Page 16 of First Kiss with a Mothman

“Sounds like you should get to Intro to Monsterkind.”

“Yeah, sounds like it. Thanks, Mort.” He grins and glances at me, and I try not to read too much into it.

“You need me to pick you up after class?”

“How chivalrous. But I’m a big boy. I know the route, and once I get outside, I’ll summon Reginald. I can ask him to take me home.” I’m still not sure how that works. Does he have magic or something? Arie opens the door and continues, “See you later for laundry night?”

I softly chortle. “Sounds good. See you later.” And for the first time in a long time, I mean it; hanging with Arie does sound like a good time.

Hours later, we plop down on the bench right outside of the basement laundry room. I was able to move Arie’s hand and show him how to manipulate the buttons of the washer. Why it’s not in Braille is beyond me. Everything should be in Braille!

I find myself fuming at things I didn’t think twice about a week ago. This friendly dude has turned my solitary existence upside down.

Now we’re sitting outside the room, waiting for the washer to finish. The humming of the machines should mask the buzzing noise of my wings. No one’s noticed the sounds I make before. How is this curly-haired guy with the adorable grin breaking all my rules?

He leans on his walking stick and sits up straight. There’s one rule of mine he can never break, and that’s having a real relationship. How could I deserve love after everything I’ve done…

He clears his throat and turns to me. “So, where are you from?”

“Originally from Western Pennsylvania. Born on a reservation.”

“You’re Native?”

“Yup. Indigenous descent even though I don’t remember the reservation that much since I, uh, moved away early on.” I try to dull the guilt that gnaws at my chest whenever I think of my childhood. “And where are you from?” I ask.

“I’m also from Pennsylvania, but I’m just White. At least I think I am.” I chortle softly, and I can’t help but notice how fun this guy is. He could easily be as jaded as me, considering he’s missing out on the visuals of life, and yet, he’s here, being chipper and friendly.

“What’s your major?” he asks.

“Film production. You?”

“Music.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“I think so.”

We both chuckle for no reason. I haven’t had to carry a conversation for this long in years. What else should I say?

“So…is this hanging out?” he asks in a facetious tone.

I grin. “I guess so. I told you I’m no good at being friends.”

“Nonsense. You taught me how to use a washer. My own mom never let me do that.”

“Well, I had to learn laundry science real quick since no one else was there to―” The words leave my mouth before I can snatch them back. Arie looks at me with concern behind his dark glasses, and my smile falls.

“What do you mean?”

Nothing gets past him. He may not be able to see, but this dude is like an investigative reporter when it comes to my voice tones. I clear my throat and say, “It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“It’s just…” I scratch my antenna and rub my face. “I taught myself lots of chores as a young dude. Not a big deal.”

Arie opens his mouth like he wants to say more, then relaxes. Despite my acting background, I can’t bluff very well. Arie seems to hear all the things I can’t say, but he appears to drop it for now. He decides against prying, and I thank the monster god he’s so understanding.

For the first time in a while, I’ve made a friend who seems to get me. Arie likes grown-up Mort, not the mothboy from TV. I can’t deny the warm gratitude I feel in my chest.