Aug 17

The Glass Castle Part 7

After a season of Sherlock was watched, the Indian Food ravenously consumed, and 1.5 pints of ice cream slowly savored, Cleo and Death had what could, in some other galaxy, be considered a conversation. "Death?" Cleo would periodically say. "What is your opinion on cantaloupe?" Death's reply would always be some variant of "yes." Then they realized that they weren't doing anything productive, so they eventually slogged upstairs and to their respective bedrooms. Cleo slept. Death replayed the moment when Cleo rested her head on his shoulder over and over in his mind. He couldn't quite figure out what was going on in his head, but he had a strange, terrifying inkling of what was going on in his metaphorical heart.
The next morning, Death resolved to ask Cleo an important question. As soon as it was a reasonable hour, he marched up to her bedroom door, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach. He knocked, and she answered that he should come in. The moment had come. He slowly opened the door and asked her. "What do you want for breakfast?"
"What? Oh. I already ate, but thank you." She turned towards him as she spoke, and he realized that she was wearing glasses, and writing on something that looked very important.
"Why are you wearing glasses? Are you blind or something?" He asked.
"No," she laughed, "Just nearsighted. I usually wear contacts."
"Oh." He paused, then went and sat on her already made bed. "So, I feel like a jerk about it, but I've never asked you what is it that you do for work?"
"Well, I actually have the coolest job ever. I'm a museum technician. So, like, I make all the displays and stuff."
"Whoa! For someone without a college degree you really do have a cool job," said Death. And then he immediately winced and hoped that Cleo wasn't offended by his comment. "I's just...."
"No, no, I get it," she said. "But they liked me and I've always been a history buff, so.... Anyway I've been meaning to ask you something too. What is this mission thing that you keep not mentioning? This thing that you said you needed me for? When you first came?"
"Ha, nice try. I'll tell you when you need to know."
"What the hell kind of answer is that? I need to know NOW!" Death laughed again and Cleo leaned back in her chair and groaned loudly.
"Okay, I have another question," she said. "What do you do all day when I'm gone?"
"First of all, that's none of your business, but since I like you I'll tell you."
"None of my business? Are you nuts? You live in my house now! You have to tell me what you do in it! Even if you didn't like me!" she exclaimed.
"Alright, alright! Calm down! I've been working on our plan."
"Plan? What plan?"
"We're going to have to leave here soon," he said.
"Not immediately, but soon. I'm not going to tell you why yet." Cleo rolled her eyes and sighed. "Partially to annoy you and partially because if I told you I would be putting you in danger, and like I said before, I like you so I won't do that."
"You're scared of putting me in danger even though you are literally Death?" she asked incredulously.
"Yeah. I am." Suddenly very serious, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and waited for Cleo to say something. She didn't, of course, she knew that that was not the time for some quippy remark. After a few minutes of somber silence, Cleo decided to speak.
"I'm gonna make you some pancakes now. You seem hungry."
"You are never, ever allowed to make me pancakes ever again." Cleo laughed and scampered down the stairs, a protesting Death right behind her.