Badger by C. M. McKenna

Author:C. M. McKenna [McKenna, C. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: FICTION / General, Modern and contemporary fiction (post c. 1945), FIC000000, FA
Publisher: Brain Mill Press
Published: 2015-08-03T23:00:00+00:00

˚ ° ˚

No Isaac that night, nor the next night, not for the rest of the week and beyond. Though I was tempted a couple times to go after him, I resisted.

I did my level best to focus on work, but I felt sad, knowing his welts were fading more and more the longer we stayed apart. I didn’t want to lose what little momentum we might have had, romantically, but I also didn’t want to look too clingy and desperate, so I concentrated on my job, or told myself I was.

I settled into my new routine, and even if it wasn’t especially fulfilling, I was all right. No super-late nights so far, though Lani was a pain in the ass, just as I’d known she would be.

Because there were so few of us in the office, I got a very large share of Lani’s abrasive, micromanagerial attention. Her criticism was confusing and hard to wrap one’s head around, like a turducken — disapproval wrapped in flattery wrapped in a patronizing smile. I wished she’d just tell me what she didn’t like so I could fix it without having to dig through all the layers of gentle, misleading criticism.

But at any rate, I downgraded Lani from self-absorbed taskmaster to well-intentioned annoying person who was signing my checks. Even if the job got worse, I wouldn’t quit. Quitting isn’t in the repertoire of the meek. It requires far too much action and impetus.

Aside from the paychecks and insurance, the best perk of my new job was Ray.

He worked Monday through Friday, and he always seemed to be taking his smoke break when I was taking my cookie-and-coffee break, a charmingly transparent imitation of coincidence. Even when it was rainy or cold, I ate lunch on that bench to escape Lani’s niggling. And yeah, okay, because I’d quickly grown attached to Ray’s easy company. It wasn’t an adequate substitute for Badger’s attention, but it was nice for what it was. Made me feel special and interesting for a half hour at a time.

I guessed Ray probably liked me if he was constantly deigning to hang out with me, always careful to situate himself downwind. I liked him back, if tentatively. He wasn’t striking like Badger, but he had an interesting face. Intense brown eyes, pensive mouth.

Ray made sandwiches and party platters to supplement his weekend gig as a bicycle mechanic — yet another connection to the Badger that made me like him. I gathered that he was a sort of middle-generation punk, one who’d quit caring about dressing the part ages ago, genuinely more interested in the music and politics. He was the sharpest, nicest breed of underachiever, one who’d opted out of the American cult of corporate-type success but opted out of disenfranchisement as well. He just worked and got paid and seemed to keep his life free of all avoidable responsibilities. In his time off, he did what he wanted. He made it look so easy.

The morning of my second

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