Aerial

The Sixth Chapter

"Harry."

Four weeks, five days and three hours into rehearsals and this is the third hour today that marks Harry's inability to hear a single word that you're saying. Tex explained to you that the morning prior Harry had gone surfing and was pulled under by a strong wave, causing him to tumble through the foamy crest and manage to get an earful of salt water that is affecting his hearing.

He arrived this morning loudly interrupting you whenever you opened your mouth to shout each of his horribly snippy phrases, digging his finger into his ear canal and announcing that he would be completely unavailable for conversation today. After a few attempts of questioning and receiving a blank stare in response, it became abundantly clear that you and Harry would be having limited instances of friendly small talk until further notice. Which is a shame because it was starting to seem like you were making headway on that front.

Regardless of the stagnancy of today, you've catalogued plenty of information throughout the past month. You've discovered that his frequency of smoking depends on how rotten his mood is, that he will smoke half a pack throughout the course of practice if he comes into work with his lips puckered considerably in sour annoyance. He flosses his teeth before taking a shower, shirtless up top and joggers down below, with his hips pressed against the vanity and his face so close to the mirror that his nose practically depresses on the glass.

You've observed that he eats one banana, a couple handfuls of peanuts in the shell, two hard boiled eggs and one green apple for lunch every day. In that order. Even though he has plenty of friends who want to be around him at all hours of the day, he eats quickly and he eats alone, but he will allow you to join him if only you promise to ask no more than two questions per session. On the day that you packed your lunch to perfectly replicate his in an effort to spark a reaction, he snarled and reduced your allotted daily question to one before leaning over and eating half of your freshly peeled banana in one enormous bite.

Just as you'd suspected, the head-to-toe black clothing was either a subconscious or fully cognizant method of protesting your presence and since it's now understood that you're not going anywhere, he's slowly begun adding color back into his wardrobe. After he's showered, he typically builds each outfit with a creamy, form-fitting tank top first, tucked into a pair of high-waisted trousers and layering flowy and unbuttoned shirts on top. Sherbet pinks and lemon drop yellow, honey gold and apricot orange. All warm shades of pastel rainbow that make you wonder if his closet looks like a candy necklace or an untarnished, tightly wrapped roll of sugary confection. Mouthwatering saltwater taffy on the outside and tooth-shattering jawbreaker on the inside. Or so it seems.

His preferred flavor of chewing gum is orange creamsicle that comes wrapped in white wax paper. Unfortunately, you got a whiff of it the hard way when you stuck your finger into one of his bubbles to pop it, but the plan backfired when he spit it out into your palm and said that he'd rather choke than put it back in his mouth. Finally, you've learned through eavesdropping that him, Tex and a solid group of guys all meet up to play pool together several nights a week. It seems to be a sacred time for them to unwind from a day of physical activity, most likely standing around and shooting the shit while they smoke cigarettes and drink beers.

Harry still isn't being particularly friendly when he gives in to your prying digs, but you'd rather him call you a Clyde at the end of each retort than call you nothing at all. You're getting a dose of what that feels like right now and it is the opposite of spectacular.

"Harry!"

Tex grasps your wrist and lowers your cupped hands from your mouth, "he can't hear you. Don't even try. Maybe you should just do strength training and practice some of your static, solo choreography today and he will be in tip-top shape mañana."