I load the last of the boxes into the moving truck and slam it shut. “That’s the last of 'em, Les!” I call up to my brother, sitting at the wheel.
“I’ll get going then, I’ll see you at the farm.”
Leslie drives off. Everyone says I look like a younger version of him, but I think that’s bullshit.
After a customary last look at the house, checking all the empty rooms for any forgotten objects, and one last look in the back garden, at the empty shed, and rotting fluffy corpses impaled on spikes, I get into my pickup truck and drive off.
“Wai daddeh an Wavendew am weavin?” Lavender asks. God, she’s asked that question dozens of times since I broke the news about the move. It’s annoying as hell, but I love her, so I don’t let it get to me.
Petting her through the carrier, I explain again why we have to move, hoping that she gets it this time.
Turns out my landlord was furious when he found out about the little display I had set up in the garden. He spent several hours screaming at me about deposits and property values and complaints from neighbors about the sounds and smell. He didn’t know why I did it, and didn’t bother to ask. He just told us we had a week to get the fuck out before he changed the locks. And that I could kiss the deposit goodbye. I’ve been pretty frazzled since then, having to call my brother, explaining the situation, asking if he could take us in until I found a new place, the two of us, my brother and I that is, packing everything ourselves. Lavender just watched and giggled while popping bubble wrap. Couldn’t help but smile at that.
We come to a stop at a red light next to the park, and while I’m waiting for it to turn green, I look over at the park.
I see Judy walking out, god I’m gonna miss looking at her, with her fluffy, Snowball, and some guy. Some filthy, stoner looking guy, I think I’ve seen him around, don’t know his name, he’s pushing a stroller with two more fluffies in one hand, and puffing on a joint, or is it a spliff, with the other. Some people just have no shame.
They’re passing the spliff back and forth as they go, talking to each other, and to their fluffies, and laughing without a care in the world. I’m good at picking up on subtext, and I can tell they’re both into each other. I didn’t even know Judy smoked weed. You think you know a woman!
I feel a sudden surge of hatred for the stoner fuck. He looks like ten years younger than her! They should both be dating people their own ages! I’ve been friends with Judy for years, she never once looked at me like that!
Then the light finally turns green, and I have to move on. That’s the last I see of them. Hope those two degenerates have a nice life together. Now that I know Judy smokes weed, my interest in her is waning, but I’m conflicted, because I still think she’s smoking hot, and I still hate that pothead for stealing her from me.
An hour later, we’re out of the city. Traffic was the worst.
I’ve taken Lavender out to Leslie’s farm a lot of times, often around one of her “episodes”. Not a lot of fluffies live out that way, so it’s the best place to weather them out. Hopefully, I won’t have to make any more examples out of fluffies.
You are Lavender, and you still don’t understand why you and your daddeh have to leave your wonderful housie.
Your daddeh said that it was because the meanie mistah who the housie really belongs to, who let you and your daddeh live there because daddeh gave him “muh-nees”, was really really mad because your daddeh did a really bad thing in the gawden. You’ve been playing in the gawden a lot, and you didn’t see anything. Maybe it was in the other gawden? You couldn’t find out, your daddeh stopped letting you play there for some reason.
Now you’re in the caw, on your way to your uncle Leslie’s fawm. You’ve been there a lot of times, you liked looking at the big white not-munstahs, they look like really big fluffies! One time, your uncle Leslie was taking away all of their fluff with a big buzzy thing and putting it in bags. You started crying, but then your uncle kindly explained that he was actually helping the big not-fluffies, keeping them from getting too warmsies, and he could even make things from the white fluff! Later, he gave you a blankie made from the fluff, but he had used hoomin magic to make it purple, like your fluff! You’re lying on it right now, in your cawwiew. It’s one of your most cherished possessions, because it reminds you of uncle, and you try your best not to get it dirty with poopies. You don’t get to see your uncle often, and you love him almost as much as you love your daddeh!
Now you’re going to go live on the fawm! That means you’ll get to see uncle Leslie every bright time! You secretly hope he doesn’t take your fluff away.
You look through the see-through thing. Trees are whizzing by, and you can catch glimpses of white not-fluffies, and the big hornie not-fluffies that hoomins get their milkies from, that are a lot of different colors.
There are hornie not-fluffies on the fawm, too. There’s lots of not-munstahs there you don’t see in the sitty. You remember watching your uncle tend to the hornie not-fluffies, too, squeezing the long milkie places, and catching the milkies in a bukkit.
You never really understood that. Silly hoomins, only babbehs need milkies! And why do they get milkies from the hornie not-fluffies, anyway? Can’t their mummahs give them milkies? You’ve seen mummah fluffies at the daycawe and the pawk, feeding their babbehs, making sure every babbeh gets enough milkies, because that’s what a gud mummah does. Sometimes you think fluffies have it a lot easier than the hoomins.
But your uncle Leslie can make all kinds of tasty nummies from milkies too, like big yellow round nummies, and thick milkie nummies, and greasy yellow block nummies. And ice cream! You know that nummie’s name by heart, because it’s your favorite, and you love, love, love the “bwack-cuwwant” ice cream nummies he makes! It’s so yummy, and it’s not black, it’s purple, like you!
As I drive on past the fields, I listen to Lavender, who is looking out the window and softly babbling to herself about sheep and blankets and my brother and cows and blackcurrant ice cream. It’s so cute when she doesn’t realise she’s thinking out loud! But I prefer Leslie’s chocolate chip cookie ice cream. I keep telling him he’s gotta patent that stuff.
I decide to interrupt, as we pass by a corpse of one of the few fluffies living out this way. Fortunately, Lavender is looking in the other direction, so she doesn’t notice. For a second, I think I see something black next to it. Eh, must have been a dog. Or the fucker’s special friend, sobbing over it, it looked fluffy-shaped. I think.
“Not long now, Lav.”
“We gun be at uncwe Weswie fawm soon?”
“That’s right, sweetheart.” I haven’t seen him on the road. Fucker probably got a head start. Oh, I bet all the lights turned green as he approached. Meanwhile, I get red light after red light after red light. I haven’t seen that many red lights since my last trip to Amsterdam. Great hookers, but I could do without all the weed.
About thirty minutes later, we finally arrive at the farm. The moving truck is parked and Leslie and his wife (she’s a strong woman, she has to be, she lives on a farm) are moving the last of the boxes from the truck. Leslie sees me and waves, a shit-eating grin on his face.
Fucker just knows how much trouble I had getting out of the city.
Lavender’s dozed off. Aww, lookit her.
I gently nudge her awake.
“Wavn’d’w tw’n t’ s’w’p.” she mumbles, still half-asleep.
“I know, but guess what?”
“W’t.”
“We’re here.”
That got her attention.