1,372Chapter Two: Unusually Unusual
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After that magic trick he pulled, Karen wouldn't leave poor Shasta alone. Or at least she wouldn't leave me alone by talking nonstop about our blonde buddy. From the minute she was making pancakes to the second she came back from school, it was Shasta this and Shasta that. I wanted to strangle her. But then I would die of starvation.
I was having mixed feelings about our neighbor. That weird spurts of attraction confused me to no end, so I blamed it on raging hormones. Karen called it "pre-mid-life crisis". I was far from mid-life. At least I hope I was. But the fact of the matter was, he was bizarre. Really odd, but in that strange way, he was likeable. I once heard a song called "Unusually Unusual", which was about a girl and how weird she was basically.
"She said, 'Hello, my name is Amy/ but call me Caroline for short/ I just moved in three doors down/ so I wouldn't be the girl next door.'/ And I knew the shoes/ she wasn't wearing/ fit her just right/ and she said, 'hey man,/ did you know/ that somebody left the grass out/ in the yard all night?' "
Good song, but it was basically the theme for Shasta.
He invited me over for a miniature 'house-warming' party. Basically just the two of us doing nothing in his living room. Or so I thought it would be.
I emerged from my apartment, long-sleeve shirt under a tee and a striped angora scarf around my neck. It was chilly, and I was trying to conserve energy. I liked being bundled up in a cold room anyway. I was very eager to see Shasta's apartment with all the furnishings, having seen what junk he had in his boxes.
I knocked on the door, out of politeness, and I heard him yell "come in!" from deep inside. Cautiously, I opened the door and stepped into the contrastingly dim room. There was only one lamp, which was covered with some sort of scarlet shawl to dim it. The overhead lights that came with the place were missing bulbs; I spotted the said missing bulbs on top of a trash can in the corner of the room. The dimness only added to the creepy room of his.
There was a dark colors theme going around, especially dark brown and crimson, black shawls and throw blankets, weird Japanese writing on thin strips of paper framed in bamboo hung on walls with hanging dried herbs glued onto tea-stained parchment nailed to the walls, red leather beanbags lumped causually around a low Japanese tea table that had abalone cherry blossom flowers emblazoned on the edges and legs, a short, plushy black sofa near a rabbit-ear television, sweet smelling incense smoke coming through the mouth of a skull with ruby eyes, tiki figurines dancing around a skinny Buddha statue, fairy windchimes hanging from tacks on the ceiling, gold-flaked black stools against a counter covered with a bamboo cutting board littered with colored spices in little piles, labelled mason jars of herbs and seeds lined the kitchen wall, tall vials of oils with lemon slices and dried tomatoes floating inside, old-fashioned black iron skillets and pots, a said pot sitting over the flame on the stove, and a plethora of other things that made you blink and want to touch to see what the hell it was.
The oddest piece of furniture was that damn vanity pushed almost carelessly into the corner of the room, as if to keep it from immediate sight. The oval mirror was covered with a sheen black sheet that showed a silvery reflection underneath. I felt the urge to rip that sheet off but my action was denied when Shasta emerged from the back of the apartment, carrying a wooden tray that he placed on the low table after kneeling gracefully next to it. Go figure, him and gracefully in the same sentence!
"Do you like tea?" he asked quietly, picking up the stainless steel teapot on the tray and pouring himself a cup.
"Uh...depends what kind..." I answer lamely, plopping myself on the floor next to the table.
"This is a blend my Nah-Nah made for me. Huckleberry with vanilla bean," Shasta finished pouring himself some, raising an eyebrow at me from behind his sunglasses. Today, he was wearing a black O.C. Chopper tank top and beaten up Levis. Apparently, he didn't own any shoes except flip-flops and a thrashed pair of sneakers. He graced me with being barefoot on his rug-covered floor. He had to have hated the carpet that was there before, because the entire area of his living room and as far as I could see down the hall was covered with rugs that were either multicolored scraps of cloth weaved together or intricate Hindu god carpets with elephants and blue women with four arms. Or was it six?
"Sounds fine to me...what's a Nah-Nah?" I asked, taking a steaming gold-rimmed teacup from him.
"Oh, it's my grandma's nickname. She always made her own tea, and she'd also make a special tea for all of her relatives. My mother's was an apple and orange chamomile mix."
I nodded, taking a sip of the tea, "Holy-! This is good!"
"Glad you like it," he said with a crooked smile, drinking as if it were a shot of tequila and not tea.
"So...what's with all the...stuff?" I vaguely motioned to the crap he had everywhere. Shasta's eyebrows raised and he looked around.
"What?"
"Like...you have wind chimes."
"Point being?"
"Inside. There is a reason why they are called wind chimes."
He shrugs nonchalantly, disregarding my question entirely.
"And what are those things?" I pointed to the weird strips of paper with Japanese writing.
"O-fuda."
"O-what?"
"O-fuda," he repeated, "They are basically charms that ward off evil spirits. My uncle Cyrus brought them to me from Kyoto."
I looked around again, his shaded eyes following my face wherever it turned. I felt a bit paranoid about his staring, but he eventually shrugged to himself, mumbled " 'scuse me" and went into the kitchen. I followed, curiously; I left my tea on the table. He went to the gas stove and opened the lid to a large cast-iron pot sitting over it. He quickly put it back when he heard my shoes on the linoleum floor, looking behind him quickly.
"It isn't done, I'll be right back, m'kay?" he said hurriedly before dashing to the side into the hall. I saw a flash of blonde and blue hair and he disappeared into a room.
I looked around at the kitchen, which was just as cluttered and strange as everywhere else. Maybe this was artistic clutter, or whatever it was. The kind that artists had so that they could be imaginative and all that. Something I certainly didn't need.
Which reminded me what I wanted to ask Shasta. What did he do for a living?
I froze.
The clatter of the iron pot's lid echoed in the small apartment. I stared with eyes the size of saucers at the pot.
Because something had been staring at me.
Shasta came in as hurriedly as he left, breathing a bit heavily, armful of labelled jars and a bag of bread.
"Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?" he asked me, tilting his head a bit. My ajar mouth opened and closed like a fish before I just stared at him and pointed at the pot.
"What?" he looked at the pot and back at me.
"S-something...looked at me...in the pot..." I managed to say, handing shaking at the pot. Shasta's eyebrows shot up and he got a "oh shit!" look, depositing everything in his arms onto the counter and scrambling to the pot. He blocked my view as he did something to the pot. He looked over his shoulder with an apologetic smile.
"I'm a rreeeaallllyyyy bad cook?" he offered, adding a dry chuckle and smacking the top of the pot with a wooden spoon rather roughly and mumbling something grumpily under his breath.
"No one is bad enough to cook something while its still alive," I emphasize, stepping closer. He got another embarrassed look and took off the pot lid. He reached into the steam billowing forth and pulled out something red and moving, with claws and beady eyes, pointy legs moving about and issuing a hissing sound that made my ears hurt.
A lobster.
I blinked.
"I didn't know you were suppose to put it in after you boil water, I kind of just put him in with coldwater and left it on the stove..." he blushed, biting his lip. The lobster attempted to snap at his fingers, wiggling madly in his hand.
"Let me get rid of this guy," Shasta excused himself, running into the room he disappeared into before. I just stood there and blinked stupidly at the pot. I went up to it and looked into the deep recesses. It was steaming water, though not boiling. Reaching up, I grasped the little handle on the cast iron lid and lifted it off the counter. Damn, that thing was heavy! I had a hard enough time using both hands to hold it up!
Now, I know I'm a lot stronger than any crustacean, so I wondered how that two pound lobster could lift this thing. Without thumbs. I dropped it with a clatter back onto the counter, making a loud noise that certainly would have gotten Shasta's attention. The man came out of that room, mumbling to himself again, looking at me with raised eyebrows and at my position next to the stove.
"You okay?" he asked, coming up to me and putting a hand on my shoulder. "You look a little pale."
Suddenly, I couldn't think. Hand. On. Shoulder. His. Hand. My. Shoulder. My eyes flicked to it, examining its define tendons and lush tan skin that crept under several power bead bracelets that wrapped around his wrist. I followed the forearm to the elbow, elbow to his own shoulder, all the way along the long tempting line of his neck, the soft and delicate curve of his cheek that led me to a pair of sunglasses that were reflective and tinted so I only saw the outline of his beautiful eyes, fringed with thick eyelashes and two arched eyebrows that furrowed in worry at me. My eyes dropped a bit to his full lips which glistened deliciously with mint chapstick.
"But now you are a little flushed."
That brought me back to reality like a kick in the...well, it brought me back.
"It's the steam," I explained, motioning weakly to the pot. Shasta raised an eyebrow, flicking his eyes between me and the pot.
"Oh-kay, no more kitchen fumes for you," he said patting me on the head, turning me around and ushering me out of the kitchen. His hands were at my back, and I wasn't getting that funky feeling.
Maybe it was very select. Or just spontaneous.
I just wish I knew what it was!
"...Dawn?" my neighbor was snapping his fingers in front of my face, trying to get my greatly undivided attention.
"Huh? Um, what?"
"I asked if you just wanted to eat out. Seeing as my crab-"
"Lobster."
"Right, lobster, right...well, that didn't go as planned, so how about Chinese?"
o-o-o-o-o
"I thought you said Chinese."
"It was some sort of -ese food," Shasta said dismissively, waving his hand in the air and making his power beads clink.
"Thai-ese?"
"Ooohh-kay, you win. Eat your couscous before I do."
We sat in comfy beanbags, eating out of greasy paper take-out boxes from Thai Palace up the street. Shasta ate ravenously, opposite to my pickings here and there. I shielded my couscous from his eating utensils, giving him a dirty glare. He broke into a lopsided grin, stuffing his mouth with more of whatever he ordered. I couldn't pronounce half the stuff on the menu.
"Speaking of eating, what did you do with that lobster?" I asked. He stopped with a fork halfway to his open mouth, looking down at it before drawling out an "uuhhhhhhh".
"Don't tell me you forgot," I said, dropping my fork and knitting my brow.
"I flushed him down the toilet," he said quickly, shoveling more food into his mouth.
"You flushed a lobster down the toilet."
"Yes?"
"Why would you flush a lobster down a toilet?"
"I did that with my dead goldfish and, well, they're both from the ocean, right?"
"Uh, Shasta, lobsters are a lot bigger than goldfish."
"You never saw my goldfish."
"And the lobster was still alive."
"Well, I didn't want to kill him after him survived his jacuzzi party! That's messin' with fate!"
"You flushed it down the toilet! Its fate ain't clogging your plumbing neither!"
Shasta was turning pink at the cheekbones, darting his eyes around and chewing his lip. He then continued stuffing Thai food into his mouth to keep himself from saying anything. I just narrowed my eyes and ate my couscous.
After the lobster conversation and a funky silence, we started to talk of random stuff ranging from our family to Willy Wonka's Everlasting Gobstoppers. Seriously.
("They are so not everlasting, I could go through an entire box in one day!"
"Me too, but I like Nerds better."
"..."
"The candy, Shasta, the candy.")
"Must be cool to have your sister living with you," he mumbled, taking a swig of a cold beer he got out of his fridge. Funny, but I didn't peg him as a casual beer drinker. "Especially since she's a good cook."
"Not really, I can't walk around in my underwear anymore," I said with a shrug.
"Why not?" he blew into his half-filled beer bottle to make a hollow foghorn sound to amuse himself.
"'Cause I don't want to scar her for life?" I offered, blinking.
"Never stopped my sister from parading topless around the house whenever she wanted," he said with a shrug. "Didn't scar me all too much."
"Your sister walked around topless?" I gawked, taking a swig of my own beer. He nodded, fiddling with the elastic band of a hemanite power bead bracelet.
"She was somewhat of a feminist, declaring that men are pigs, which is why women can't walk around without shirts. Sure, men can do it. Fat men with bigger, hairier breasts can do it, so why can't she?" he waved his hands in the air in relevant motions. He liked to talk with his hands.
"Sounds...logical," I grimaced. As far as I was concerned, everyone except chiseled men should have upper-body wear.
"She's not as bad as my aunt Trey-May. She's a nudist."
"Bad mental image. What kind of a name's Trey-May?"
"At least you don't know what she looks like. And it's two names stuck together."
"Thank God I'm not related to your family."
"Lucky," mumbled Shasta, tapping his beer bottle with an index finger. He took another swig and set it down on a coaster.
"I'll be right back, just need to get something sweet. Thai food was a little too spicy for me."
He trudged into the kitchen and I lazily looked around, eyes falling on his beer bottle. My eyebrows furrowed as I stared at the brown glass and its amber contents.
Which seemed to magically refill itself.
I blinked, picking it up and peering down into it. Yep, it was almost full. I could have sworn-
"If you want another one, just grab it outta the fridge."
I looked up to see my neighbor with two plates of chocolate cake slices with an amused expression on his face. I shook my head and mumbled, "One's my limit."
He tilted his head, blonde-blue bangs falling over his sunglasses before he shrugged to himself and set down the cake in front of me with a fork and a napkin. I picked up the fork and severed the tip off the cake. Scooping it up, I brought it to my mouth.
I must have made a really odd sound because Shasta paused with his mouth open and fork poised, staring at me. I quickly took another bite of cake to confirm the previous action was in fact from me.
I do not lie, this chocolate cake was damn near orgasmic.
"Uhh...Dawn? You're making weird noises..." he said with a chuckle, eyebrows knitting and that crooked smile showing.
"This cake...is...delicious," I managed between bites. Shasta was still looking at me funny, chewing his own bite as if he wasn't seeing fucking stars and hearts flying around his head while getting a floating sensation.
"That's its purpose, Dawn," he said, taking another bite.
"No, no, no. You don't get it," I say, stopping long enough to explain, "This could substitute ambrosia. No, it would!"
Shasta chuckled, shaking his head and licking the frosting from the corner of his mouth.
Click, there goes that damn annoying switch that makes him seem so irresistible. Which was really bad, because that with this orgasmic cake was doing nothing for my immediate health. Or mind, definitely not anything good for my mind. Shasta tilted his head again and asked slowly, "Are you oh-kay?"
What is with that oh-kay? He doesn't say it normal, must be that really irreplaceable, hot accent of his. I wondered where he came from, what ethnicity he was, did he wear boxers or briefs, was he from a small or large family...
Switch turned off, back to wondering where the hell that came from.
"Yeah...yeah...you didn't put anything illegal in here did you?" I stuffed my mouth with chocolate cake before I could say anything else. Another bad idea. A delightful shiver went down my spine. Shasta just shook his head and picked up his empty plate and downed the beer while walking to the sink. I finished off my cake in a blurred ecstasy rush and when he came back, I held up my plate and said in an almost childish voice, "More please?"
The unusual neighbor of mine raised his eyebrow and snorted, trying to stifle a laugh.
"Pretty please?"
"Nope, sorry, those were the last bit."
I probably had the most crestfallen look because he frowned apologetically and put his hands on his knees to come to my eye level and said sweetly, "When I make some more, I'll bring you a whole cake over. Oh-kay?"
The ecstasy must have worn off because I raised an eyebrow cynically and asked, "You made this?"
He nodded, uncertain where this was going.
"You said you were a rreeeaallllyyyy bad cook."
Shasta frowned again, I hated when he did that, and said with a short chuckle, "But I'm a good pastry chef."
As I stared at him quizzically, there was a crash in that room he kept going into and he straightened abruptly, starting to dash to it. I got up to follow but I was roughly pushed back onto the beanbag, "Stay here, I got it!"
I blinked about six times, watching him scamper into the room, hearing another crash and string of curses from him. He must have tripped over something. Then I heard something reply. I blinked a few more times. It didn't sound particularly human, more like a weird growling sound. Shasta's voice became a low mumble, occasionally rising sharply in anger. After something that sounded like a box being beaten up, Shasta appeared out of the doorway, shoulders hunched tiredly, slamming it closed and blowing a lock of blue corn (wasn't it supposed to be 'corn blue'?) hair from his face. He was looked frustrated, growling about something to himself.
"It's late, you should go home."
"But-"
"Dawn, it's one in the morning. Your sister might be worried sick."
"I'm five feet from a wall we share. She isn't that worried."
"Oh-kay, then I'm really tired and want to go to bed. Good night, then?" he said almost pleadingly. I sighed, licking my lips of chocolate and standing up. He escorted me to the door, a whole ten feet, and let me out. The door was closed quickly behind me and locked. I was a bit offended, but I shrugged it off and went to my apartment. I fiddled with the keys and opened the door, flicking on the light switch.
Karen had dragged my la-z-boy from in front of the TV to the left wall. And there she was perched on it, sleeping, a glass clasped in her hand and a bowl of half-eaten popcorn. She'd been eavesdropping, obviously, and fell asleep. I smiled, shaking my head and dropping my jacket in the corner before carefully removing the glass and bowl of popcorn out of her grasp. Setting those on the table, I picked her up and carried her to her room.
Her room used to be my studio, where I did painting and drawing and such, she had a comfy futon in the corner with her favorite quilt and a down pillow punched into a shape she liked. I settled her down, brushing her hair out of her face before she turned and made a cute sighing sound. I smiled, she had been a big help this past month. She managed to get me to smile more and laugh easier. Karen was truly one of those little sisters that were angels.
Even though she seemed to be the spawn of something a bit more south when it came to my love life.
Meddling kids...
o-o-o-o-o
A/N: I can't type 'toilet'. I kept typing 'toliet'. Tolly-ette. That it my new slang. And I can't help but thinking Shasta says it that way with his accent. Have fun with that accent, by the way. I keep picturing him saying "yes" like how Cheese from Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, 'yessss-ah'.
He's so cute.
Tate Soyker: Humor shall be rampant. Shasta's based off of a 'friend' named Larry, who definitly has a weird sense of humor.
Cherise: Assume away. As for his eyes...well, stay tuned.
Sh'arra Rie: Sankyuu for reviewing!
Lucifer's Sonata: I guarantee you'll love the cat.
MooseDeEvita: I've been getting into cool ending lines. You read NAWTS, and that lately has been having good ending lines.
Esquirella: I'm in the midst of reading your 40-chapter story. So far, I'm loving it and will go back and review. I printed the first ten to read while doing other things...i.e., listening to lectures on African art. And you got your wish! More!