Chapter 10

Will looked at Timmy suspiciously, especially when Timmy's cough took hold and shook Timmy's whole body, but Will took Timmy's money and gave him a key. He mentioned he'd had a hard time finding anybody since the apartment was so far from the main town. After filling the prescription for antibiotics for his illness and giving Will his share of a month's rent, Timmy didn't have any funds left for food for the next two weeks, but he was proud of having paid for his very own place to live.

All Timmy had with him were his sleeping bag and a backpack with a couple changes of clothes. Will kindly lent Timmy some blankets, since Timmy had no furniture, much less a mattress to lay on. Timmy made up a bedroll with the sleeping bag to soften the hard, hard floor. He barely noticed how inadequate the bag's padding was before he was out like a light. Once or twice he was awakened by thumping and shouts possibly coming from Will's room next to his, but he wasn't sure with his poor hearing. Thereafter, he managed to snooze only until early morning, when he heard guitar music. He noticed just how hard the floor truly was when he pushed himself up and found new sore spots where his body was rubbed raw. At least it was Saturday, and he didn't have to thumb to work.

After a trip to the john, Timmy stumbled into the kitchen. Will was playing a fine Gibson flattop guitar, but stopped.

"Please, go on," motioned Timmy.

"I don't usually play in front of other people," Will mumbled.

"Huh?" grunted Timmy.

"I said, I don't play for other folks," Will stressed. "Say, you don't hear too well, do you?"

"No," admitted Timmy, shaking his head. "My ears are all messed up. I've got a doctor's appointment on Monday to look at them. Anyway, just pretend I'm not here."

Will noticed Timmy just sitting at Will's tubular formica table. He knew Timmy didn't have any food in the fridge, and realized Timmy was probably hungry.

"Why don't you help yourself to some milk and cereal this morning? You'll have to get your own later today, but this should get you through until then," Will offered.

Timmy shrugged. "Naw, I don't eat much in the morning, but I'd sure appreciate a cup of coffee."

Will said, "I'm sorry. I don't believe in coffee."

"What?" demanded Timmy, grappling with Will's words. "You don't believe in coffee?"

"My church believes the effects of coffee adulterates your natural state of grace, and so prohibits it as being sinful," explained Will.

Will thought this was the stupidest thing he had ever heard, but he didn't think it was a good idea to piss off his new landlord and roommate. He bit off his response, and said grudgingly, "Okaaay." He didn't press for information about Will's church, he had gotten far too much religion from his parents.

Timmy's response impressed Will. Most people not of his faith treated him like a leper after they discovered his odd practices, such as that of not drinking coffee. Potential roommates had run screaming soon after discovering this, and other things.

Will's morning habit was to play his guitar for an hour. It was his only vice, really, and he hated thinking of not playing just because Timmy would be there. Will thought about Timmy's poor hearing, and about how low key Timmy's response was to the prohibition against coffee drinking. He looked at Timmy, and noticed the boy was just staring out the window and paying no attention to him. Will picked a couple of experimental notes, but Timmy didn't turn around. Will decided to chance playing anyway, and reopened his sheet music.

The beautiful sounds of "Morning Has Broken," by Cat Stevens spilled from his fingers. Timmy was awed. This guy could play! Timmy started to turn around, but caught himself. "Don't scare Will," he thought to himself. He turned his head only enough to study Will from the corner of his eye. The light coming through the big glass windows caught the young man cradling his guitar in its beam. He was beautiful. Timmy was shocked and mesmerized. Stealthily he stared, completely entranced by the fine blond hair surrounding Will like an angel's halo, and the superb curvature of his face. Will's slight elven body perfectly complimented his face, from what Timmy could tell. Timmy's heart fluttered.

The two young men, one but a boy, the other only slightly older chronologically and perhaps of even lesser emotional age, remained locked in their positions for the duration of the magic. At last, Will set his guitar on a stand in the living room, next to a second, more ornate archtop Gibson, and went away to live the rest of his day. Only then was Timmy released from the spell and able to move.

In the past, whenever completely broke and needing funds, Timmy had gone collecting returnable cans and bottles. The state had been the second in the country to adopt refundable drink containers. Finding a couple of bags in the kitchen, Timmy headed out to gather some money for food. He started with the five or six soda bottles he found next to Will's trash bin.

Timmy used the chance to check out the little town. It stretched out thinly along about two miles of the state's main north-south highway. He found trash cans along the entire length of village. There were also a few cans and bottles lying on the side of the road, but not many. The town was clean and well kept. The garbage cans yielded the most gold. At a nickle apiece, though, it took a lot of containers to get much money. When he made his way to the redemption center, he was given $12.85 for his full bags. It seemed hardly worth the hacking cough the effort had generated, or his tired legs. He wished his illness, whatever it was, would go away.