Good Griff!

by Von Snootingham

Ch 01: Five Score, Divided by Four

        Hey. I’m Gayle. It’s nice to meet me, I know, but hold your applause until you know me better. I’m Abigayle Theresa Griffin, as my parents liked to scream when I was up to no good. I was named after my grandmother, though it sounds a little too snooty if you ask me. But that’s parents for ya. I love ‘em (I mean, you have to love your parents, right?), but they’re too far up their own asses most of the time. I’m going to say the words “chief of medicine”. That stereotypical doctor you just pictured? That’s my dad, complete with martini and golf club. Now imagine an older, less fit Venus Williams in a pantsuit. That’s my mother. Moms is some sort of money… stock… thing. A broker? She tried explaining it to me a few times, but fuck if I understand what she does. They have a place here in the city, but they spend most of their time at their house out in Montauk. It works for me because they’re best in small doses. No brothers or sisters either. My Moms said having me was “like laying a giant egg” and “never again.” Pfft, moms.

        You might say fitness is my life. I’m a wildly successful personal trainer at a gym here in the city. And I run. The faster the better. Ain’t no runner alive better than me. I’m pretty sure I could crush a man’s skull between my thighs. And I do it everywhere, all the time. Not crushing heads, though that would be pretty ballin’. The running, I mean. Who needs a car in New York anyway? I get up early, run a dozen or two miles around the neighborhood, then run to work where I get to yell at fat rich people and force them to exercise, and THEY PAY ME to do it. What’s not to love?

        You want to know more? Well, I’ve got that tall, dark, and sexy thing going on that makes the guys fall all over themselves to try getting into my pants. And why not? I’m so smoking hot, I’d fuck myself if I could. They’re welcome to try, but I’m WAY too hot for any man, as my girlfriend will tell you. Yeah, I’m gay, so what? You want to make something of it, I’ll try that skull crushing thing for real. So yeah, I’m a tough, sexy lesbian with rich parents and everything going for me. I’ll excuse you if you think my name is Mary Sue. But it’s not. Like I said, I’m Gayle, and I’m the baddest cat you will ever know. NOW you may applaud.

        My roommate, on the other hand, is the opposite. His name’s Steve and he’s, like, the anti-Gayle. He’s lazy, unmotivated, and doesn’t seem like he cares about anything. His real name is Larry, but he said that makes him sound “like a fat sixty-year-old man with no hair and grease stains all over his wifebeater.” I said it makes him sound like a stooge. So he goes by his middle name: Larry Steven Boone.

        He says he’s a librarian, but I’m not sure he actually does anything.  I mean that literally. There are some days I’m not sure he’s even still technically alive. On days he’s not “at work”, I’ll go out and come back and he hasn’t moved. He just lays around sleeping and reading. I do occasionally see him writing stuff in this dumb little notebook he won’t ever let me see. He says it’s ideas for stories. I asked him why he doesn’t write something. He just told me, “Eh. It’s too much trouble.” So yeah, that’s him: completely uncool.

        Now, you might be wondering why two people so completely opposite live together. Well it’s simple. He posted an ad for a roommate. I needed an apartment. That’s it. I answered his ad and we’ve been getting on like a house on fire ever since. That is to say, not well. I didn’t come up with that. Steve did. But it’s not so bad. Even though I’m so awesome and he’s so… him, we’re still friends. It’s unlikely, I know. For the first few weeks, we pretty much didn’t talk to each other. To tell the truth, I thought he might be some kind of disabled shut-in or something. But then one day I caught him watching the best show ever and we weirdly bonded over it.

        I’m, of course, referring to the awesomest, most asskickingest show ever made, Portal. What? You thought I was going to say something stupid, like that Pony show? Steve may like it, but I’m not a tiny little girl like him. No, Portal is the way to go. He says he likes it for the “dimension hopping, reality-bending sci-fi goodness”. I like the fightin’ and the shootin’.

Anyway, one day I saw him watching it and I was all, “Dude! You like Portal?”

And Steve was like, “Of course. YOU like Portal?”

And I said, “Fuck. The hell. YES!”

We watched it together and we’ve been weird friends ever since. I give him shit. He gives me shit. It’s all good. Who’s to say what a weird friendship is? None of my other friends are- Wait. Come to think of it, I guess other than Steve and my girlfriend, I don’t really have any other friends. Huh. Guess I’m just too cool for most people.

Oh, there’s another weird thing we found out we have in common: we were born just a day apart. I’m the older one, naturally. Which brings me to today. It’s my twenty fifth birthday! I can now legally rent a car. Go me! I just hope nothing bizarre happens that makes me have to actually rent one and take it on a crazy road trip with a bunch of weirdos. Ha, like that could happen.

It’s been a pretty normal day considering the date. I went for my morning run. I went to work and embarrassed the hell out of the whitest, snootiest man on Earth. He’s my client, so it’s okay. Personally, I think he’s into that. I think he ought to get himself a dominatrix, but I’m not going to say anything because I like his money. I went home and watched the game. I did have some weird dreams this morning though, but I can’t quite remember them. And now here I am in front of my favorite pub. Come on, did you think I was going to spend my birthday night NOT getting hammered?

I walk inside and spot the people I’m looking for at a booth in the corner. First, is the human potato. I mean Steve. Next, is his friend Amanda. I don’t really know her that well. They work together at the library or something. She’s alright I guess, but she’s basically just a more female version of him. A while back, I asked him if she was his girlfriend, but he just said he “doesn’t go in for that sort of thing.” I don’t know if he meant girls or what. That’s his business and I really don’t want to picture him getting with a woman. Fuck! Now I’m doing it.

And then… Oh and then, there’s Ellen. We met in a marathon. We wound next to each other at about mile nine and we just hit it off. I even slowed down so she could keep up. I’m a saint, right? We chatted as we ran and we finished together. Well, I chatted most of the time. She needed to save her breath for about half the race. She’s pretty quiet and quite pretty. Ha, I thought up that one. She’s the more sensible one of us. She’s there to clip my wings when I start to get too… well… me. And she’s got that blonde girl next door look that makes me just want to jump her bones right now. No, stop it, girl. You have to wait until later to unwrap your present.

I march over to them and announce myself. “Attention, mortals! Your goddess has arrived! You may now start the party in my honor!”

Steve shouts, “Norrrrm!” as I slide into the booth next to Ellen and slip my arm around her.

“Hey, sweetie. You’re late. Happy bi-“ she starts. She wrinkles her nose. “You had to run here? You stink, Gayle.”

“Hey, you know me. Poundin’ the pavement, all day, er’ry day. Besides, it’s not like I have a car.”

Steve cuts in, “You know, they have this wonderful new invention called the ‘cab’. You should look into it.” Amanda giggles at his joke.

“Man, fuck that noise,” I laugh. “What, am I going to PAY someone to bring me here when I can get here by myself just fine? It was only twenty blocks.”

“It’s your birthday,” responds Ellen. “I think we can pay for you to take a cab just this once.”

“Hey,” says Steve, “If you’re in such a giving mood, you can pay for my drinks. It’s mah birfday too, you know.”

“Yeah. Tomorrow. But nice try, smart guy,” I shoot him down.

“Close enough,” he says. “Tonight is to celebrate the big two-five for the both us.”

“Pfft. No way. It’s all about me. Just like every other day. I thought you knew that by now.”

“It’s okay, Steve,” squeaks Amanda. “I’ll pay for you.” She must have a thing for him. I just don’t think he realizes it. He must be gay or something.

“Well then, I need my alco-mo-hol. WAITER!” I scream.

The night goes on like this for a while. I’m awesome, and the booze just makes me awesome. Ellen’s awesome, but she keeps me grounded. She stops me from challenging some biker-looking guy to an arm wrestle. Steve sits and talks about whatever it is he talks about. Internet stuff and books and TV and shit. As the night goes on he gets louder with his opinions on his… whatever.

“Dude! I’m telling ya. Season five was absolute shit of the highest caliber! ’S like, they were purposely trollin’ us.” God he’s noisy.

Amanda is hanging on his every word. “I know! The finale was the worst. It just ends with Twilight getting zapped and then it’s over.”

“What’re you talkin’ about? It ended with ‘im attackin’ Manehattan and just zappin’ victims at random as they flee.”

I turn to Ellen. “What in fuck are they talking about?”

“Oh, it’s My Little Pony again. Just ignore it.”

I turn back to Steve. “Hey pony lover, keep it down. Some of us here aren’t five year old girls.”

“Hey, fuck you, hater. Ponies’re… MLP is fuggin’ great!”

“Ponyman, you’re drunk. Why don’t you call it a night? For such a fatty, you really are a lightweight.” I jab.

“I’m not drunk! You’re drunk! You gotta be if you hate one of tha best shows ever.”

Amanda’s looking slightly mortified and Ellen just looks on in amusement.

“Man, why do you even care about this thing so much?” I ask him. “I mean you love Portal, but you’re not this passionate about even that. You don’t care about anything this much.”

He looks confused. “I dunno. Like, if you told me a meteor was comin’ down here righ’ now, and all I hadda do to save ma life was move ten feet to tha right in tha nex’ ten minutes and I’d be fine, I’d be like, ‘Ehhh. I’m comfr’ble here.’”

Ellen gives him a look like she just saw a puppy get hit by a car. “You don’t care if you die? You’d die just because you don’t feel like getting up?”

“Yeah! I just dun give a shit! ‘Cept fer the ponies. I dun know why, I jus’ do.”

Aw man, now I feel bad for the kid. Time to work the old Gayle charm. “Well, that’s cool I guess, man. I don’t get it, but as long as you’ve got something you-“

Holy fuck. What’s going on? I’m somewhere. I can’t see. It’s dark, but it’s bright. I only see shapes. And flashes. The ground is white. It’s far away.

“He’s coming back!”

What? Who said that? Everything is blurry. I see white beneath me and around me. There are colorful blobs moving everywhere.

“Retreat!”

“Never! We can take him!”  Was that me? Did I just say that? There are flashes above me, now around me. Am I moving? I feel the wind. It’s so fast. There’s another flash.

It hurts. Why does it hurt? Something brown and grey is in front of me. SHITSHITSHIT!

“Did you really think you could beat me?”

Who is talking? Are they talking to me?

“All by yourself? Look around. Your compatriots have all fled. Poooor little bird. You’re allllll alone. And you will be for a long time, in a pretty little cage.”

There’s another flash and I see a glow all around me. SHITSHIT!

“Five score, divided by four-“

“SHIT!”

“Whoa, Gayle. Are you alright, sweetie?” Ellen asks from my left.  I’m in the pub.

“What just happened?!” I demand.

“Calm down, Gayle. Everything’s okay.”

“Ha!” barks Steve. “An’ you call me a lightweight! Least I didn’t space out for five minutes.”

“What?” I check my watch. 10:47. I don’t know why I bothered, I didn’t know what time it was before I zoned.

        “He’s right,” Amanda adds. “You stopped talking in the middle of a sentence and were just kind of staring off into space for a few minutes.”

        I was?

        “You were,” Ellen says. Did I ask out loud? Sometimes I think that girl can real my mind. “Maybe you were right and we should ALL call it a night.

        “I don’t know. I don’t feel like I’m drunk, especially since it’s still so early.” I say, hesitant. A rare mood for me. This whole thing has me shaken up. “Maybe you’re right.”

        “Of course I am. Now, are you okay to drive?” Ellen asks.

        “Baby, we’ve been over this. I don’t have a car.”

        “Yes, I know,” she explains patiently. I swear she sounds like she’s a kindergarten teacher sometimes. “But Steve does, and he clearly cannot drive himself. Steve, give Gayle your keys.”

        “NO!”

        “Come on, lazy bones. Fork ‘em over,” I thrust my hand at him.

        “NUUUU!”

        “Steve,” Amanda practically coos at him, “Could I pretty please see your keys for just one tiny second?”

        “OKAY!” He fishes his keys out of his pocket and hands them to Amanda, who immediately tosses them to me.

        “TRAITOR! J’accuse! You’ve sold me out to this… this hhhharpy!” he wails.

        I lean over to kiss Ellen goodbye. She surprises me with just a quick peck on the lips. She gives me a coy smile. “I guess you’ll have to take a rain check on my present.” Hot damn, I love this girl.

         I stand up and stretch my back. “Come on, man. Let’s get you home and get you to bed.”

        “Yes, mommy,” he mumbles and meekly follows me out.

        We walk to his car, a real piece of shit Passat. Or rather, I walk and Steve stumbles. I slide into the driver’s seat and he pretty much falls over across the back seat. By the time we’re a block away I can already hear him snoring. I get us back to our building and I wake him up. Fuck if I’m going to carry his lazy ass up four floors. He can walk his ass to the elevator. He does. Elevators are for pussies.  I take the stairs like a winner. I get to our floor just as Steve is shambling his way out of the elevator and we make our way to our door. He manages to make it to his room and slams the door. Well so much for him.

        I’m still feeling out of it. There’s something about that… whatever that I saw that’s really throwing me off. I feel like something’s out of place, like my skin doesn’t fit right or something. I should go to bed too. I’ve got to get up bright and early for work. I strip, slide into bed, and close my eyes.

CHIRP! CHIRP! CHIRP! The sound of my alarm is torture. I smack it and go back to sleep.

        “...slippin’ slippin’. Into the future. Time keeps on-” Ugh. My cell phone. Who the fuck is calling me so ear- 9:12?! Fuck, I’m late for work!

        Sure enough, it’s my boss calling me to ask me where I am and why I’m letting down a very valuable client. I spit out an excuse and tell him I’ll be right in.

        I throw on some clothes, grab Steve’s keys, and jot down a quick note telling him I’ve stolen his car. I practically fly down the stairs, out the front door, and into the car. It’s still taking forever to get to the gym. Fucking traffic.

        While I sit in the car, I still feel off. I had nightmares all night. I can’t really place them. But I remember lots of bright colors. I remember a rainbow. I remember clouds. And at the end, I remember the brown and gray thing and the pain. Since when can you feel pain in a dream? Whatever this thing is, it’s really throwing me for a loop. I’m late to work. I’m never late to work. I slept through my morning run. I never sleep through my morning run. Never.

        Eventually, I make it in to the gym and I guess either my uneasiness shows or I just look like shit because my boss lets me off without much fuss. I am his best PT after all. He handed my client off to one of the other trainers for the morning so I have a little time before my next one. Life continues as normal.

        Just after noon, my phone rings. It’s from Steve.

        “You’re doing good, Paul,” I tell my current “victim”. “Just keep at it. Give me fifty more and you can take a two minute break. Excuse me one sec, I gotta take this.”

        I answer my phone. “YOUCRAZYBITCHWHATDIDYOUDOTOME?!?!”

        “Who is this?” I answer sweetly.

        “You know exactly who this is, you lunatic!” Steve screams through the phone. “This is the guy you tattooed last night!”

        What?

        “What?”

        “I don’t remember a lot about what happened last night, but I remember I was talking about the Ponies, and you were making fun of me, and then I wake up just now with a fucking pony tattoo and my car is gone! What, in the name of all that’s good and just in the universe made you think you can pull this sort of shit?!”

        “Whoa whoa whoa. Hold your horses,” I tell him.

        “HA FUCKING HA! This isn’t a goddamn joke!”

        “What, seriously?”

        “YES, seriously!”

        “Well man, I don’t know what to tell you. We actually came home pretty early. I drove us back about eleven-ish and you went right to sleep. You can ask Ellen or what’s-her-name.”

        “It’s Mandy. And did either of them see us get home?” He asks

        “Well they saw us leave.” I tell him.

        “Then you could have brought me to a tattoo parlor on the way home and had them give me a cutie mark tattoo,” He says, sounding like Sherlock Holmes cracking the case.

        “A what? Man, I don’t even know what that is. Does this seem like the kind of thing I’d do?”

        “YES!”

        “No, I mean, if I were going to get you a tattoo, what kind would I get you?”

        He pauses. “Um… well actually, a penis on my forehead would be more your style.”

        “Ha ha! You’re damn right! Now if you don’t mind, I’m working here. Some of us have jobs. Don’t drive off anywhere and we’ll talk about this when I get home.”

        “FUCK YOU!” I hear just as I hang up.

        I turn back to my client. “Okay, Paul, just fifty more,” I order him. He groans.

        I leave work at five and start the long, slow drive home. When I’m stopped at a red light, I notice a couple people crossing the street in front of the car give me weird looks, but I don’t think anything of it. People are always pretty much in awe of me wherever I go. I finally get to my building and find a place to park. In the lobby, one of my neighbors is getting his mail. He looks at me funny.

        “You going to a 70s theme party or something?” he asks me.

        “What? No. Why the hell would you think that?” I ask, annoyed.

        “Well, you bleached and feather your hair. Kind of a giveaway,” he answers.

        “I did what?” I pull down a lock of my hair and see that it’s white. What. The shit. I dash toward the stairs.

        “And those contacts are cool!” I hear my neighbor shout after me.

        I sprint up all four flights, fly to my door, thrust my key in, and hurry inside. Steve’s on the couch with his laptop. “There you are! You want to try to explain th- Whoa. What the hell happened to you?”

        I rush into the bathroom and look at my reflection over the sink. My hair looks like it’s been lovingly feathered. And it’s white. As white as a cloud. White like I saw in my dream. And my eyes are bright yellow. Holy fuck, something is seriously wrong. So I do the smartest thing I can think of. I scream.