This is a continuation of Just A Tickle (Ace)
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The red Radio Flyer wagon rattled down the sidewalk on their usual path to the library, Bossy singing songs to her giraffe as her owner navigated the path. Sidewalk was mostly fine to walk on for him. Hazards mostly presented themselves as the omni-present broken glass which seemed to litter the ground everywhere, though on occasion he had to get on the street to avoid something. Someone had crushed a sedan into a light fixture, the driver’s side door still open to show a long trail of desiccated blood leading off from the accident. This had to be wound around, Bossy giving a ‘wheee!’ as the elevation changed slightly and she went thumping down to street level.
Another thing they had to veer onto the street for was a giant, slightly charred ice cream cone which had fallen onto the sidewalk and sprayed pink colored glass every which way. The ice cream parlor had been one of the buildings in the path of the same fire which had destroyed his apartment, most of the building now a twisted mass of blackened shapes. Willie could still make out the basic layout of the place though unless you’d been there before it’d be difficult to discern what it had once been, barring the ice cream cone decoration which had been spared the fire but not gravity.
“Ice cweamies!” Bossy suddenly chirruped from her position in the wagon. They’d been by this place plenty enough as the library was a frequent trip, but this was the first time she’d acknowledged the place.
Giving her a nod, Willie had to carefully navigate the wagon between two cars which had been left in the middle of the street. “What’s your favorite flavor, fluffo?”
The answer was immediate: “Wocky woad! It am same cowow Bozzy am!” That was true. Brown and white. It gave him a small chuckle.
“Mine too. What I wouldn’t give for a big ‘ol bowl of some. Or a malt.” A summer without ice cream. That was just plain unAmerican, weren’t it? He’d taken more than a few lunches down here at the ice cream parlor when he didn’t much feel like a burger and a beer down at Hep’s tavern. Of course, that’d been burnt down too.
Further they went, the less destruction there was. Relatively speaking. The center of main st was where most chaos had gone down. Out from the courthouse where the riot over the imposed lockdowns, curfews, and travel bans was where it had all unfurled out like an ugly blossom. Out toward the library there wasn’t much in the way to loot. A small office, an insurance agency, and of course the police station.
“Poweece!” Exclaimed Bossy happily at seeing one of the familiar cruisers out in the parking lot. Before it’d all gone down she’d likely seen law enforcement as her friend. Young children often did and fluffies weren’t all too dissimilar. Firemen, policemen, members of the military. Beacons of good. Willie was glad that she didn’t know what they had turned to. He’d personally seen Sheriff Walton torch the local Fluffmart, had walked away feeling particularly disturbed. Not like he could blame the man. People were dying. Everyone was. Fluffies were the reason why but that didn’t make hearing those shrill screams any easier.
Right next door was their destination: The library. Scooping Bossy out from her wagon, he’d set her down on the sidewalk out front and let the transport sit out there.
“C’mon, and mind your manners.” He told her, shoving one of the heavy glass doors open. Skittering inside, Bossy went right for the children’s corner. Bright and colorful with tons of picture books for her to peruse or coloring pages to messily scribble in with crayons. More than a few toys too including a rainbow tiled xylophone which the fluffy was already noisily striking with a tiny mallet.
This place was an almost reverent one for Willie. It hadn’t much changed since he was a kid and though he hadn’t been much for education, it still held an almost temple-like quality for him. Hot as a barn in here, old book pages heavy in the air like a musty old perfume. He’d found many back issues of hot rod magazines down in the basement which is how he’d usually spend his time here, though there was something he’d always do first.
Out on the reception desk he’d set up a battery powered radio which had been used for books on tape at one point. Switching it on, his thumb and pointer finger carefully eased the tuning knob just a bit at a time. Mostly loud static. Sometimes, nothing but empty silence. As if someone had been broadcasting and had left their studio (and mic) unattended. For awhile there’d been a few stations left playing music. Later he’d surmised it must have been those stations that were basically run by robots.
Nothing. Glancing over to the children’s nook he found that Bossy was now running face-first into one of the beanbag chairs. She’d get a distance back, stamp her hooves, then go screeching into a gallop which ended up as a pounce onto the chair.
Satisfied that it would be nothing much more than static on the radio as it always was, he turned it off. Walked over just in time to watch Bossy go slapping into a beanbag with a ‘fwump’ and spats of giggles.
“What in the world are yon up to?” He asked in an incredulous tone, hooking both thumbs up against his belt loops. Bossy was getting into position for another charge.
“Ams nyu gamesie!” The mare told him as if he should know exactly whatever was going through her brain at any given point.
Watching as she wound up and went smacking face first into the beanbag, he gave a grin. “Can I try?” He’d ask, making Bossy look up with wide eyes. Willie wanted to try HER game? It was such a big honor since she’d made it up.
Positioning herself at his side, she showed him what to do. “Otay, nee’ make sowwy hoofsies hewe.” Stamping her hooves against the carpeted floor, she waited for him to repeat her action. He did, stomping his boots and creating a ruckus that seemed obscene in a library.
“Naow make fastest wunnies!” Unlike her, there wasn’t much of a distance for him to run. The gap between him and the beanbag would be bridged pretty much instantly. Feeling like a complete jackass, he’d still take a bounding two steps forward and sent himself launching right into the beanbag, face smacking down and mushing down against the material.
Bossy was immediately right on top of his back, jumping up and down on him. “Yay! Daddeh Wiwwie yew am bestest!” Hop hop hop. It’s not like she weighed much or hurt but he’d just moved his old man body in ways he hadn’t in years. Palms shoving down uneasily on the floor, he groaned and shifted himself up. Caught the fluffy before she could roll off his back.
“Aint much of a game.” He’d admit to the fluffy, thinking disappointment would cross her features. Instead she stuck her tongue out at him as if to refute his words, blowing a raspberry until she got set back on the floor.
While she resumed her ‘game’, he turned to look at something he’d seen many times since being here in the children’s nook yet hadn’t much paid attention to. There was an activity board with little cut-outs of starfish and other fun aquatic life pinned to it. Right, the library always had a summer program for the kiddos. The one this year had been evidently ocean themed.
There wasn’t much of a reason to but his eyes lazily scanned by the hand-drawn cards on the board. Either plans for the summer or activities already transpired, he guessed. Eyes resting on one card in particular, he felt a lump form in his throat.
A childish stick figure of a human, the only designation of their gender being a triangle meant to represent a skirt. Not much care or love given to the part, though there was for the fluffy beside it. Big and oval, stumpy legs sticking out it’s body with the hooves receiving particular (albeit clumsy) attention. The fluffy was colored in brown, it’s mane and tail almost impossible to see though canting his head, he was able to catch it. Eggshell white that just blended into the card. Both were beside a scribbled in blue square with a black ladder poking out of it.
‘Kaylee’ it happened to be signed in blocky print. Now Bossy had never said her owner’s name and he hadn’t ventured into the house upon rescuing the fluffy, having simply pulled her out through the window and leaving the place. Yet…he knew this had to be from her owner. It was a small town and brown fluffies hadn’t particularly been well beloved by people. Jesus. She was young and, and. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes.
“Hey Bossy.” He began, clearing his throat. “Wanna go swimmin’?”
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It turned out that she did in fact want to go swimming. Though in typical fashion for the fluffy, it wouldn’t be as simple as just going there. Oh no.
“Bozzy nee’ baffin suit ‘fo swimmies.” She kept babbling out at him as the wagon trundled it’s way down the sidewalk. So far he hadn’t entertained the idea. Finally, he looked right down at her.
“Yon don’t need no stinkin’ bathing suit! Are you wearin’ britches now?” He asked her, which earned a head shake of course.
Still, she persisted. “Nee’ baffin suit ‘fo swimmies!” Piped up the mare for what had to be the hundreth time.
“No.” Willie gave the curt response, grumbling a bit.
“Yis.” Shot back his fluffy immediately.
“No.”
“Yis.”
“NO!”
“YIS!”
“N…” Before he could get it out completely, she started going fucking nuts in the wagon. Jumping up and down. Thumping her hooves against the metal sides. Screeching.
“YISYISYISYISYISYISYISYIS!” He’d become quite accustomed to how she could be bratty at times. That name of hers was well earned, come to figure. Finally he relented with a roar:
“HOLY JUMPIN’ JESUS, FINE!”
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All of that had led them to a detour to the dollar store. This place had been ransacked though largely for the usual suspects: Food items, tobacco, booze. Usual junk which filled up any of the stores across the country lay mostly undisturbed.
Did they even make fluffy swimsuits? At first he was sure that, no, they didn’t. Why would something that didn’t even wear clothing in the first place need a swimsuit?
Yet as he found in one of the small aisles associated with fluffy care he would come to see that they did, in fact, make swimsuits for fluffies. Whatever.
“Go on and pick one then, brat.” He told Bossy as she stamped around the aisle, nosing in on the ‘summer fun’ items. Snagging up a Cinnamummah branded swimsuit, she stood there patiently until he took it. Just a single piece of material, cheap and flimsy. Picking her up, he attempted to wrangle it onto her. Despite the fact that SHE had been the one to beg and whine over needing it, she flailed and flopped around. Giggled. Kicked her back hooves around.
Growling, he fit one of her legs through a hole. “Hol’ still, damn it! This was your idea!”
This just made her squirm around more. “Am tu squiwmies ‘fo baffin suit!” She giggled. Too squirmy? He was about to just take her to the pool, begged for suit or not, but regained some patience and finally squeezed her into it. She looked ridiculous. Kind of like a meatball. Hell, Cinnamummah looked like a meatball too.
“There.” Was all he said, standing up with a groan as his knees popped in protest. Were they done yet? No. Don’t be ridiculous. Bossy needed a huge pair of pink sunglasses. A bucket and a shovel despite there being NO SAND at the public pool. Floaty toys.
“Hmph…mph…!” She gasped out, dragging a neon green pool noodle across the floor toward him. Willie had left her to do her own shopping as he glanced over a few curious on a shelf. About to take the pool noodle from her to add it to the list of acquired goods, she clamped her mouth over one end and blew hard into the hole.
BWWOOOOOOO!
Did Willie look impressed? No. Instead he tried taking it again only for her to clamp her teeth in defiantly and give another ‘BWWOOOOOOO!’ that echoed across the quiet store.
Finally he wrested it from her control and got her situated back in the wagon, which was loaded up with all her junk.
And how could we forget? He had to pay for all the stuff despite there not being a single living person in town to care.
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Just like the library, the public pool was not disturbed all too much. It was out and away from much of the chaos which had gone down. Add to that there wasn’t much of immediate value to loot, it wasn’t exactly a prime suspect for being looted.
To be honest he’d expected to see more than a few fluffies floating around in the water. Whether from their own stupidity or the fact people had been murdering them en masse. Instead the water was clear and free except for a few leaves errantly floating at the top.
“Good. Was kinda ‘fraid the chemicals had done run their course.” He admitted to Bossy, who was currently peering over the edge of the pool at her own reflection.
Peeling her gaze away, she regarded her owner with a ‘wha?’
Giving a shrug, he sighed. “Pools need chemicals to remain nice. We’re lucky it’s not all gross with algae or whatever.” Unlacing his boots and kicking them off, he’d go to remove his shirt and trousers too. Bossy covered her eyes up with a giggle.
“Nakey!” She said, which was ridiculous because he was wearing boxer shorts. Rolling his eyes, he sat on the edge of a pool chair and took a few cartoon-print floaties out from a box and begin to blow them up. Before all of this he’d smoked like a freight train. Ever since getting Bossy, though, he’d been partaking less.
Getting the last one blown up, Willie felt the world go spinny. Colors faded in, popped up bright, and it felt like his lungs were on fire. Leaning forward on his chair, he began coughing and hacking. Ugly, wretched sounds that felt as if they were tearing his chest to ribbons. Waddling up to him with a concerned expression, Bossy hugged up against one of his hairy legs.
“Daddeh otay? Am sickies? Am daddeh sickies?” She asked him with genuine fright in her voice. Tears causing a glare in his vision, he coughed and hack. Spat up a giant clot of mucus to the cement pool walkway.
Taking a rattling breath, Willie affixed the floaties onto each of her legs. Gently lifted her up and brought the mare over to a wading pool meant for toddlers, carefully setting her down into the water. Gleefully, she began splishing and splashing around.
“I’m not sick.” He told her, trying his best to keep the rasp from his voice. Wading through the pool, he’d go to fetch up some of her toys. A plastic submarine, foam sharks, the pool noodle which she’d been trumpeting on like a war horn.
As Bossy dunked a foam shark down into the water with one hoof, Willie angled the pool noodle under the surface and poked it at slyly aiming directly at her. Taking a deep breath, he shot a spurt of cold water right into one of her ears.
Did she go absolutely apeshit? Of course. Screaming and acting like she’d just been murdered. It’d also brought Willie to another series of harsh, whooping coughs.
“Daddeh? Pwease nu sick?” Bossy pleaded with him. He’d offer his best smile and shake his head ‘no’, only allowing himself to be slightly annoyed when he repeated his trick and kept squirting water directly into his face with the pool noodle.
By now he was pretty sure: Yeah, he was sick. What did it mean? Would he die? Would he live?
Willie didn’t know. Everyone else had died. Instead of worrying about it though, he’d fulfill the hopeful summer memory which had been colored in on that card back at the library. Just a fun day at the pool with Bossy.