really appears to enjoy your presence.”
There was an awkward pause at Oliver’s reaction to her job. Her eyes watched as he dropped his piece, right before she continued on with the work she was doing. Placing a piece of wood near to a piece the instructions had labeled ‘A1’ next to piece ‘A1-2’, Samantha replied cheerily with, “I do, yeah. Someone has to do, and it’s a really great way to give back to the community,” she shrugged, “I like to think I help those who are unable to help themselves, by helping tell their stories.” Her attention was on the wooden planks on the ground and the many pieces which accompanied them. In thought, her lips quirked to the side, while she tried to decide whether she had payed attention to what the directions had said. She paused what she was doing to answer his question, “Looks like the directions…but…I think that piece,” she pointed to the one of the right, “isn’t the piece you’re looking for.”
Samantha laughed, placing a screw between the pieces she had been working with. Then she began to use the screwdriver to twist the screw in. Likely, the task would be easier with a drill - but since this was Grace’s tool-set there was none. But she did like looking for the pieces and placing them in the right spots. It was a lot more enjoyable than she assumed. “I don’t know. It’s one of those places for me. I love furniture, but the place and how they expect me to put the furniture together on my own, after paying an arm and a leg, really rubs me the wrong way,” she explained, laughing yet again. She nodded this time around, “That looks accurate, yes. What about what I have?” She gestured toward the little pieces she had placed together.
Life’s a bitch, and then you die.
I’m not saying this to sound like a pessimist, but everything does have a price; nothing’s free in the world we live in. One day everyone will be gone, and human beings will cease to exist. Some people are so distraught over the idea of the world going on without them, that they make up really stupid ‘End of Days’ dates and scare people into believing the Rapture, or whatever, is coming.
I’m not one of those people.
As you can see, I’m fairly contempt with the idea of dying. I’m not saying, I want to die today. Or hey, I’m suicidal - no. It’s more of a, “Hey. I know one day I’m not going to be here, and I’m okay with that,” issue.
When I was young, the idea frightened me – kept me up at all hours of the night, even: I’d lye in bed, violet blanket over my my eyes to protect me from the oogie boogies of the night, and I wondered how the world could ever go on without me in it. I thought of how my parents would grieve; I thought of the things people would say at my funeral; and eventually, I began to depress myself by thinking about the surprise of what would happen after I kicked the bucket.
I’d like to believe I’d go somewhere else, once I die - specifically somewhere nice. And I like the idea of dualism - how a soul is what’s keeping us here, that a soul is what makes us know wrong from right. I like the idea of a man up in the sky judging about all the good and wrong, as well.
But in the end - I don’t find death frightening. When it happens it happens. Death is life’s ultimate price.
I wear waterproof mascara. I don’t cry in public often, but during allergy season my eyes water.
My father gave me a silver scalpel for Christmas two years ago. It has my name engraved on it in cursive. I have it framed in the sitting room next to August’s perfect attendance awards. It’s special to me.
Sex is best done with someone who’s respectful. I think society makes a big deal out of sex, though. It shouldn’t be anyone’s business whether someone’s sexually active or not. Being sexually active does not make someone a bad person, either. Really, sex is great on occasion, but I-I could live without it…
I blush easily, since I am easily embarrassed. I hate it.
My parents look like they came out of a fifties ad for ‘family’ at first glance. But my mother and father are more like Mr. and Mrs. Addams than anything. I can honestly say they are two of the most friendly people anyone might ever meet. They’re accepting, loving, and very open minded. My mother is the type of woman who would give someone the shirt off their backs, if they asked. Papa’s a little serious looking at first glance, but he has the most amazing sense of humor and could have a room of people laughing for hours.
Growing up, my parents had high expectations when it came to grades and I was very sheltered. They thought after school activities would keep me away from drugs and alcohol, and signed me up with things to preoccupy my time. I was more into science camp than ballet camp, and I think they both got the hint when I started skipping ballet classes to read books on the human body.
All my feelings about this person in particular can be expressed in one lovely song.
…I’m kidding. My emotions towards this horrible human being, however, are very negative. I hope he gets hit by a bus. Or a toilet seat falls from the sky and lands on his head.
Sex with women is preferred, actually.