Miles To Go

Deleted Scene

Tentatively, Gerald rose from his cracker crumb infested bed and stood, his gaze resting upon that of his roommate.

Miles Gobie was laid on his right side, his back to the clay walls of the adobe they shared. His arms were wrapped across his chest, holding within them his most prized and guarded possession, his notebook.

Gerald's eyes narrowed in determination as in the dim light, he was just able to spy its deep red cover. He wanted, no, needed to see what his friend was always writing upon its pages. Day and night he writes in that thing. What the hell is he writing? This was one of many nights that he'd watched Miles write in it until he fell asleep. Gerald felt that if he could only get a glimpse into the inner workings of his friend's mind, that...well actually he didn't have a good reason at all, he was just extremely snoopy.

Carefully Gerald tread forward, sneaking his way over piles of dirty laundry and empty food wrappers.

His blood ran cold when he got close enough to see that Miles's eyes were open and that he was staring right at him. Gerald raised his hands in defeat and was just about to say something, when he noticed that Miles's gaze seemed to go right through him. Gerald got right in front of him and waved his hand in front of his friend's face. No reaction.

Sweet. Gerald thought. And creepy... He then brought forward the Playboy mag he'd brought with him and with one hand began trying to slide the notebook out and with the other replace it.

Just then, a superhuman speed-slap hit him the face.

"Ooooff!" Gerald's hold faltered for only a moment, after which he made a heroic yank upon the book. It was in vain however, as Miles's remaining folded arm tightened around it so it didn't budge.

"Gerald! Stop it!" Miles cried as he tried to shove Gerald's hands away.

"I want to see! What's so important that you keep writing in here!" Gerald cried back as they kept slapping at each other's hands. "Just give it!"

"No!"

Finally Miles managed to give Gerald a shove and push him backwards into a pile of laundry. Gerald didn't try to get up, he just spread out in defeat.

"Leave my book alone, Gerald! I've told you it's private!" Miles said as he shoved it under his pillow.

"What is so special about that book? You write in it all day and night. You look at that book more than you look at me!" Gerald argued from the floor.

Miles's brow tightened. "Wait a second...are you...jealous?"

"What? Jealous of what?" Gerald scowled.

"Jealous of my book!"

Gerald looked confused for a long moment. Then he seemed to understand. "What? No! Pfftt. Jealous of a book? If you wanna marry it, I don't care."

Miles considered him silently and Gerald suddenly felt uncomfortable. He hadn't thought of it, but maybe he was jealous of the book. It did bother him that Miles would come into their room and barely speak to him sometimes, choosing instead to pay attention to his notebook.

"It's just a book, Gerald." Miles said, looking puzzled.

Yeah, and I'm your friend. It's an inanimate object, I'm not. "Yeah, whatever." Gerald said, rising and huffing off to his own bed. I don't need anybody but me, myself, and Mr. Pickles. Gerald thought as he hugged his small stuffed animal alligator to his chest.