Toby

“Shit.”  The first word of the day emerged from Toby’s mouth as he rolled out of his bed and nearly fell onto the floor.  It was a summer month without school, and he had to get up to do his morning run and then help his dad paint the kitchen, anyway.  No teenager, especially a college bound one, should have to get up at eight in the morning.

Toby threw on some shorts and stumbled out of his room, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.  He barely remembered the night before – he managed to get into the house somewhere between three and four in the morning.  Josh, Rich and Gary were all out with him, bowling until the alley shut at one, and then going out to eat at the only place that was open, a small grill in the middle of town.

“Dad, are you up yet?”  Toby walked by his father’s room, banging on the door.  The small ranch they lived in was more than enough room for them, but between the settlement and his small business, there was no point in just occupying an apartment.  The print shop’s materials, stock, and equipment were all located downstairs, and all the rest of the house was for the him, his father, and their ideas and projects.

“Ugh.”  Toby heard his dad moan from behind the door and rolled his eyes.  For being a journalist for many years, and now a small time publisher, you would think that his father would be used to getting up early.  But, apparently not.

“Do you want coffee?”  Toby yelled through the door, and he was met with silence.

“Dad?”  Toby asked again.

“No.  Another hour.  Crazy bastard.”  His dad responded half coherently through the door and Toby shrugged, going into the kitchen to flip the switch anyway.  His father would thank him when he realized the two major points of the day – that they were bad at painting, and they needed to get it done.

“Going to run.”  Toby yelled to no one in particular as he sat on their lumpy couch and pulled on his running shoes.  It was time to review his night.

“Be careful.”  His dad yelled back at him, or at least that’s what Toby managed to hear.  It may have been ‘shut up’ or ‘be quiet’ – Toby was never really sure.  That was always their conversation.

The sun was already beating down on the pavement as he exited his house, leaving the door unlocked behind him so he could get back in later.  It had to be at least eighty out already, and the sun had barely broken the horizon.  It was going to be a hot day, and he was very, very thankful for the air conditioning inside his house.

Toby slipped his headphones on and hit the play button, immersing himself in his music as he started out with a steady beat of his feet.  He always ran on the road.  It was smoother, gave a little more.  He could go faster, farther.  And not to mention, he really loved the idea of forcing cars to go around him.  His dad probably would have killed him if he had known what Toby was doing.  Running on the road and getting run over was not a top priority for Toby’s dad in terms of losing the only direct family he had left.  But Toby always ran facing traffic.  That way, he could at least see what was about to hit him.  You know?

Toby resisted the temptation to close his eyes and think as his heartbeat began to pick up from the exertion.  It was definitely not a cool day.  Maybe two miles would do it for the day, so he didn’t die.  What had he dreamed of last night?  The mystery woman, he thought.

The mystery woman raped by a god.  Wouldn’t that make a good novel?  Now if only he had the patience to write his dreams down... they were always so consistent.  Though, sometimes, he would dream about days to come.  Most of the time it was as if his mind was telling him a story.  Why did he keep having this dream, anyway?  It was always the same.

The woman said no.  The god said yes.  The woman was still protesting.  The god tells her to sleep with her husband so he wouldn’t know.  They never got to the next part, and he had so many questions.  Why didn’t she go to the police?  Maybe she did?  Granted, the police couldn’t reign in a god, but still.  What if she told her husband?  Did she sleep with her husband the next night, so she could have his baby?  Why did the god want her to have his baby?

Maybe the woman was having trouble with having children, and she had unconsciously prayed for a baby, and the only way she could have one was through that god.  And more importantly, which God was it?  The god never identified himself.

Maybe tonight, Toby decided.  Tonight he was determined to dream about ‘the morning after’, an untouched territory of his dreams.  After all, if he was going to write on the side for his father, it might as well be from his direct experiences – his story-like dreams.  When was the last time his father and him even spoke about that, anyway?  He would ask later that day.  He would also ask Gary to show up and help them out.  Between Toby and his dad, they still sucked.  They would need a little help to stop the kitchen’s transformation into a disaster zone and a danger to humanity.

He rounded the corner, looking up to see his elderly neighbor, Mrs. Pax waving at him.  He smiled and raised a hand to her, then ran a little faster.  Mrs. Pax didn’t understand the concept of headphones.  If she started talking, she would yell at his father because he didn’t answer her.  The sounds of Metallica echoing in his ears, he passed her, and kept running, hoping she wouldn’t call after him.  The ‘rudeness’ of Toby was brought up at least once a month by Mrs. Pax, even though it had been explained.

He wasn’t really sure why he ran daily. It was definitely a hate/love relationship – he loved the shower afterward, but he hated getting up.  And running until he couldn’t breathe any longer.  That wasn’t really a favorite part, unless he was angry.  But right now, he was tired.

Toby entered the house with his shirt soaked, panting from sprinting the last few hundred feet from the road to his doorway.  He pulled off his shirt, kicked off his shoes, and made his way up the stairs, throwing his wet shirt into a pile on the floor designated as laundry by some act of the gods.

“You up now?”  Toby yelled to the general direction of his father’s room and the kitchen.

“Yes, Toby.  Thanks for makin’ me some coffee.”

“I figured it would wake you up.”  Toby admitted, heading towards his room to put grab some fresh clothes.  Even his boxers were soaked in sweat, and that image was not pretty.

“You figured right.  You hitting the shower?”  His dad appeared at his door, holding the coffee mug close to his body as if it were one of the crown jewels.

“Yup.  You going to start taping off the windows?”  Toby asked him, passing him in the hallway to make it to the bathroom.

“For what?”  His dad asked, confused.

“We’re painting.”  Toby said, throwing his clothes into the bathroom and turning around to look at his father, to see if he was serious.

“Shit.  I forgot!”  His dad was amazed, and Toby shook his head. Sometimes his father could be classified as ‘something else’.

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