Page 16 of Dirty Chorus

“Clearly something is missing if you're handing it out freely. How many guys do you hand your number over to?”

“You’d be the first in six months.”

“So, I’m special?” he asks with half a smile.

“Okay, fine... I thought you were cute,” I admit.

“Would you like to hang out sometime? Just as a friend. Maybe you can come to one of my shows.”

“Shows? So you're in a band?”

“Yes...”

“Well, I’m not into underground garage music.”

“It’s metalcore. I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“I don’t know,” I shrug again and stare out into the street covered in darkness. “When’s your next show?”

“In a few weeks. I can text you the details.” He stands up, dusting the dirt off his pants. “I gotta find my friend and take her home before it's too late.” He dips his hand into his pocket.

“Have fun with her sucking you off in the car.”

“That’s not happening, but I’ll see you later.”

“Bye...” I give him a subtle wave, and he flashes me a toothless smile before he heads back inside the party.

Chapter 11

Noah

When I step into my apartment, the air conditioner is running so low it's like walking into a freezer. I close the door and toss my keys into the stained-glass bowl on the entryway table. I don’t bother to untie my Converse and use my toes to kick off the heels of my shoes. Getting Amy home was a mess. I told her again we aren’t hooking up anymore. She started sobbing, and I ended up having to pull over half a dozen times for her to hurl. At least she vomited only on the side of the truck. She told me she hated me, and never to talk to her again, so I think the conversation went well.

I’ll give her a week, and she’ll want to be friends again.

I run a hand through my hair and see him. My grandfather. He’s breathing hard, trembling and uses a hand to support himself while he walks down the hall. I thought he would have gone to sleep by now.

“Hey.” My grandfather smiles at me with chapped lips. His slippers drag across the carpeted floor as he paces to the bathroom. “You’re getting home late.”

“Are you doing okay?” I ask watching his determination to be independent.

“Yeah, I’ll be right out. I want to...” he wags a finger at me as he moseys on. “I want to talk to you.”

He’s hunched over, and I forgot when he stopped standing straight up. The days blended and time sped up before I could catch up and notice it. I swear it was yesterday when he still had a full head of grey hair, and he was picking me up from school. Now, only patches of white hair stick out.

Last night, I got him to shower and wash off the old man smell, but now the apartment is filled with the fragrance again. He’s still wearing the grey sweatpants and the white ribbed tank top I picked out for him. It looks like he got into the spaghetti leftovers, as he now has a few orange stains down his chest.

I head into the kitchen, cleaning up the dirty bowl and his cup of coffee from this morning. He’s insistent he’ll clean up his own dishes, and gets frustrated when I tell him to go sit down.

When he finally gets out of the bathroom, I have tea ready. He likes it with milk and a tiny pinch of sugar, and I place it out for him. He reaches the table, heaving in and out short breaths as he plants a palm on the ear of the chair.

“Here,” I scoot out of my seat to help, but he holds up a hand.

“I got it.” The chair grinds against the wood floor, and I stand until he manages to sit down safely.

He takes the tea with steam swirling out and sips it.

“Mmm.” He smacks his lips together. “I know you don’t like it when I bring this up.”