When I told Dad that I would be having my appointments on my Mondays off, he said it was a waste of a day off and I should spend it resting up for the week of work ahead. But Sunday’s the perfect day off for me. A lazy Sunday with Okashi, every week, is weekend enough for me.

Besides, I get to see Okashi today, too.

I decided that it would be best if I only asked her to come for the next few appointments. As much as I may worry sometimes that she may see me as the guy who saved her instead of just me, I don’t want her to think that I need saving. I may need a little boost here and there, but getting comfortable with the offered shoulder is a dangerous thing. It’s a crippling thing. For both.

So a little boost it is. Today is boost number two.

I open the door to the waiting area at Dr. B’s office, after having lost my way only once. Okashi’s already there.

"Konnichiwa Kevin." Okashi says as she stands and gives me a hug as I walk in. "I was starting to worry you will be late. How are you Kevin?"

I give her a squeeze as I answer, “Great. How’re you?”

"I am doing good." Okashi replies.

I forget myself for a moment and give her a kiss, but the hesitancy in her answer reminds me that we’re not alone and I quickly end it, cringing and whispering my apology. I guess for a moment, I forgot that this is Monday, not Sunday. I was distracted by the feel of Okashi in my arms.

So I slip out of her hold and take her hand, walking over to the receptionist to tell her I’m here for my appointment.

The receptionist nods and Okashi and I sit down. "With one session done, are you eager for your second one, Kevin?"

“Anxious for it, is perhaps the best way to put it,” I answer. “I think it’s going to take a bit more to get to know him. The question-volley felt sort of strange to me, more like an interview than a conversation.”

"The important thing is you are comfortable enough to talk about what you need to for him to help you."

“Yeah.” Maybe it’s because I don’t know him that I’m fine sharing all this with him.

"As long as it works." Okashi says with a smile.

I hear the roar winding down, and the rolling sound of the motorcycle’s idle before I see Dad. I couldn’t say how I knew it was him, but I knew. I look out the window at the large rumbling mechanic creature and the leather-and-helmet rider sitting astride it. I’ve not had hardly any opportunity to see Dad on one of his bikes, but seeing him dismount and take off his helmet with his big leather gloves gives me an odd thrill. I can just see him imagining himself as a Quidd…player dismounting from his magic broom, or even somebody dismounting from a griffin.

He shakes his head and ruffles his hair with one gloved hand, his other holding the helmet under his arm. Speaking from a spectator’s point of view, I can see how he can bed so many women. He is pretty cool, and he’s the sort of guy I just can’t hate. Then he looks toward me, notices me watching through the window, and all his cool motorcycle-guy aura falls flat as he waves excitedly at me.

Dad sometimes reminds me of a little kid. Maybe that’s why I find I like him so much. I never really did have much opportunity to get to know him growing up, since he was in Colorado so seldom. I couldn’t say why it’s turning out I’m seeing him more and more, if he comes to London more because of Aunt Linda, or if it has something to do with me. Either way, I’m glad.

It’s been a while since Justin left. The second time wasn’t nearly as bad for me, I guess since I had talked a bit with Luna and now realize that it’s the intent that really matters, and the people who are still here. But while it may be easier for me, I saw that it’s been really hard on Padma.

I’ve wanted to let her know that I’m not going anywhere, and should she need me, I’m just a phonecall away, but I haven’t wanted to bring it up for fear of opening the wound. At least she’s still coming for lunch every Saturday, so I can at least be there for her those two hours of the week.

I had considered finding a book about moving away, or something like that, but I don’t. I’m careful. It crosses my mind to introduce Padma to Luna, but I’m not going to go behind her back and talk about those things. I shouldn’t stick my nose in her business like that. The only thing I can do is to be there for her.

( Saturday with Padma )

November 26th is just a workday here. It’s not really as strange as I would think it would be. It’s hard to miss Thanksgiving in America, where there are cornucopias and Indian Corn and turkeys and cranberry sauce and pumpkins everywhere. America has a way of smacking people in the face with its holidays.

( Read more... )

I gathered all my papers at home, all the information I had for which the receptionist had asked. I don’t really have that much, as far as medical history is involved. I’ve been healthy my whole life, with the strange four days a year I always fall ill. I need reading glasses. I most likely have ADD, though it’s never been diagnosed. And there was that ordeal with the reoccurring headache, which I guess just ended up being stress in the end.

The only thing I have issue with is the contact information of the family doctor. My old family doctor, Dr. Hollis, is back in Loveland. I can hardly give his information. And while Justin’s doctor checked me out for the headaches, I don’t want to put him down.

Instead, I’ll just write down that I haven’t established one since I moved here. I wonder where Dad goes. Probably somewhere in Chicago, since that is technically his home, but if I’m lucky, he knows of somebody here. I also need to get a dentist.

I have been distracted since lunch, when I got out my map to figure out a good route to take to Dr. Beelzebub’s office. I scouted out the place on Friday, after work. It would’ve been pretty bad to be late to my first appointment, and I was an idiot and only gave myself a half hour to get there and…oh no, paperwork. I’m wretched at paperwork! Why hadn’t I thought of that? And that’s what got me started.

But now, finally, the phone in my pocket starts vibrating and playing its music. I breathe a sigh of relief, something I haven’t done about work being over in a long time. Of course, if I’m this nervous and distracted, I’m more a nuisance than a help. But being about to dive head-first into the unknown as I am, I have a right to be nervous.

I gather my things as quickly as possible and head for the front of the store and for the outside. The moment I look out the window, I feel a smile of gratitude. There, waiting for me, is Okashi.

Letter sent by owl, or phonecall. This Dr. Beelzebub can be contacted either way. I can use either means. I’m not quite sure which I’d feel more comfortable with. I’m pretty nervous about this, so perhaps talking on the phone where I won’t have the time to really work out the right words and will get easily distracted. I haven’t really been a very strong writer, though.

Well, I’ll have to contact him some way, so writing wins for the lesser count of cons. So I pick up a piece of paper and click my pen a few times before I begin.

Dear Dr. Beelzebub,

A friend of mine told me that you see muggles. I was hoping you could take me on as a client. I am a muggle and I do know about magic, but this isn’t about either thing. I do need to see somebody who knows about magic, though, since I’ve been pretty much submerged in the world, so to freely talk about problems and life and all that, I would need somebody in the world.

I would be grateful if you have any openings I could fill. Please let me know.

Kevin Acres

“Alright Pig,” I say to the madly twittering ball of feather-fluff, who started bouncing around at the end of the first paragraph, making it impossible to think anymore. I fold the paper and write on the outside Dr. Martin Beelzebub. What a weird name. I’m not sure if I’ll get used to that.

After rubber-banding the letter to Pig’s leg (it’s the quickest way) and repeating the name aloud, I open the window and he shoots out. Now to wait, with a stomach of jittery snakes.

After so much study, on both our ends, Justin and I finally got in touch with each other. The weather’s a bit cool for a camping trip, though I bet Justin could just make it warm with magic. Not that I really care if it’s cold. Winters were frigid in Colorado. Sometimes the city would be shut down because of all of the snow.

Nope, we decided to have a little sleepover at his place. Before heading to work, I packed some overnight things in my bag. Though I would prefer to spend all night flipping through his school books, which I asked him if he still had when we were making arrangements, I’ll force myself to get some decent rest. I love my Sundays with Okashi and don’t want to end up a zombie tomorrow.

Are there such things as zombies?

( Sleepover time )

"What?"

I wrap my lips around the mouth of the beer bottle and nod.

"Are you serious?"

Again I nod.

Dad sighs, lets out a soft explative, and taps the handle of his fork on the table. "Aww Kid, I'm really sorry. Honest, I thought it would be the perfect thing for you, so you didn't have to get into those sardine cans. I know how crazy you can get when you're in them."

"Do you?" I ask, surprised.

( Unexpected )

It's been two weeks since the attacks. When last I called, Tyler was taking it really hard. He didn't understand why somebody would kill so many people he didn't know. I could hear the fear in his voice when he asked how I was. It made me wish more than ever that I was back there with him.

But it's been two weeks. I'm sure he still sees the burning wreckage when he closes his eyes, the people jumping from the buildings, the firefighters, the collapsing structures, just like I sometimes do. I'm sure he still has some uncertainty about my safety, as I have for Dad, but just as with me, I'm sure it's waned at least away from the foreground.

The day Dad was allowed to fly again, I busied myself studying for my moped license test and with my newest project, my magic vocab list. I got so tired of looking like an idiot, talking about teleporting and brainwashing that I did what I had done back in eighth grade, when I started reading the grown-up books; I kept a list of all the words I didn't know and made my own vocabulary list.

Setting the latter of these aside, I check the time and grab myself a butterbeer. It's time to give Tyler a call.

He answers almost right away. He's probably been working on his homework almost on top of the phone.

"Hey Kevin."

"Hi Tyler," I return. "How's school?"

"It's good," he answers. He doesn't sound very convincing, and I have to wonder what that might mean.

"Mm-hmm..." I realize I'm doing the parent-of-a-teenager 'Do go on' mm-hmm.

"Oh, you know that genius girl who slammed into that concrete pole trying to catch the frisbee?"

"I remember the mention," I answer. It was a pretty funny story in a painful, sad way. Tyler was watching a game of Ultimate at the college after school and a girl ran, and I mean ran, full tilt straight into a solid concrete light pole. He said he saw her the next day on crutches, laughing that it was her birthday.

"She's off her crutches now, but she still hobbles. It'll be a while before she plays Frisbee again."

"That sucks," I laugh.

"And how's your girlfriend?" I can hear the teasing tone in his voice. Clearly he'd rather talk about me. That's fine. I'd rather talk about Okashi.

"She's great," I tell him, feeling a stupid smile on my face.

"Mmmmm-hmmmmmmm, great, huh?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Did you--"

"None of your business," I tell him. "I may not mind talking about us dating, but I am not going to disrespect her by talking about whether or not we've done it."

"Then you did," he guesses.

"She and I are going to be spending every Sunday together," I interrupt. "She's really cute; you'd like her."

"What's she do?"

I'm relieved to know that I can honestly tell Tyler what she does as a job, that it's not magical.

"She works at a restaurant," I tell him. "She says she's training to be a House Geisha."

"Oh, Geisha, like that book?"

"What book?"

"Memoirs of a Geisha."

I think back through all the books I've read. "I don't think I know that one. But I don't read biographies or memoirs."

"It's fiction," Tyler tells me. "You should read it; get out of your fantasy rut."

"It's not a rut," I tell him, rolling my eyes.

"I know! Make me an book on tape of it," he says. "It's, like, five hundred pages! That should keep us both busy for a while."

"Hmm..." I think about this for a moment and then roll over on my side, reaching for a scrap of paper nearby to write down the title.

"So what's her family like?"

"Her parents are retired," I say. "They seem pretty cool, but they're really strict. Real traditionists. They wanted to meet me, like, right away."

There's a pause and I can almost hear him complaining that he doesn't get to meet her. I know that he'd have the same thing on his mind; grilling her to know what her intentions are with me. I'm almost...almost...glad that he doesn't live close enough so that he can play Parent.

"Tell her to email me," he finally says.

"Tyler..."

"Will you please tell her to email me?" he amends.

"Tyler..." I warn.

He sighs. "Kevin, will you please ask her if she would email me?" he corrects.

"Sure, I'll ask her tomorrow."

I pull up to Aunt Linda’s house, a very brief shadow of heaviness passing over me as I think of the last time I was here. I shake it up and jog up the walk, between bushes of vibrant colored flowering bushes. If the mood gets heavy, so be it, but that’s not the way I’m going to start this day.

When I get to the front door, I try it and find it unlocked. “Aunt Linda,” I call in as I step in.

“In the kitchen, Love,” she returns.

“Do you mind if I borrow your shower?” I ask.

“Of course.” Her face appears in the doorway on my right, smiling. “Women like a clean man.”

“Thanks,” I say, feeling my face tingle a little in a very faint flush.

“Go on, go on, then,” Aunt Linda laughs, flapping a dishtowel at me. “Get upstairs and was. You do smell, and that’s no way to receive your girlfriend.”

“Right,” I mumble, slipping my bag off and digging around for the change of clothes I brought. “Thanks, Aunt Linda. If she gets in before I’ve gotten out of the shower…well, sorry. Um…I apologize for not introducing you, if that happens. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Don’t hurry and miss some spots,” she says, looking pointedly at me. “Now get up there before you run out of time.”

And with that, my change of clothes, soap, and shampoo in hand, I rush up the stairs for the bathroom.