Firebird Nested in Darkness Vol 1 : 1:2

Volume One: The Road Out

Chapter One


Verse Two: Never Lucky


Marion stood and tried to run to the pile of clothing to look for his work clothes. His legs crashed against the inside of the sleeping bag he used for bedding and he landed like a drunk in a three legged race on the floor, aging synthetic carpet scraping open his forearms.


"Late. Late. Late." Marion muttered and he belly crawled out of the sleeping bag towards the pile of clothes. On the top of the pile sat two socks: one red with two black horizontal stripes and one with an argyle design in burgundy and salmon. Marion gave the socks a sniff, shrugged and slipped the socks on. Sifting through the pile of clothes he found his gym shirt and gym shorts, a Star Wars t-shirt, a Fight Club T-shirt, an Avatar t-shirt, a grey silk neck tie and no collared dress shirt.


"Late. Shirt. Late. Shirt." Marion stood up and opened his closet. He flung the tie over his shoulder and began digging through the bigger pile of t-shirts in the closet. No collared shirt materialized. Marion only had one collared shirt, and it was not on his floor or in his closet.


"Okay, shirt later, eat first. late!"


Marion slid across the linoleum in the kitchen to the fridge and pulled it open. The fridge sat empty save for a tin of cat treats and three MacDonald brand single serving ketchup packets in the door tray. Marion paused and looked at the cat treats and then the ketchup and finally picked up the ketchup packets and squeezed each packet into his open mouth in turn.


"Breakfast of Champions!"


Marion spun, and made his way to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror, and began to wash his face. Something caught his attention. He made a few attempts to comb his unruly hair, but gave up. Marion's hair didn't sit down without a shower and more product than he liked to admit to- and he didn't have time right now. He looked back in the mirror. Something was off. Then Marion saw the problem. He was still wearing his work shirt.



Marion's memory kicked back into gear, admittedly a little late. He had been told last night that he had to do mandatory overtime to get the Mother's Day stock out on display for the morning opening of the store. He'd been up until almost two in the morning sorting Oprah bait. Marion was amazed he'd made it into his bed at all. He tied his tie using the Kent knot, adjusted it a little to get the tie looking symmetrical, and then headed for the door. he grabbed his red converse sneakers and laced them up. Marion noticed, as he laced up his shoes that the scrape on his left shin had scabbed over and seemed to be healing nicely. Mr. Grimly, Marion's landlord, had opened the scrape in Marion's shin when the landlord had tried to push his way into Marion's apartment last Friday to demand overdue rent from Marion. Marion finished lacing his shoes and stood up.


Marion glanced at a retro Spider-man wall clock over his weary looking iMac. He didn't have much hope of making it to work on time, even if he hit every bus transfer perfectly. But he knew he had to try. He quickly stepped out the door and locked it behind him.


He needed to his the Number 8 Main Street Bus first if he stood any chance of making it to work. Then he stopped as a thought caught up with him. He wasn't holding his buss pass.Where was his bus pass? It should have been in his pocket. Where was his pocket? Wait, and why could he see his shin? He wasn't wearing pants. And the door was already locked.


Marion was standing in the hall of his apartment building wearing a white dress shirt a grey silk tie, red converse sneakers and red Astro Boy boxer briefs and nothing else. When he stumbled home last night after his shift he had managed to get his pants off, but not his shirt.


Marion stared at the door as it barred they way between him and his pants. Allons-Y Books drew its employees from a large pool of perpetually unemployed and underemployed arts students and arts grads. Marion knew he was utterly replaceable. Getting to work involved two bus transfers and a three km run and was never convenient. Marion had been late before, particularly when he was required to work late and start early. His manager, Mr. Wheatley didn't care about excuses, especially when the excuse was that his management ability was more in line with the Pharaoh in Exodus than with modern human ethics standards.


Marion had received two previous disciplinary warnings, one about his tardiness and one about his 'lack of company spirit'. Marion sold more books than any three other employees at Allons-Y combined, but he never managed to sell any of the highly promoted odds and ends that the company called 'display pieces' and Marion called 'Oprah Bait'- useless items that looked good placed around Oprah Book club books displayed in a way that told you instantly that their owner would never read the books the pieces were designed to compliment.


Marion debated his options. He could buy pants on the way, but that would take too long. He was particular about his pants, and didn't have money to spend on pants he didn't like. He could simply show up without pants, but then Mr. Wheatley would be able to add Marion's perfectly sculpted quads to his list of reasons to hate Marion. He could simply deny that he had forgotten his pants, but his ability to effect a Jedi mind trick was still in development. He could climb into the clothing donation bin underneath his fire escape and use those pants, but he would almost certainly get stuck and then some homeless guy would steal his astro boy briefs while Marion was trapped.


No, Marion knew that his bus pass, his keys and his pants were all essential to getting to work and keeping his job, and he needed his job to catch up on the rent after he gave Mrs. Trilby next door the $500 to help with Mercer's colon surgery last month.


Marion needed to get back into his apartment.


Marion realized he had another option: fire escape. Marion had climbed over the fire escape and in through a window into his apartment to avoid Mr. Grimly several times in the past, and had climbed out the same way many times for the same reason. Marion had used the window as an entry point so many times in the past that he had rigged a pulley system with clothesline and several coat hangers so that he could pull open the window and still have it appear locked.


Marion discounted the fire escape as soon as he considered it though. he would have to go outside and climb up, people would see him and he was fairly confident that they would attempt to steal his Astro Boy boxer briefs. He also considered the possibility that he would be arrested for indecent exposure. He also decided that he probably should have included that in his previous calculations.


The only option, that he could see was to ask Mrs. Trilby next door for help. Mrs. Trilby never slept. Their apartments were adjacent, and the fire escapes were attached. If Mrs. Trilby was home, and she was always home, Marion could climb out her window and onto the fire escape and use his pulley system to unlock the window and climb in and get his pants. Marion was fairly confident Mrs. Trilby would let him climb out her window, he looked after her cats when she went on her bus tours and he even sat and let her show him her photos when she got back. Marion had never been on a road trip.


Marion nodded to himself and knocked on Mrs. Trilby's door.


After a brief pause punctuated by the cries of her seven cats, Mrs. Trilby opened the door. She smiled when she saw Marion, then her eyes tracked downward and widened as she noticed his attire and then she shook her head and sighed.


"Hi, Mrs. Trilby, I need to climb out your fire escape."


"Marion. You're just wearing your pants."


"No, that's the problem, I'm not wearing my pants. They're in my apartment along with my key and my bus pass and I'm late for work as of roughly zero minutes. Can I climb out your window onto the fire escape so I can into my apartment and get my pants?"


"Oh dear, Marion how did you forget your trousers? I've worried about you for some time you know boy. You need to see a psychologist or psychiatrist or, you know, some other Brainshrinker specialist, because you may be clever, but I wonder if everything is wired in correctly some days. Today is definitely one of those days."


"My brain is wired fine Mrs. Trilby, I'm just distracted. But I really think that getting my pants is more important that us discussing the wiring of my brain at this exact moment, don't you?"


"It's never a good time. But you are a dear and I am not going to sit by and not state my worries. The more I think about it now, the more I am sure that his episode is proof of some dangerous malignant brain tumor And you will not brush this aside, just because you are young and think you are invincible."


"I don't think I'm invincible Mrs. Trilby. I think I'll lose my job if I show up late or without pants or both. Don't you? I can't pay for a brainshrinker if I lose my job now can I?"


Mrs. Trilby considered this, "That does make make some sense. But you remember what happened to my Mercer, he almost didn't make it because we ignored his tummy pains. Fine, you can come in, but I expect to see you looking into a good shrinker person as soon as you have cash. Do you hear? You were a dear to help us out, now I insist you help yourself."


"I will Mrs. Trilby. Now, please, the window. Pants."


She let him in and as she closed the door, her cats engulfed him. Seven big aging tabbies each a good fifteen pounds at least, surrounded and nuzzled Marion. The oldest cat, Mercer stepped off the bookshelf right onto Marion's shoulders and snuggled in and began to purr.


"He knows you helped him. I swear." Mrs. Trilby added.


"I think he knows I keep treats for him in my fridge. And I love Mercer, but I have to get moving or I'm going to lose my job and probably this apartment."


"You know, if you had a degree in something you might be able to get a better job."


"I have a Masters Degree in Literature specializing in Post-Colonial Literature. I am an honest to Vishnu scholar."


"I meant becoming a Doctor or a lawyer or something 'real', like Sammy across the hall, she's a hospice nurse- she gets paid to wipe the behinds of people like me when we start thinking that we're seeing our parents for the second time. It's good money, you could some of that action if you got a useful degree."


Marion waded his way through Mrs. Trilby's seven cats. Cobra had latched claws onto Marion's argyle sock and Marion was forced to drag the black cat along, a game that Cobra never tired of. Fluffy leaned in to every step that Marion made and even though Marion knew to lift his legs up and over the white Persian, the effort made walking a challenge. Fone, Phoney and Smiley meowed in stereo or whatever the triple version of stereo was and tried to block Marion's way. Robin Hood lay several steps in front, creamy belly turned skyward and already purring expectantly. Marion held his left hand away from his body and snapped his fingers. The heads of seven cats turned in unison and moved under the the outstretched hand allowing Marion a chance to move past them.


"They listen to you better than me some days."


"Being their uncle and not their mamma makes it easier. I get to bring the treats and not the spray bottle."


"That's true I suppose."


"I'm getting distracted again. I need to move."


"You see. Forgetting again. I think you've got a brain tumor like that John Travolta character in that movie where he's telegraphic and buys all those ugly chairs from that nice lady and Forrest Whittaker plays that nice Radio guy, or was that Cuba Gooding Jr? I hope it was Whittaker, I like his acting better, he seems nice even when he's playing a bad guy."


"I'm not sure that there are a lot actual bad guys in the world, just people trying to be good in the wrong ways."


As he spoke, Marion opened the window and climbed onto the fire escape. He looked to his left at his own window and stopped. Mrs. Trilby saw him pause and asked, "What's the matter dear?"


"They don't connect." Marion said, staring in dismay, "There's a three foot gap or so between the fire escapes. I'd never noticed before."


"Before?"


"I've used the fire escape a bunch, but always up and down. Never across."


"That's not very far. You're young."


"We're five storys up."


"Well that is a fact."


"I don't know that I have a choice though, "Marion said.