Alex In the City by BymagaJones 11/16: Promises
Chapter 10: Puck Invites Himself
Chapter 11: Promises
Alex would have thought having Puck over to his room would’ve been really awkward, Puck trying not to feel uncomfortable with Alex’s living conditions. But it actually turned out to be fun, Puck making himself at home on Alex’s bed without pause. Alex even felt comfortable enough to talk a little bit about his financial situation, another thing he couldn’t imagine doing just a few days ago. But there was something about Puck that made him comfortable, not worried about being judged, and he appreciated having a friend. He hadn’t had one since Mace, and their friendship hadn’t managed to survive Mustafa’s death. Alex had tried to be there for Mace, but Mace only wanted to curl up inside his pain and give up on life, despite his teaching Alex that that was a fatal decision for people on the streets.
“Here.” Puck tossed a bag of chocolate cookies at Alex, taking another bag out of his plastic bag.
Surprised, Alex looked down at the bag. Food always seemed to be on his mind. Now that he had money, he could splurge and buy food every so often, but it was so expensive to eat healthy - a fast food burrito was cheaper than a salad - and he didn’t have the ability to keep food in his room. He’d usually go to the bodega in the morning and get an egg sandwich (no meat so he wouldn’t have to worry about food poisoning), carefully cutting it in quarters and eating it throughout the day. Every few weeks he’d buy a small bottle of water and continue to fill it up whenever he could, in bathrooms, at water fountains. After a while, though, he’d start to taste the plastic and would buy another container.
What he missed most was dessert. Sweets were an unnecessary expense. He’d developed a love of chocolate; Puck’s chocolate rugelach’s had disappeared before morning. The apricots were good as well, but chocolate beat fruit every time as far as Alex was concerned.
At times, he’d look longingly at the food wasted at the restaurant, but his pride wouldn’t let him go near it. He’d gotten the job there after he’d been caught rooting through the dumpsters for something untouched. Mace had trained him not to eat anything that had obviously been in someone else’s mouth; that’s how people got sick, and even a simple cold could kill when you lived on the streets. So he’d been painstakingly looking for something to eat when the back door had opened, bathing him in its light. He’d gotten lucky, because one of their two dishwashers had been a no-show, and it was one of the two least liked jobs in the place. Again he’d been lucky, because desperate as he’d been, he didn’t think he would’ve lasted doing the other least favored job, cleaning up in the dining room and, more importantly, the bathrooms.
While he wouldn’t say he’d become accustomed to eating so little, he’d stopped thinking of it as a choice. Going to the same place, buying the same thing, just became part of his routine. It was easier not to think about the choices he couldn’t make if he stopped them from feeling like actual choices. And every once in a while Zuma, his chop-shop boss’ wife, would send him food, or Iago, the chef at the restaurant, would ask Alex to “try” something he’d created.
So a package of cookies was a luxury, and Alex feared that he’d fall back into that trap of wanting things he couldn’t have again. It had been one of the most difficult lessons he’d had to learn, and he didn’t want to have to go through that process again. Already he’d had the rugelach; now there were the cookies in his hands.
“You don’t like them?” Puck asked, and Alex could tell that he was worried even though he was pretending not to care.
“I appreciate it, but…” Alex wasn’t sure how to explain his worry without hurting Puck’s feelings.
“It wasn’t expensive.”
“It’s not that.” Alex put the bag on the bed and turned to face Puck. “When I first got here, all I could think about were things I couldn’t have. I couldn’t stop at Starbucks for a drink, wear designer clothes, even use my favorite bath products, and it was really hard to get to the point where I stopped thinking about those things. I can’t - ” he thought a moment, “ - I can’t keep eating bags of cookies and buying sandwiches, because I’ll start to feel bitter when I don’t have the money to do it anymore.”
He could tell that Puck was trying to understand him and searched his mind for an example that Puck would understand. His eyes lit upon Puck’s guitar case.
“Imagine one day that you wake up, your right arm’s paralyzed.” He had to hold in his laughter at the look on Puck’s face. “So there you are, bitter, because all you can think about are the things you can’t do. You can’t write or draw, you can’t play your guitar or even open a door easily. So all day all you can think about is what you can’t do. Eventually, though, you have to make a choice. Either you can wallow in anger until it takes you down, or you learn to adjust. You open doors with your other hand, learn how to write left handed. Eventually, you stop thinking that it’s a choice; you automatically use your left hand. Then, say, you get the use of your right hand again, and you find yourself automatically falling into your old habits. But the doctors think it could only be temporary. So the next day, you could be just as you were before, with one working arm.”
Puck still had a perplexed look on his face. Alex opened his mouth to try to explain better, but Puck’s face suddenly smoothed. “You’re worried that you’ll get used to eating a whole lot and buying food all the time?”
“That’s the general idea, yes,” Alex said.
“It’s just one bag of cookies,” Puck said.
“And before that, it was the rugelach,” Alex said. “I just don’t want to get used to… dessert.” It sounded lame when he said it like that, but there it was.
Puck took a deep breath and thought a moment. “You know what I think it is? I think that you’re uncomfortable with the idea that I’m doing all this stuff for you.”
Feeling a swell of anger rising in his chest and making his face hot, Alex opened his mouth, but Puck wasn’t finished.
“I’m not saying that all that stuff about the… paralyzed arm isn’t true; I just think that maybe it might also be a little because you’re worried that you’re going to feel indebted to me.” Puck frowned. “Or maybe that I’ll think you owe me something?” He shook his head. “Either way.”
Alex barely realized he was shaking his head.
“But just hear me out, okay?” Puck reached out a hand, but he didn’t try to touch Alex. “I’ve never been where you were - or are. As bad as I had it at home, I always had a home, and as much as my mom and I didn’t get along, I always had her and my sister and my bubbe. I always had family. I’ve never been rich, but I’ve had things and family and friends. And you, Alex, are my friend.
“I’m not some Daddy Warbucks, here to entice you with treats so I can have my way with you.”
“I don’t think that was his intention with Annie,” Alex pointed out.
Puck huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. I gave you that rugelach, because I love sharing with my friends, especially ones who really love my baking. I bought the cookies, because I don’t like to eat alone, and I have to admit that I really like watching you eat chocolate.”
The heat in Alex’s face reappeared, and he ducked his head.
“I don’t expect anything from you. I just like the feeling I get when I share. Think of it as your doing me a favor.” He held up the package in both hands like an offering. “By eating these cookies, you are making me happy. Don’t you like to see me happy?” He batted his eyes dramatically.
Alex laughed and took the cookies. “Thank you.”
Puck had already scarfed down his cookies by the time Alex had finished his first one. “How about I play you my song while you finish eating?” He reached over his bed and unzipped his case, pulling out his guitar. Gently strumming and tuning, he said, “Okay, now, bear in mind that this is a work-in-progress.”
Alex didn’t realize he’d finished his cookies, pulled up his legs, and had wrapped his arms around them, propping his chin on his knees, spellbound, as he watched Puck play, listened to him sing. It wasn’t until the last note died out and Puck looked up at him that he remembered where he was.
“That was really, really good,” he said.
“Like I said, it still needs some work…”
“Where?” Alex asked, non believing. “It sounded perfect to me.”
Puck smiled, oddly shy, and Alex found it incredibly charming.
“Is this one of the songs for your band?”
“No,” Puck laughed, returning the guitar to its case. “Our stuff is much harder, much louder.”
“Are we talking AC/DC hard?”
“I guess we’re aiming more for Van Halen.”
“Do you do original stuff or covers?”
“A little of both. The covers bring in the audience. They already know the lyrics and can sing along. But we throw in our own stuff, and as we develop a following, we’re getting people who are starting to know our lyrics too.” He laughed. “I gotta tell you, looking down off the stage and watching people sing along with something I wrote… it’s a rush.”
Alex thought wistfully about watching Puck someday up on stage.
“You said you don’t sing anymore?” Puck asked.
Shrugging, Alex absently picked at his blanket.
“Wanna try something together?”
“It’s not in me anymore,” Alex whispered. He tried not to think about it, definitely didn’t want to say the words out loud, as if doing so would make it all real and permanent. Besides, it reminded him of the past, and he didn’t think about the past.
“Not possible,” Puck said. “Music’s a part of people like us. It doesn’t just go away.”
This conversation was leading down roads better left untraveled. He uncurled from the bed and stood, walking to the sink and washing his hands.
Puck seemed to take the hint. “It’s late; I should be getting home.”
Alex had been having a really good time up until the last few minutes, and he didn’t want it to end like that. “I’ll walk you to the station,” he said.
“It’s too cold,” Puck said. “I’m good.”
“You’re my guest; I’m walking you.” Alex picked up the coats from where he’d placed them on the counter, handing Puck his.
They didn’t speak the few blocks to the subway, but Alex stopped at the stairs. “Puck, I’m sorry about - ”
Puck shook his head. “Never be sorry for being truthful. I pushed. You pushed back.” He grinned. “I’m a big boy; I can handle it.”
Alex grinned back.
“So, are we going to keep stalking each other at our jobs?”
“I don’t have a phone.” And he knew he wasn’t going to get one anytime soon.
“Well, I do.” Puck dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “This has both my numbers and Aretha’s as well as the landline in our apartment. Call anytime; leave a message if we don’t answer. I’ll put something in my outgoing message if I have something to say to you.” He pulled back the paper as Alex started to take it. “If we haven’t heard from you in a few days, even if it’s just to say that you’re okay, we’re going to develop a craving for Latin food.” He grinned as Alex took the paper. “And yes, that is a threat.”
Alex smiled too, the warmth inside making him no longer feel the cold.
“Both of us want you to feel comfortable with us, which means that if we push, you push back. Just don’t run, okay?”
Alex frowned. “That’s kind of what I’ve learned how to do.”
“How about this? You try not to run, and we’ll try not to push too hard.”
“It’s a deal.” Alex held out his hand.
“Brace yourself,” Puck warned before reaching out and enveloping Alex in a big hug.
Alex’s first instinct was to pull back, and he stiffened. But then he reminded himself that this was Puck, who gave him pastries and sang him songs and let him shower at his house. His hands slowly rose, and he hugged back, and an unfamiliar yet comfortable feeling unfurled inside of him.
“So that’s you not pushing?” Alex asked as they separated.
“I only promised to try,” Puck said. “I didn’t say how hard.“ He grinned and turned, climbing the steps to the subway.
Chapter 12: Friends Lost
Entry with links to each chapter
Chapter 11: Promises
Alex would have thought having Puck over to his room would’ve been really awkward, Puck trying not to feel uncomfortable with Alex’s living conditions. But it actually turned out to be fun, Puck making himself at home on Alex’s bed without pause. Alex even felt comfortable enough to talk a little bit about his financial situation, another thing he couldn’t imagine doing just a few days ago. But there was something about Puck that made him comfortable, not worried about being judged, and he appreciated having a friend. He hadn’t had one since Mace, and their friendship hadn’t managed to survive Mustafa’s death. Alex had tried to be there for Mace, but Mace only wanted to curl up inside his pain and give up on life, despite his teaching Alex that that was a fatal decision for people on the streets.
“Here.” Puck tossed a bag of chocolate cookies at Alex, taking another bag out of his plastic bag.
Surprised, Alex looked down at the bag. Food always seemed to be on his mind. Now that he had money, he could splurge and buy food every so often, but it was so expensive to eat healthy - a fast food burrito was cheaper than a salad - and he didn’t have the ability to keep food in his room. He’d usually go to the bodega in the morning and get an egg sandwich (no meat so he wouldn’t have to worry about food poisoning), carefully cutting it in quarters and eating it throughout the day. Every few weeks he’d buy a small bottle of water and continue to fill it up whenever he could, in bathrooms, at water fountains. After a while, though, he’d start to taste the plastic and would buy another container.
What he missed most was dessert. Sweets were an unnecessary expense. He’d developed a love of chocolate; Puck’s chocolate rugelach’s had disappeared before morning. The apricots were good as well, but chocolate beat fruit every time as far as Alex was concerned.
At times, he’d look longingly at the food wasted at the restaurant, but his pride wouldn’t let him go near it. He’d gotten the job there after he’d been caught rooting through the dumpsters for something untouched. Mace had trained him not to eat anything that had obviously been in someone else’s mouth; that’s how people got sick, and even a simple cold could kill when you lived on the streets. So he’d been painstakingly looking for something to eat when the back door had opened, bathing him in its light. He’d gotten lucky, because one of their two dishwashers had been a no-show, and it was one of the two least liked jobs in the place. Again he’d been lucky, because desperate as he’d been, he didn’t think he would’ve lasted doing the other least favored job, cleaning up in the dining room and, more importantly, the bathrooms.
While he wouldn’t say he’d become accustomed to eating so little, he’d stopped thinking of it as a choice. Going to the same place, buying the same thing, just became part of his routine. It was easier not to think about the choices he couldn’t make if he stopped them from feeling like actual choices. And every once in a while Zuma, his chop-shop boss’ wife, would send him food, or Iago, the chef at the restaurant, would ask Alex to “try” something he’d created.
So a package of cookies was a luxury, and Alex feared that he’d fall back into that trap of wanting things he couldn’t have again. It had been one of the most difficult lessons he’d had to learn, and he didn’t want to have to go through that process again. Already he’d had the rugelach; now there were the cookies in his hands.
“You don’t like them?” Puck asked, and Alex could tell that he was worried even though he was pretending not to care.
“I appreciate it, but…” Alex wasn’t sure how to explain his worry without hurting Puck’s feelings.
“It wasn’t expensive.”
“It’s not that.” Alex put the bag on the bed and turned to face Puck. “When I first got here, all I could think about were things I couldn’t have. I couldn’t stop at Starbucks for a drink, wear designer clothes, even use my favorite bath products, and it was really hard to get to the point where I stopped thinking about those things. I can’t - ” he thought a moment, “ - I can’t keep eating bags of cookies and buying sandwiches, because I’ll start to feel bitter when I don’t have the money to do it anymore.”
He could tell that Puck was trying to understand him and searched his mind for an example that Puck would understand. His eyes lit upon Puck’s guitar case.
“Imagine one day that you wake up, your right arm’s paralyzed.” He had to hold in his laughter at the look on Puck’s face. “So there you are, bitter, because all you can think about are the things you can’t do. You can’t write or draw, you can’t play your guitar or even open a door easily. So all day all you can think about is what you can’t do. Eventually, though, you have to make a choice. Either you can wallow in anger until it takes you down, or you learn to adjust. You open doors with your other hand, learn how to write left handed. Eventually, you stop thinking that it’s a choice; you automatically use your left hand. Then, say, you get the use of your right hand again, and you find yourself automatically falling into your old habits. But the doctors think it could only be temporary. So the next day, you could be just as you were before, with one working arm.”
Puck still had a perplexed look on his face. Alex opened his mouth to try to explain better, but Puck’s face suddenly smoothed. “You’re worried that you’ll get used to eating a whole lot and buying food all the time?”
“That’s the general idea, yes,” Alex said.
“It’s just one bag of cookies,” Puck said.
“And before that, it was the rugelach,” Alex said. “I just don’t want to get used to… dessert.” It sounded lame when he said it like that, but there it was.
Puck took a deep breath and thought a moment. “You know what I think it is? I think that you’re uncomfortable with the idea that I’m doing all this stuff for you.”
Feeling a swell of anger rising in his chest and making his face hot, Alex opened his mouth, but Puck wasn’t finished.
“I’m not saying that all that stuff about the… paralyzed arm isn’t true; I just think that maybe it might also be a little because you’re worried that you’re going to feel indebted to me.” Puck frowned. “Or maybe that I’ll think you owe me something?” He shook his head. “Either way.”
Alex barely realized he was shaking his head.
“But just hear me out, okay?” Puck reached out a hand, but he didn’t try to touch Alex. “I’ve never been where you were - or are. As bad as I had it at home, I always had a home, and as much as my mom and I didn’t get along, I always had her and my sister and my bubbe. I always had family. I’ve never been rich, but I’ve had things and family and friends. And you, Alex, are my friend.
“I’m not some Daddy Warbucks, here to entice you with treats so I can have my way with you.”
“I don’t think that was his intention with Annie,” Alex pointed out.
Puck huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. I gave you that rugelach, because I love sharing with my friends, especially ones who really love my baking. I bought the cookies, because I don’t like to eat alone, and I have to admit that I really like watching you eat chocolate.”
The heat in Alex’s face reappeared, and he ducked his head.
“I don’t expect anything from you. I just like the feeling I get when I share. Think of it as your doing me a favor.” He held up the package in both hands like an offering. “By eating these cookies, you are making me happy. Don’t you like to see me happy?” He batted his eyes dramatically.
Alex laughed and took the cookies. “Thank you.”
Puck had already scarfed down his cookies by the time Alex had finished his first one. “How about I play you my song while you finish eating?” He reached over his bed and unzipped his case, pulling out his guitar. Gently strumming and tuning, he said, “Okay, now, bear in mind that this is a work-in-progress.”
Alex didn’t realize he’d finished his cookies, pulled up his legs, and had wrapped his arms around them, propping his chin on his knees, spellbound, as he watched Puck play, listened to him sing. It wasn’t until the last note died out and Puck looked up at him that he remembered where he was.
“That was really, really good,” he said.
“Like I said, it still needs some work…”
“Where?” Alex asked, non believing. “It sounded perfect to me.”
Puck smiled, oddly shy, and Alex found it incredibly charming.
“Is this one of the songs for your band?”
“No,” Puck laughed, returning the guitar to its case. “Our stuff is much harder, much louder.”
“Are we talking AC/DC hard?”
“I guess we’re aiming more for Van Halen.”
“Do you do original stuff or covers?”
“A little of both. The covers bring in the audience. They already know the lyrics and can sing along. But we throw in our own stuff, and as we develop a following, we’re getting people who are starting to know our lyrics too.” He laughed. “I gotta tell you, looking down off the stage and watching people sing along with something I wrote… it’s a rush.”
Alex thought wistfully about watching Puck someday up on stage.
“You said you don’t sing anymore?” Puck asked.
Shrugging, Alex absently picked at his blanket.
“Wanna try something together?”
“It’s not in me anymore,” Alex whispered. He tried not to think about it, definitely didn’t want to say the words out loud, as if doing so would make it all real and permanent. Besides, it reminded him of the past, and he didn’t think about the past.
“Not possible,” Puck said. “Music’s a part of people like us. It doesn’t just go away.”
This conversation was leading down roads better left untraveled. He uncurled from the bed and stood, walking to the sink and washing his hands.
Puck seemed to take the hint. “It’s late; I should be getting home.”
Alex had been having a really good time up until the last few minutes, and he didn’t want it to end like that. “I’ll walk you to the station,” he said.
“It’s too cold,” Puck said. “I’m good.”
“You’re my guest; I’m walking you.” Alex picked up the coats from where he’d placed them on the counter, handing Puck his.
They didn’t speak the few blocks to the subway, but Alex stopped at the stairs. “Puck, I’m sorry about - ”
Puck shook his head. “Never be sorry for being truthful. I pushed. You pushed back.” He grinned. “I’m a big boy; I can handle it.”
Alex grinned back.
“So, are we going to keep stalking each other at our jobs?”
“I don’t have a phone.” And he knew he wasn’t going to get one anytime soon.
“Well, I do.” Puck dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “This has both my numbers and Aretha’s as well as the landline in our apartment. Call anytime; leave a message if we don’t answer. I’ll put something in my outgoing message if I have something to say to you.” He pulled back the paper as Alex started to take it. “If we haven’t heard from you in a few days, even if it’s just to say that you’re okay, we’re going to develop a craving for Latin food.” He grinned as Alex took the paper. “And yes, that is a threat.”
Alex smiled too, the warmth inside making him no longer feel the cold.
“Both of us want you to feel comfortable with us, which means that if we push, you push back. Just don’t run, okay?”
Alex frowned. “That’s kind of what I’ve learned how to do.”
“How about this? You try not to run, and we’ll try not to push too hard.”
“It’s a deal.” Alex held out his hand.
“Brace yourself,” Puck warned before reaching out and enveloping Alex in a big hug.
Alex’s first instinct was to pull back, and he stiffened. But then he reminded himself that this was Puck, who gave him pastries and sang him songs and let him shower at his house. His hands slowly rose, and he hugged back, and an unfamiliar yet comfortable feeling unfurled inside of him.
“So that’s you not pushing?” Alex asked as they separated.
“I only promised to try,” Puck said. “I didn’t say how hard.“ He grinned and turned, climbing the steps to the subway.
Chapter 12: Friends Lost
Entry with links to each chapter