Budget Raygun – Be Ready

Being in her place for the first time and not having known Monica for long at all, Kirk nonetheless immediately concluded that her clear mania for collecting must have predated the current state of affairs and was likely nothing more than an affectation; a self-inflicted neurosis carefully chosen for its harmless quirkiness, but also for its potential to create occasional, low level drama and draw some much desired attention.

Kirk had allowed himself to become entirely judgmental in a time when one be expected to be a bit more generous of spirit where one’s fellow man was concerned.  He also found that he’d become vocal about his judgment.

“I like your living room set.  It’s from the Grey Gardens collection, right?”

“No…” Monica yelled louder than necessary through the closed accordion door that distinguished her StudioPLUS apartment from a regular Studio. “I got it from my neighbor’s place. One day they were just gone, lock, stock and barrel, except for that couch and those chairs, so I ganked ‘em before the bank or some other leftovers could.”

The accordion door collapsed on itself and Monica emerged in a completely different Joan Jett t-shirt than the one she’d had on when she’d gone in to change.

“No,” Kirk corrected. “I meant…”

“Oh, no.  I get it.  I have a lot of junk and you’re very clever.  I just didn’t have a funny reply for your playful jab at the state of my place, but I did have a regular answer, so I used that one.”  Monica explained without inflection or eye contact as she transferred her cell phone, three tampons, seven AA batteries, two keys and forty three dollars in crumpled bills from a small purse to a larger one.

Kirk withered.  “I was just…”

“Kidding?  I know.  That’s why I used the words ‘clever’ and ‘playful’ to describe what you said.”  Without even the barest hint of a segue, she asked, “Do you see a men‘s watch with a gold band anywhere in here?” Her eyes slid around the room like a stoned sniper’s seeking a target.

“I… don’t…” Kirk answered before his eyes had even left Monica.  In fact he hadn’t looked away since she’d walked back in the room. “I mean, I… uhh… let… me… look…” Kirk spoke each word softer than the last.  The word “look” was ultimately nothing more than his tongue silently flicking his upper palate as he made an “oo” shape with his lips. Properly deflated, he threw himself into the search.  He earnestly scanned the stacks of paint-by-numbers kits and vintage coffee cans. There were hundreds of artificial flowers, bins of mismatched flatware and tens of thousands of used sandwich bags, washed and bundled into little plastic logs, held together with pale green rubber bands.  Somehow, from deep in the hoard, a golden glint caught Kirk’s eye. With notable bravado, he plunged his hand into a mound of identical Princess Bear Beanie Babies to claim his prize, only to find himself holding what appeared to be a small brass raygun.

Monica looked up. “Oh, I need that too,” she said, plucking the gun from Kirk’s limp grasp.  “Like they say, ‘Be ready.’”