Saturday Snippet #2

Last week’s Saturday Snippet wasn’t nearly as terrifying as I thought it was going to be … well, once I just clicked “publish,” at least … I’m still quite nervous since this story is so close to my heart, but you know what, I’m going to continue putting it out there.

And away we go!

Brick LaMasse’s night began exactly as it had for the last two weeks since a newlywed couple had moved in just above his employer-subsidized apartment, with the sounds of enthusiastically boisterous fucking coming through his ceiling. It had been jarring at first, naturally; he had once toyed with the idea of complaining to the super, but he had come to appreciate the politely consistent lovemaking. It had become an alarm of sorts that he thankfully did not have to set. 

With a smile at the muffled moaning above him, Brick grabbed his earbuds from the side table and gently placed them into his ears before smoothly rising from his bunk. He was not entirely sure if this action was out of respect for the couple or prudishness on his part, but it was part of his routine nonetheless. As he rose, he lightly touched the button hidden under his bed, which then slid into the wall to become a functional, if not boring, brown settee next to his stationary side table, and he did a few standing stretches before heading over to his kitchenette to make some coffee. He had quite the collection of coffees from Earth, from his coveted Jamaican Blue Mountain to his everyday go-to Sumatra, so much so that he had a difficult time finding enough space for food in his cabinets.

“Gloria, please turn on the television to channel two.” 

“Of course!” came the AI’s melodious voice through his earbuds. She had been an excellent subscription choice when he had first arrived on Paradiso … what was it, three years prior? He had even paid a little extra to customize her voice to that of his mother’s by using audio recordings and video clips from when she was alive, so he always heard that slight southern twang his mother had tried to mask for years. He hoped that, if she was looking down at him, she was pleased with that gesture. 

The small flatscreen on the opposite wall flickered on, and the sweeping opening music of the nightly news overpowered the slight residual noise from his neighbors’ apartment. Once he arrived on the space station, his boss had highly encouraged him to set a schedule for himself to adapt to the time difference from Earth — just a little more than 30 hours — and one of the little rituals he had adopted was to watch the evening news. He had come to view the anchors almost as friends, his greeters with information from the world of the day folk, and he had not missed a broadcast in years. 

“Good evening, Paradiso! I’m Cleo Marks, and welcome to News Two at Eighteen.” 

Brick glanced at the screen and saw that Cleo was wearing the green dress that brought out her eyes so beautifully. The news crew’s stylists had truly been knocking it out of the park lately; all of the anchors’ wardrobes were nothing short of perfection, and he made a mental note to send them a message saying so. While Cleo began reciting the various news stories of the day, Brick fiddled around his kitchenette, popping bread into his toaster and heating water for his French press. Chomping on his dry toast, he waited for the electric kettle to boil and peered through the open blinds of the window above his sink. He could not see the sky because of the slightly orange streetlight right by his window, but that would be remedied soon. The news had become background noise at this point, so Brick went about the rest of his nightly rituals: cleaning up what little clutter there was, dusting, and running a quick cycle of shirts in his countertop washing machine. He prepared the French press with a treat of freshly ground Jamaican Mountain Blue coffee, because how else was he supposed to celebrate his first day off after nearly one week straight of work? Once it was fully steeped, he poured it into a travel mug, donned a barn coat he had gotten as a birthday present years ago, grabbed his camera bag, and then headed out the door, locking it behind him and leaving the television to play the rest of the evening broadcast. He pulled out the tablet in his coat pocket and it was thankfully halfway charged, so he paired his earbuds with the tablet. 

“Gloria, play Erik Satie’s Gymnopedie No. 1,” he said quietly, hopefully not disturbing his neighbors. 

“Gladly!” 

The gentle piano brought another smile to his face. Even though he had always been annoyed at his mother for playing this song on repeat when he was growing up, Brick had grown to love the tune, as well, and he listened to it at least once or twice a night. 

“Hi, Brick!” 

Callie’s voice startled him. When he spun around, she smiled sheepishly as she locked her own door behind her and shoved the keys into her leather jacket front pocket. He grinned and removed one of his earbuds. 

“I thought you were off tonight,” she said, tightening the strap on her leather messenger bag and cradling her motorcycle helmet under her arm. 

She was a nurse at the same hospital he worked in engineering, and they had taken the bus together plenty of times. He would not say they were friends, but he would watch her overly social cat on the rare occasion she took a vacation, and she had often taken his trash out for him.

“Oh, I-I am,” he replied as they turned the corner to the elevator bay. “I’m just taking a stroll, enjoying the night air, if you will.” 

“And here I thought it might be because of the incessant boning,” she joked, patting him on the shoulder. “Well, have a good walk!” 

She waved before pushing the stairwell door open and disappearing. Brick was alone again, alone with the music that sustained him.