#draft1

“Nothing’s up. I thought maybe I’d try to do my job a little today.” Solomon answered. He shifted his weight awkwardly and looked around the room. Dirty dishes were scattered on the floor. A mountain of blankets, sweatshirts and socks sat next to the couch. Used tissues surrounded Fernando; a small trail of them lead from the couch to the trash can in the corner of the room.

“What’s up with you? You look…” Solomon carefully examined Fernando. His cheeks and nose were rosy. The space just under his nose glistened. His eyes, almost the color of his cheeks, were a bit swollen and glued to the television in front of him. “…bad.”

“Thanks,” Fernando huffed, shooting Solomon a quick, unamused look. “I have some flu thing or whatever. I dunno. Mari caught it too.” Fernando returned his attention back to the movie. A blonde woman stood on her balcony addressing a huge crowd in song.

“So you’re sick?”

“Um… Yes?” Fernando answered, irked that he had to help Solomon come to this conclusion.

“And you’re not worried about dying or anything?” Solomon said with a hint of shock in his voice.

“No, not real- Have you like never seen a sick person before or what?”

Solomon frowned at the accusation, “Of course I have! But in France. About 500 years ago. You look much more comfortable than they did.”

Fernando’s disgruntled expression softened into light sympathy. “Being sick now is great. We have better medicine than those European guys,” he explained. “Now you get to stay home and watch T.V. and eat snacks and stuff. People take care of you. You can sleep ALL day. It’s the best.”

Solomon nodded in understanding and remained silent in contemplation. Fernando unearthed himself from his pile of blankets to ask, “So you’ve never been sick?”

Solomon shook his head in response.

“Can you even get sick?”

Solomon shook his head once more.

With no more questions to ask, Fernando sank back into his nest a bit. The two stared at each other while the woman on T.V. continued to address her people.

Carefully, Fernando moved a few blankets from the spot next to him. Without breaking his gaze from Solomon, he lightly patted the now empty space on the couch.

…

“Hey Fernie, they didn’t have ABC’s so I got star-” Marisol froze, startled by the fact that the first face she was greeted with was not her cousin’s.

“Hey, Sola. So I have a question. Did the people like Madonna or not? ‘Cause like, I don’t think Antonio Banderas likes her at all, but this movie is giving me mixed signals.” Fernando questioned, unfazed by his cousin’s baffled expression.

Fernando hadn’t moved much since pestering Marisol to get them food despite her being just as ill. He was still curled up on the couch, almost into a ball, beneath a ridiculous amount of blankets. Except now he was joined by Solomon, sitting crisscross beside him. Fernando was kind enough to lend him a couple blankets, which were draped over the massive blonde so that only his face peeked out. A thermometer loosely hung from his mouth.  His eyes were wide, having been caught in this compromising position.

Marisol quirked an eyebrow. Her shock dissipating into disbelief. After a fair amount of awkward silence and no explanation, Marisol decided she didn’t even want one. She shook her head to clear it from the bizarre scene and made her way to the kitchen without another word.

Solomon helplessly watched Marisol disappear into the next room. Heat rose into his cheeks as he buried himself deeper into safety of the blankets.

“Oh yeah, Sol’s here!”

Seated on a bench

I sniffed

The reeking wind

of lowliness

entered my little

craggy nose,

taking its toll

from my nostrils

down the loops

then brrrrr ha!

Just exhaled it-

The saturated dust

in the thick air