Just Keep Your Head Above

“What I’d like to know,” I muttered to myself, "is what I did in a past life to deserve this.”

I was standing in the back lounge of the store, dressed in my Ninja Turtle pajama bottoms and faded New Found Glory shirt, rifling savagely through the cabinets. It was six in the morning. And we were out of coffee. The prospects for the day were looking ominous.

“I could’ve sworn there was enough coffee to last till Thursday,” I mumbled to the empty room, “where did it all go, dammit?”

A low, muffled groan from the adjoining room broke through the silence. I stiffened. I hadn’t expected anyone to be here. The staff meeting didn’t start until nine, and I usually had the place all to myself until about 8:30. I padded over to the next room, expecting to see our manager, Mac, sprawled out on the floor. It was not uncommon to come downstairs at three in the morning and find him sitting at a desk, working on a last minute presentation, or looking through the store’s financial papers. It happened so often, in fact, that Linda, the store’s owner, had bought a couch with a pull out bed and put it in one of the practice rooms in case he wanted to stay the night.

But when I craned my neck around the door frame of the adjacent room, it was not Mac that I saw. In fact, it wasn’t an employee at all.

A boy I had never seen before was draped across the couch. He was buried face-first in a mound of pillows, and drool was slowly sliding down his bottom lip and into a quickly forming puddle on the couch. He had messy blond hair, an angular face, and a slim, muscular body. He was so tall that his feet hung off one of the arms of the couch, his tan skin blending perfectly with its beige leather.

...Oh, and did I forget to mention he was naked?

I carefully considered the best way to handle the current situation. I wanted to wake him, but I wasn't sure how. Any kind of touching would be, at best, highly inappropriate, and at worst, a form of sexual harassment. I scanned the room quickly, looking for something to poke him with. A cane, a guitar, anything. The room was empty. Then again, I thought, poking him might be construed as a provocation, and I don’t know if this guy has anger issues or not. I backed out of the room quietly, careful not to trip over anything.

As I crossed over the threshold, I looked down the hallway and through the clear front door where I saw a figure approaching. It was Gaskarth, hobbling across the street, cheeks tinged pink, a guilty looked imprinted across his face. His pants, the reason he was hobbling, were around his knees. He was attempting to maintain any dignity he had left by pulling them up, as he checked the street for any witnesses that might have caught his obvious walk of shame.

I couldn’t say I was surprised. Alex was notorious for being a party-boy, getting wasted and fucking anything with tits and a pulse. His elaborate, morning-after escapes were infamous. Usually, the girls he slept with were naïve enough to think that he actually cared for them. He had his way with anyone he wanted, and then ran away, leaving a trail of victims in his wake. He was the town heart-breaker, and this was just another one of his scandalous exits.

When he came through the door, he was panting, but blissfully unaware of my presence. I cleared my throat. His head shot up, and for the first time ever, I saw him blush. He opened his mouth to say something, but I silenced him with a finger to my lips. He titled his head, eyes laced with confusion. Ushering him forward, I pointed to the room where Naked Boy was snoring peacefully.

“Goddamn, you sure do move on fast.” He whispered, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“He’s not mine.” I hissed back. “He just showed up. He was here when I got downstairs.”

“Suuuuureeee.”

“Unlike you,” I said pointedly, “I’m not sleazy enough to sleep with the first member of the opposite sex that walks by me.”

A brief, inexplicable emotion flashed across his face, but soon it was gone, replaced by his usual perpetually bemused expression. “Well we have to find out who he is. So wake him up.”

“How?”

“I dunno, poke him with something. Do we have a cattle prod? Or maybe pour a bucket of water on his head.”

“We can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“It’d be rude.”

“He broke into private property, naked. Then he drooled on Mac’s couch. And he devirginized your eyes. I’m pretty sure we’re not the rude ones in this situation.”

“Okay one, fuck you. You and I both know I’ve seen plenty of naked people.” No. I was not a whore. But being the only teen in town that didn’t consume alcohol, I had been appointed Designated Driver for Life. I had attended hundreds of parties, and more likely than not, by the end of the night, someone was running around in their birthday suit. “And two, what if he turns out to be a serial killer, and we’re found hours later, bodies mutilated beyond recognition?”

“Colorful imagination.”

“Seriously, Alex. We know nothing about this guy. He could be dangerous.”

“You worry way too much. Look at him. Does he look like a homicidal maniac? No.”

“I’m sorry, but since when were you able to identify a person’s homicidal tendencies solely based on appearance?”

He didn’t bother responding. Instead, he turned towards the slumbering stranger, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Hey!”

Naked Boy woke with a start, screamed, and grabbed his head, before rolling off the edge of the couch and tumbling to the floor gracelessly. He sat there for a few minutes, a grimace painted on his face, cringing at some unseen pain.

He was still holding his head, curled in fetal position, when I stepped forward timidly. “Uhm, I don’t mean to be insensitive, since you’re clearly currently experiencing a lot of pain, but do you mind telling me who you are and how you got in here?”

“Don’t—talk—so—loud,” he wheezed, voice raspy.

“Hungover?” Alex asked empathetically.

“You—have—no—idea.” he managed to gasp.

“I’ll run down to Rita’s and grab some coffee and pancakes. Gaskarth, you get him some aspirin and water to hold him over.”

Sure, I felt bad for the guy, and I was used to playing hangover nurse, but I wasn’t just being charitable. The fact that the guy was naked, and hadn’t even attempted to cover himself in the full five minutes he had been conscious freaked me out a little. The room was beginning to feel a little too small, and I needed a way out.

&&&&&&&&&

When I opened the door to Rita’s Diner, I was immediately greeted by its usual busy chatter and warm, just-baked-brownies smell. Even though it was only 6:30, the place was swarming with life. People were conversing loudly with their neighbors, kids were weaving in and out of tables, sweaty joggers were talking animatedly about the great weather, businessmen with jackets slung over the backs of their chairs were laughing loudly, and the town’s old ladies were congregating around Tillie Hasworth, digging for the latest juicy gossip. And in the middle of the hustle and bustle stood Rita, waiting tables, delivering food, chatting amicably with customers. She sent me a warm smile as I took a seat over at an empty stool at the counter.

Maybe it was the warm atmosphere, or the sleep-inducing smell of pancakes, or the way all the conversations going on around me had begun to overlap one another until they became one, low, monotonous hum, but either way, my lids were beginning to feel really, really heavy. I set my head down on the wooden counter and closed my eyes.

I didn’t wake until I heard someone sliding something towards me. I lifted my head to see a smiling Rita, and a steaming vat of coffee in front of me. “Bless you,” I murmured, lifting the cup to my lips as she chuckled, her soft green eyes dancing beneath her blonde fringe.

“Early morning?” She inquired, eyeing me as I inhaled the caffeinated drink.

“You have no idea.” I managed to reply between gulps.

“It’s probably nothing some pie wouldn’t fix.”

“Actually, now that you mention it, can I have four slices of apple pie and three orders of pancakes with extra bacon, to go?” I asked, thinking of our hungover friend back at the store.

She looked at me skeptically, but didn’t say anything as she got the styrofoam boxes out and complied with my request.

&&&&&&&&&

When I walked back into the practice room, Naked Boy was still sans habille. When I had left, he looked like someone had dropped an anvil on his head. Now, he just looked dazed and confused. And even though I’d been gone for over fifteen minutes, he still wasn’t clothed. I was beginning to think he was a nudist cult escapee. He must have noticed my stare, because he turned to look at me, his eyes flashing.

“Don’t look at me.” He said dejectedly. “This is too mortifying.”

Before I had the chance to reply, Alex came up the stairs, holding a pair of hot pink shorts with the words, “Hot Stuff” printed across the back and a highlighter yellow v-neck.

“Interesting fashion choices,” I noted.

“These were the only things I could find in the lost and found!”

“You’d have to be stark raving mad to leave something as attractive as this behind.” I deadpanned, grabbing the unsightly tee.

Naked Boy looked at the clothes skeptically, as if weighing which option was less embarrassing, his nude figure or the ridiculous clothing. Fortunately, he decided to take the clothes, and with a long sigh, he picked up the ludicrous outfit and went into the next room, presumably to clothe himself.

When he left, Gaskarth and I settled into an uncomfortable silence. We were rarely ever alone in a room together, and rarely ever not arguing. I was confused on how to act. He hadn’t said anything to upset me all morning, and I didn't know how to talk to him like he was a human being.

After what seemed like years, he broke through the quiet as he finally noted my attire.

“You know, I always saw you as more of a footie pajamas kinda girl.”