Frownland

I picked up the hammer. Turned it in the light. The nose was chipped down to a dull spiderweb of scratches. The rest of the metal, shining as bright and stainless as the day I picked it out of that bin of a million identical siblings.

The red rubber grip was already starting to get that grainy black shit inside of the grooves. Dirt and sweat and whatever else people got on their hands when they were getting shit done. And that's how I always knew that I was getting shit done. By the black shit.

"It's kinda pretty."

I looked back at her.

She was feeling it up. And with a bare hand no less; she had slipped off one of her gloves and tossed it over onto my desk. That's just how she was. First she's asking about 'radiation' and 'toxic metals' and whatever the fuck a 'free radical' is (like, how can a radical even not be free to begin with?). Five minutes later, she's sizing the 'radioactive' shit up for a bra.

I think I laughed. Or maybe I just gave her that look. The one I used to give her whenever she started talking about assassination plots. "Spend a night with it."

She blinked. Paused. Like maybe she was starting to think that it wasn't such a good idea to touch it bareback. Or probably just entranced with the possibility of actual danger. God, as much as she went on about that shit, about danger, staying safe, about all the things and people that were out to steal our fuckin' souls or whatever, she really did love that shit. Or at least a part of her did.

And she smiled. I remember that. I remember because I recognized it.

A couple days after we first met.

A big fuckin' bonfire. Just starting to get drunk.

And I could tell that she was halfway there too, on account of her cheeks flaring up even brighter than the fire. Red and raw. Like they were about to start bleeding.

There was a slope past the chainlink, somewhere back in the woods. A couple guys found it. It had been snowing that night. Hard. Maybe not hard enough to postpone a bonfire, but hard enough.

One of the guys had this big, stupid oven. Fattest dutch oven I ever fuckin' saw. And it had this lid, just barely big enough for an ass to fit on. A small ass.

She had a small ass.

And she said no fuckin' way.

But there was a fuckin' way. There's always a fuckin' way, where alcohol's concerned.

And her small ass made it through just fine. Like always.

"Why? Something happen last night?"

I shouldn't have said anything. I shrugged. Tried to go back to my work. "Not really."

She didn't buy it. I didn't think she would. She had this weird sort of bullshit radar inside of her; couldn't detect stupid conspiracy bullshit for a piss, but she sure as fuck could always detect mine. Still don't know what the hell was up with that. How someone so smart could be so goddamn dumb.

"Then why should I spend a night with it?" Her hand found a carving of a woman as it passed over the relief; naked, of course. Ancient women were always naked, if the artistic renditions were to be believed. She smiled. Leaned in to make a pose beside it. "You planning a photo shoot? 'Cause I already told you, I don't work with other girls."

"Already snapped 'em." I slipped my safety glasses back on. Found the chisel. Made a few adjustments to the table clamp. Last thing I needed was for the goddamn bird to go flying off again. "This morning."

"Yeah? And? What'd they say?"

Another strike, right to the seam. No sparks from the metal this time. "They said they'll get right on it."

"'Get right on it,' like, me at work? Or 'get right on it' like actually get right on it?"

"The kind where they don't give a shit."

She nodded to the carving. "Me at work."

"You're a Preschool teacher."

"Yeah? And you ever met a preschooler? They're the fuckin' worst."

I gave her a look.

"What? I love the little fuckers, but come on. Every goddamn teacher in the world, stay in long enough, you stop giving a shit. You have to. And you've also gotta be a little crazy. Or at least it helps, 'cause, you know, you'd have to be crazy to think those kinda wages are actually liveable in the first place."

"Remind me never to let you teach my kids."

She finally pulled her fingers from the carving. Stuffed her hands into her pockets, wearing that goddamn 'oh-reeaally' smile. "You're planning on having kids, then?"

"If I have kids."

"Funny. Aren't you the guy that tried to kill a kid that o-"

"He wasn't a kid. Teenagers aren't kids. And I didn't kill him."

"Tried to kill."

"Shut up."

She had me laughing again.

She walked over to me. Craned her neck over my shoulder. "Fuck is that thing, anyway?"

"A bird."

"Mm. Stone bird."

"Metal bird."

She gave me a look.

I gave the carapace a few taps. "It's covered in barnacles or some shit."

"Lovely." She leaned in further. "So whatchya doin' to it?"

"Opening it. There's a seam down the middle. See?"

She snorted a laugh. "Priceless work of art. Let's stick a chisel up its ass!"

"Oh fuck off. The fuck else am I supposed to do?"

She shrugged. "Sell it for a million bucks?"

"Like I'm not trying?"

Another shrug. "Try harder."

I nudged her back a few steps, giving the bird another hit. A good amount of sparks that time. I remember 'cause a couple of them licked the back of her hand. "Tell you what. Soon as I find an academic or a collector or whoever-the-fuck that isn't sick of getting burned on fuckin' bullshit 'lost civilization' hoaxes, I'll just get right on that. Till then, I'm opening this fuckin' bird."

She moved right back in beside me, even as she sucked at the tiny burns she had just gotten on the back of her hand. Fuckin' things hadn't even gone red yet and she was looking for more. She popped her hand out long enough to ask "Why?"

There was always the truth. About last night.

I went with bullshit instead. The kind I hoped might actually fly, so long as I didn't linger on it too long. "To see how many licks it takes. Who gives a fuck? I just wanna open it. It's supposed to be opened. So I wanna open it."

She raised her free hand with an innocent look. And gave the other a few shakes in the cool air, trying to dry off the saliva. "Hey do whatever you want. It's your bird. I just wanna make sure you know you're a fuckin' moron."

Another strike. It still wasn't loose yet, I don't think. Not just then.

"And I mean come on." She turned back to the block of stone, two and a half fucking tons of carvings just sitting there on that cheap-ass green tarp she lent me. "You gotta fuck around with something, may as well fuck around with the big thing. shit's way cooler than that fuckin' bird." She moved back to it. Pressed her hand back to the stone. Probably cooling off those burns. "Gah this thing's Fuckin' huge though. Regular goddamn colossus."

"Pretty big."

She laughed. "Pretty big." And she said it in my voice. The best she could imitate it, anyway.

Her hand was up in the battlements, gliding out over the bloody skirmish. Humans and demons. Naked women with swords. A winged soldier with a trident, plunging it through one of the many eyes of a massive heraldic insect; in perfect symmetry, each of the beast's spearlike legs was plunged through an identical string of corpses. Fuckin' ancient art.

She smiled. Maybe to the picture. Maybe to herself. And gave the stone a pat. "You didn't send the pictures."

That goddamn radar.

She looked at me. Read something in my face. Almost laughed. "You didn't take the pictures."

I didn't answer.

Another strike.

And that, I believe, was when it did come loose. Maybe just a centimeter. Probably less.

Less was fine.

Less was something.

__________________

Studies show that when a given norm is changed in the face of the unchanging, the remaining contradictions will parallel the truth.