A Slice Of Life

Asa couldn’t remember the last time he’d brushed his teeth — he’d done it, sure, because his teeth were super shiny, but his mind drew a painful blank at the memory.

The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that he’d never once brushed his teeth in his entire life.

Which was how, at five minutes past midnight, which just so happened to be fifteen minutes after he’d been told to go to bed for the final time, he sat at the end of the garden, squirting toothpaste against his toothbrush.

Without water, it didn’t taste great. Like an overbearing peppermint that was giving him rabies in his mouth. It foamed, spilling over his lips, but he wiped it absently with the back of his hand, crouching down to inspect the row of eggs tucked into a blanket in the shed.

He’d used an old Lego box. Bundled it up with blankets. Stole some eggs from the refrigerator. The desk lamp in his bedroom had been liberated.

Together?

Spitting out a blob of toothpaste, narrowly missing his toes, which darted out the way just to be sure, he grinned so wide, the toothbrush slipped out his mouth. It hit the dusty wooden planks of the shed floor.

Picking it up, wiping the bristles against his pyjama top, he took another step forward. Paused as he stepped in toothpaste goop. Studied it until he understood what he was supposed to do.

Teeth.

He needed to brush his teeth. He reached for the tube of toothpaste in his suit pant’s pocket, squeezed a wriggly line onto the bristles, and shoved it into his mouth.

As he scrubbed, he looked around the damp, dark quarters. He'd created a hatchery.

Joel said they couldn’t hatch. Because they’d bought them at the store. Because only certain eggs turned into chicks.

Asa didn’t need that kind of negativity in his life, and he’d been sneaking them out of the house for a week now, keeping them warm. Sometimes he’d sing to them. Ronan said it was how plants grew. He was sure he could make a chicken grow.

Even better!

He could make a duckling hatch instead. How did Joel know they were strictly chicken eggs?

Had he seen the chicken they came from? No, he hadn’t, so it was superly, entirely possible.

“And if I can hatch a chicken,” he garbled around the hindrance in his mouth. He pulled it out and frowned at it, tucking the brush, still clumped with toothpaste, back into his pocket. “I can hatch a dinosaur.”

He was closer now, peering over the top. He stroked a finger against the pale brown shells. They weren’t overly warm. He covered them with the blanket so they were extra cozy.

Digger men people dug up dinosaur bones all the time. He bet one of them had dug up a dinosaur egg.

If he tried really hard and became a digger man, which he knew he could because his sister, Nicky, had told him he could be anything he wanted to be, then he could find one for himself, hatch it, and have his very own pet dinosaur.

He frowned at the lamp. He was going to need a much bigger one for a dinosaur.

“Goodnight, little chickies. Or duckies. Or —” His lips pursed. “Chucks?”

It could be either, but what if it was both combined? Chucks it was. At least, until he became certain they weren’t a weird hybrid. He paused at the doorway, turning to leave.

He hoped they didn’t hatch tonight. He had work tomorrow — it’d be a terrible time to become a father.

The ground beneath his feet was like sponge. The grass, cold and damp, tickled between his toes and — shoot.

He spun back towards the shed, rushing over, turning the main light off. Then slid the paper clip against the door latch on his way out. He didn’t have a padlock, so he had to improvise.

Joel would ruin everything if he found out. He’d sprout that boring nonsense, Act like he was the only person in the world with a brain.

Personally, Asa didn’t think Joel's brain was all that impressive. Asa could name twenty dinosaurs in less than a minute, and give you three reasons why they were either great or boring.

Like a brontosaurus. It was a herbivore. Its name meant thunder lizard.

They could reach heights of up to seventy-five feet tall. That would have taken a lot of clone Asa’s climbing onto his own shoulders to reach up and pet him.

And brontosaurus’ were not boring because Vinnie was a long neck, and his mom had given it to him, and said he was the coolest. Like Littlefoot. And his mom was just not wrong.

Spongey.

Why — oh! Mud!

He loved mud.

Except when it was cold and ick.

It was kind of cold and ick. But as he left the grass, discovering the imprints his feet were making against the slabs of concrete, he grinned. Then crept like a tiger, checking his prints, seeing if they looked stealthy. If they —

The back lights flashed on. Asa froze.

The back door opened. Asa sighed.

Joel was always prettier when he was smiling.

When he was scowling, he was just a mean butthead.

And he was scowling. Arms folded across his chest. Eyes rolled up skyward, as though praying to the world above for strength.

“Asa.”

“Jolly,” he replied, flashing him his bestest, most dazzling smile.

If Joel really, truly, absolutely loved him, the smile would have bewitched him and he would have forgiven him for whatever wrong-doings he seemed to be under the impression Asa had committed.

Clearly he didn’t love him.

“For God’s sake, Asa. It’s after midnight.”

“Don’t take the lord’s name in vain, Jolly,” he warned. “He has lightning bolts. He’ll hit you with one. You’ll smell like my toast when I leave it in too long.”

Joel counted to five. “I told you to get changed.”

“I did.” He pointed to his pyjama tee. Well, actually, it was an old shirt of Joel’s that he liked wearing to bed.

“You’re wearing suit pants.”

“If I die in my sleep, I want to look smart for heaven.”

Joel counted to ten. Blew out.

“What were you doing in the garden?”

“I was —” He paused to think about it. Grinned happily, and fished around for his toothbrush. The movement flicked a string of saliva and a blob of toothpaste against his leg. “I was brushing my teeth.”

Joel stared. Asa waved the toothbrush. Joel stared.

“I’m not even going to . . . never mind.” He sighed loudly. His gaze swept over him, pausing on his bare feet.

“Aze, winter is coming. You can’t walk around without shoes.”

“I can,” he countered. “You just don’t want me to. They’re not the same, Jolly.”

“You’re lucky I don’t spray you off with the hose pipe,” he grumbled. “You’re not walking through the house like that. I’ll give you a piggy back upstairs, and then you’re showering.”

“I thought you wanted me to go to bed?”

“You’re not getting into bed like that. You can have a shower, then you can get into bed.”

“Can I have a bath instead?”

“No, it’ll take too long.”

“Not if I dunk myself and then run —”

“Asa.” The word came out short and clipped, harsh enough for Joel to wince himself. His voice softened. “Asa. Please. Come on. I’ll make you tea while you shower. Then we’re both going to bed.”

“Can I —”

“This is no longer a negotiation.”

Asa took the loss, and rode Joel like a donkey upstairs. He whacked his shoulder, throwing in a 'yeehaw', when he didn’t go fast enough. Joel dumped him right in the tub.

Asa frowned. “Am — am I allowed to shower with my clothes on?”

“No. Take them off. Throw them out the tub. Shower. Then put them in the hamper afterwards.” Joel turned to leave. Spun at the door. “Asa, don’t forget to wash your feet.”

Asa showered. Went to brush his teeth. “Jolly!” he yelled. Counted how long it took him to come — that was important. The quicker he got there, the more important he was to Joel.

Clearly, he wasn’t that important.

Thirty seconds! Thirty whole seconds! Blasphemy.

“Yes, Aze?” Joel pocked a head around the door. “Aze, use a towel. You can not shake yourself dry.”

Asa paused. He’d been kicking a leg around in circles, trying to force the water away from his body. He’d kicked the hamper over, but it was fine because Joel had to pick up his clothes and put them in there anyway. A little extra wouldn't hurt.

Reluctantly grabbing a towel off the cabinet shelf, he strung it around his shoulders like a cape, pulling it against his thin chest.

Oh! He needed to sue the protein shake company.

They’d promised visible results. Asa had one for breakfast almost three whole days ago, and there was no difference. He’d used a tape measure, and taken pictures, and it was still exactly the same.

“Come on, bouncy boy. Let’s get ready.”

Because he smiled at him so very nicely, Asa gave in and took his hand. He redressed in fresh pyjamas. Climbed into his side of the bed. Let Joel tuck him in. Waited patiently while he went and got his tea.

“Do you know at work tomorrow?” Asa asked slowly, leaning against the pillows “Do you think I could put all the straws together until they made one super duper long straw and then it’d stretch forever.”

“No.”

“No, you don’t think I could do it, or no, you don’t think I should do it.”

“The second one.” Joel flopped down beside him. Slid beneath the covers. Then sighed and flipped the covers back up. “Aze, please get your kids.”

Asa gasped. “They’re our kids, Joel. You don’t just getta say they’re just mine cuz they’re an in-con-vee-knee-yunce to you.”

But he snatched up Indy and Vinnie, who’d slid around for wild adventures, and set them against his pillow, stroking them both once, and then holding his arms out. Joel accepted his hug. Pressed a kiss against his head.

“Night. Love you.”

“Love you lots like tater tots,” Asa promised.

They lay there for a while. Asa got told to keep still more times than he could count, but Joel was clearly just being dramatic. He wasn’t even doing anything.

He couldn’t sleep. So he named every state, in order, then in size order, then he whispered which colors they should have been if he got to paint them new colors.

“Aze,” Joel murmured. “It’s two.”

Asa blinked. “So?”

“So, I can’t sleep.”

“Did you try closing your eyes?”

“Yes.” Joel gave him a playful kick. Asa kicked back. Silence.

“Asa?”

“Stop talking, Jolly,” Asa giggled, enjoying the flip of roles far more than he’d admit. “You’re supposta be sleeping.”

Joel chuckled too. “But Azey baby?”

Asa paused. “Yes?”

“Do you want to get up and make chicken nuggets with me?”

“Yes!” he squealed. Then frowned. “Oh. No. I can’t eat them anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m about to be a chicken dad, and I don’t want them to think I’m going to eat them too.”

“I —” Joel sat up. “I’m not sure if I should question that. Sometimes, it’s better not knowing.”

“I’m hatching chickens. Or ducks. If they're hyrbids, I'll call them Chucks. They haven’t hatched yet.”

“Where did you get the chicken eggs?”

Asa blinked. “Just around.”

“Around where?”

He snuggled into his side, just so he super wouldn’t get into trouble. “From around the house. All the neglected ones that you didn’t love enough to cook.”

“Ah. I see.” Joel rested his chin against his head. Turned his bedside lamp on. He still hadn’t noticed Asa’s lamp was missing off the opposite nightstand.

Joel really wasn’t the most cleverest of people. But it was okay because he was really pretty, and Asa liked looking at him.

“Are you angry?”

“As long as there’s not smashed eggs around the house that will eventually go rotten, you can keep the eggs. You have to clean it up immediately if they break.”

“They’re in the shed. I’m incubating them.” He grinned proudly. “Gotta keep ’ems warm.”

“So that’s what you were doing outside?”

“I was brushing my teeth — awww, Jolly, I forgot to finish brushing my teeth.”

“You need to stay in the bathroom to brush, Aze.” He poked his nose. “So. Chicken nuggets? Yes or no?”

“No. Sausages instead. I’m not trying to hatch any pigs.”

“Pigs don’t hatch.”

“I bet they could if they wanted to.”

“Bet they couldn’t.”

“Could.”

“Couldn’t.” Joel shoved him over, which made him bounce against the mattress, and sprang up. “Come on, slow poke. Grab the blanket. We can fall asleep on the couch.”

“Ohhh! Can we watch Chicken Little so I can learn what chickens like?”

Joel rolled his eyes. “Sure, Aze.”