Page 7 of Palingenesis

I’m just … lost, I guess. Too used to the bar being in hell.

The concept of friendship has even eluded me for so long. One of the perks and downfalls of having a career that keeps me behind a desk in my own home, I suppose.

Or having a partner that would rather see you couch rot than find any sort of camaraderie.

How do you ask a random stranger that was nice to you to be friends without it sounding really weird or severely desperate?

“Okay,” I say, reaching for the menu. “I’ll show you a few.”

Chapter 4

Shannon

As suspected, I’d ordered way too much food. Not only that, Avery and his dad, Chris, sent me with arms packed full of leftovers.

By the time I’d finished teaching Avery every sign for the menu—who not only picked them up with ease, he also downloaded an ASL app to learn more—the sun had set and the shop needed closing, along with the rest of the town.

Which means I missed my chance to shop for couches and handyman shit until tomorrow.

I almost stayed to help close up shop, if only to avoid the inevitable a little longer.

But with a sugar rush and a head full of stories, I find myself eagerly leaving the shop in search of the fountain.

It was nice to spend time with people that felt like friends, surrounded by genuine curiosity and leaving with not only the shop’s number programmed into my phone, but their personal numbers as well.

For support, because I’m new here–imagine that.

And not once did they cringe when I SimCommed, fucking up the English words in the process, like Henry does. Or when I had to fuss with the way my hearing aids fit in my ear because the right one is always causing me problems.

Gods, what would it be like…

I shake my head, not even bothering to finish the thought as I gaze out my driver side window at the monument of a legend I’ve heard of throughout my life.

A mythology class in high school, Jean from X-Men and maybe in a few PNR reads here and there.

But something about this particular stone just seems … different.

This one is more man-like than bird, with long talons for fingers, and flames shooting from his back. Tailfeathers that curl out and around his booted feet.

Though the statue itself, worn with time and well-loved, surrounded by streams of water that seems to defy logic, isn’t entirely what’s got me throwing my truck in park on a nearby side street.

It’s all the adornments balanced around the raised edge of the gathering water that draws me closer.

Marge wasn’t kidding.

There are pictures, jewelry, candles…

Fuck, there’s even diamonds.

It all seems so personal.

And it makes the napkin-wrapped cookie in my pocket seem like chump change.

“Ah, fuck,” I rumble as I step closer, eyes scanning the notes and letters attached to each offering.

I don’t even know why I’m here, or what I expect to happen. It’s just make believe bullshit, right?

But if … If there’s any chance that dropping a coin into a wishing fountain would work for luck, then this should just the same, right?