“Is it raining upstairs?” The bus driver tried his joke for a second time as Brick prepared to leave the vehicle.
“You really have no concept of humour do you?”
“I have an admirable sense of humour. My wife told me. And I’ve read about it. Repetition is a major source of humour. All the good comedians use it.”
“I agree, but we’ve already established that your ‘humour’ was actually an insult; so all you’ve done, is insult me twice.” Brick didn’t add any physical dramatics to his words this time. He could see his house through the window and yearned for the bed he knew sat inside.
“Insults are funny too. There was an ‘ole chapter on ‘em.”
“Only when both parties are comfortable with each other and are aware there’s no intent behind it. Otherwise it’s just cruel.” Brick stepped off the bus, watching the driver run thoughts across his face while pulling away.
The departure of the vehicle revealed Brick's house in all its glory: a simple quasi terrace in a row of many, complete with straggled front garden and imposing door from the days when it had been new and proud.
In truth the outside was of no interest to anyone, but inside were all the accessories Brick needed to achieve comfort beyond expression. He crossed the road, hoping Spiritwind was still asleep. He could gladly go without his friend’s mockery on top of the morning he was having.
Brick pushed the front door open quietly. The tortoise shell glass that made up the top half had revealed the hallway to be empty. If he could make it to the stairs and to his room he could pretend he’d been in bed all night. The plan collapsed almost instantly as his friend appeared.
“Howdo.” Spiritwind used the hallway in its going to the kitchen capacity.
“I’m fine me mate. No problems here whatsoever.” Brick tried to rush for the stairs. Perhaps he could pretend he’d just got back from a morning jog.
“You slept in the fountain then?” The sound of ongoing cooking intermingled with Spiritwind’s words.
“Needed a run you see…..Hold on. How do you know where I slept? I only found out half an hour ago.” Brick abandoned the stairs and proceeded to the kitchen.
“So you did sleep in the fountain?” Spiritwind peered round the kitchen door with a spatula in hand. His movements suggested the hobs had completed their duties and were being extinguished.
“I never actually admitted where I slept.” Maybe it could be salvaged.
“But it was the fountain.” Brick stood in the doorway as Spiritwind filled several bowls with the various components of a full English breakfast.
Spiritwind ate. It could be considered his hobby. Not that his body reflected the fact. Spiritwind fell in to the average category for every physical measure of description. Unfortunately for him the average height of a man is smaller than many people realise, leaving him often described as short. His only other distinguishable feature was his bald head, something he claimed to control with the power of his mind to save money on haircuts.
“If it was the fountain, and I’m in no way confirming it was, how would you suspect I ended up there?” Brick continued to query as Spiritwind downed a sausage while filling the final dish. Placing all six bowls on a tray, the amateur chef headed back to the living room. Spiritwind couldn’t help but smile as he walked past his friend, who stood in an increasingly large puddle. Brick followed whilst negotiating. “I realise this is a great opportunity to wind me up, and given the same opportunity I couldn’t promise not to take advantage, but I’m cold, wet, and very confused, and I just wish to shower with some answers.”
Spiritwind accepted Brick’s plea and offered him a sausage. Brick took any heat he could get and awaited the information he desired so badly. He remained standing in the corner of the living room, juggling the pork based snack that was too hot to hold.
“You told everyone you were off to sleep in a fountain because that is the only truly manly method of rest. You then proceeded to call each of us very soft and very girly for going home to our comfortable existences. You started going on about it being a demonstration of everything that’s wrong with society or something. I was gone before you finished the sentence.”
“Oh. Why do you think I really decided to sleep in a fountain?” Brick continued chasing the meat cylinder from hand to hand.
“No idea. I asked you twice if you were sure.”
“What did I say?”
“You said you were a man of principle and the lines had been drawn. I had to choose my place in the world: fountain or bed.” Spiritwind popped the last sausage in his mouth.
“You made the right choice. Fountains are nothing like water beds.” Brick turned to leave the room.
“I knew that was a flawed theory.” Spiritwind allowed Brick to take a step into the hallway before teasing him further details. “Although you may have been doing it to impress the girls we met.”
“We met girls?” Brick turned back round, his voice losing all sense of pitch. It settled on deepness for the next part of his question. “Did we, impress them?”
“They didn’t hang around long enough for me to ask.” Spiritwind felt his breakfast was missing something.
“Ah well. Another fish slips through the net of life. Poor fish, I say. Right I’m off for a shower and a change of clothes.”
“I’ll wait before commencing any further cooking then.” Spiritwind relaxed the muscles that had been preparing to stand up.
“Probably best.” Brick disappeared and headed upstairs.
A curious chain of events had emerged from Brick’s past shower experiences: whenever he came to clean the lower half of his left leg the temperature would invariably plummet from summer meadow to Arctic winter. Believing it to be a simple timing issue, Brick changed the order he cleaned his body, all to no avail. Any attempt to clean the lower left leg still resulted in a shocking burst of cold water. Choosing to ignore the problem had left Brick with no coping strategy, which meant every time it happened was as surprising as the first. This led to him jumping backwards in horror, ripping the shower curtain down on the way, and flapping around on the floor struggling to break free from the figure hugging material that now imprisoned him. Knowing exactly what was going on would amuse Spiritwind no end, once nearly choking him on a particularly tasty sausage roll; hence whenever Brick takes a shower, Spiritwind is aware to avoid food.