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He knew he should be paying attention to work, but Abram couldn't stop himself from glancing back to the clock on the wall behind him, despite the long line of customers waiting for their daily dose of caffeine. It was a bad habit that he kept meaning to break, but he just couldn’t manage it. Especially on days like today, when he had honestly considered not coming in at all. Unfortunately, he had to pitch in on his part of the rent, and in about three weeks would have to take off about a week anyway-- God damn that stupid book. Paid time off was scarce as a barista, especially in a café this small, so he begrudgingly took the opening to noon shift today. He’d planned for this afternoon for about four months now and he wanted to get as much time off as he could, but he wasn't about to lose a day's pay.
Clock-gazing aside, barista work wasn’t too difficult for him. Granted, the talking bit wasn’t exactly something he was good at, but it was a job, and it paid all right. He only had to say names, anyway. Physically, he was beyond what the shop needed but nobody seemed to mind, especially since he could single-handedly cart two full bags of coffee beans to where ever they were needed without breaking a sweat-- Okay, so maybe the book had some perks.
Luckily the time flew by, and as soon as the clock hit 12 o’clock Abram all but threw his apron into his locker and ran out the door. His shared a townhouse with his brother and friends. The place was nearby, but still about a fifteen minute walk through the suburbs of Domino City. He made it in five minutes, a new record, hardly pausing to make sure the door was unlocked before barreling into the entryway.
“Welcome back, Diindiisi,” his brother, Marcus, called out from his room. From the lack of other voices greeting him, it seemed Marcus was the only other person in the house. He used his Ojibwe name, as per usual for the twins, the only one who did so besides his father who had given it to him. Abram grunted a response, making a beeline for his own room. I gotta change, no time to talk!
With a fervor most reserve for evacuating a natural disaster, Abram shed his work clothes, discarding them carelessly onto a large, old looking book that was similarly forgotten on the floor, and stepped into a pair of shimmery purple high rise shorts and matching zip-up crop top that were straight out of an eighties club. Fishnet gloves and bracelets, hoop earrings, and a thick belt also found their way onto his tan athletic body. Agh, this is taking too long! I’ll do my makeup on the train. He grabbed his platform boots and hopped out of his room, struggling to pull the zippers up.
“You heading out somewhere?” Marcus asked, still not bothering to leave his bed and magazine.
“Mmhmm.” Yeah, and I’m already missing it! Abram pulled his hair up into a high ponytail, as well as he could with his shaggy shoulder length hair.
“Will you be back for dinner?”
“No.” The subway will take a half hour each way, and I’ll be staying there till it closes so… Getting back around ten, I guess? “Don’t stay up.”
“Fine. I’ll order pizza.”
With that final exchange, Abram snatched his purse up and ran out the door, mind fixated on the quickest route to the subway station.
True to his plan, he applied his makeup on the train with a practiced hand, heavy hand, matching the gaudy nature of the rest of his outfit. Briefly, he wondered if it wasn’t an appropriate look for where he was going, but dismissed those thoughts quickly. These were his comfort clothes; he liked the vibe it gave off, and his goal today was total enjoyment.
Soon enough, he stepped out into the sunlight, revealing the building he’d been dreaming about for months. A large banner was draped across the stately, marble entrance.
DOMINO CITY MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY PRESENTS: SUSAN THE T. REX!
Abram could’ve cried. He sucked in a giant breath to contain his excitement. It didn’t work especially well; he sprinted his way up the stairs, platform heels be damned. OhmygodohmygodohmyGOD it’s here! Oh God! Yes!
Fortunately for the poor admissions worker, Abram managed to calm down before he made to enter the museum. Hand stamped, he trotted down the main hallway, following the signs pointing the way to the newly constructed, newly named “Prehistoric Fuana Wing.”
And then, there it was. There she was. The crown jewel of the new wing, the most complete skeleton of a tyrannosaurus rex found yet: Susan.
Abram walked right up to the skeleton, then froze in his tracks, staring up at the giant, boney beauty. He felt his eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, and he had to consciously close his jaw several times after it dropped in awe of its own accord.
His mind raced with every single fact about tyrannosaurus rexes he could recall. Forty feet long, twelve feet high. Five to eight tons. Late Cretaceous. Sixty teeth. Jaws that can crush a-
“Pretty cool, huh?” A raspy, borderline too loud for a museum voice pierced Abram’s train of thought. It almost toppled him over, but he managed to catch himself before he fell headfirst into Susan. “Sure beats looking at the pictures on the brochures.”
The stranger, a short man in a stocking cap and a baggy trench coat, hadn’t looked at Abram at all, smiling up at the fossil with his hands in his pockets. His eyes, however, seemed to absolutely glow with excitement and wonder. It was a kindred feeling to his own in the presence of Susan.
Abram slowly nodded, and the stranger turned and grinned up at him. “I’ve been waiting for this for months!”
Abram threw his gaze back on the skeleton. “Me too.” Longer than that. Since it was first discovered, a year back now. The stranger laughed out loud. It echoed off the walls, but it didn’t startle Abram this time. It was a nice sound.
“And I thought I was a dino-dork!” There was no malice. Just camaraderie. “Wanna go check out the rest of the exhibit?”
He nodded again. See a dinosaur exhibit with someone who likes dinosaurs too? Absolutely. Best idea ever. Sold.
“Cool! My name’s Rex, by the way. Nice to meet ya!”
“Abram.” Nice to meet you, too. Glad to meet another person of culture!
For once, he cursed his own weird inability to talk normally. He always had a lot of thoughts, but due to his-- well, less than normal origins, he didn’t always manage to get them out. He had some relatives with a similar issue, but it wasn’t quite the same. He didn’t really have an excuse for his speech habits. Words just were not his thing. It wasn’t a problem. He had friends and his brother to speak for him.
Except for now. Here. With a cool, dino-loving, potential new friend not from childhood, who wanted to hang out and geek over dinosaurs with him.
Fuck me.
But despite his personal worries, Rex didn’t seem off-put by his lack of response in the least. Instead he just grinned and pointed over his shoulder.
“Let’s start over there!”
The afternoon absolutely flew by. Rex, it turned out, was a very good museum tour partner. He stopped at every exhibit and read the plaque out for each. He’d even throw in his own two cents. Abram tried to chime in when he could, but even when he didn’t, Rex didn’t make a big deal out of it. It was nice, like when he went clubbing with Michael. No prodding, just dancing. Or dinosaurs, in this case.
By the time they had seen everything, the museum was nearly closing. The atmosphere changed around them to that of a job well done, and that it was time to leave was silently, mutually agreed. But just as they walked out of the entrance, Abram’s stomach growled loudly. In all the excitement, he had forgotten dinner. And he had skipped lunch. Come to think of it, did I even have breakfast?
Rex grinned. “So you’re hungry too, huh? I guess we did skip dinner.” He gestured over his shoulder, to a building diagonal to the museum. It looked like a greasy burger joint. “Wanna grab a bite before headin’ out?”
“Mm.” I’d like that.
They crossed the street and sat in a booth, with two baskets of predictably greasy burgers and fries. Though he was really hungry, Abram ate much slower than Rex. It wasn’t the food; he actually loved this kind of junk food, even if he could make healthier stuff. He just really wanted to think through his words. He was going to tell Rex what was on his mind, even if it killed him.
Deep breath, one, two--
“I’m sorry.” Abram swallowed the bite he was still chewing on. “That I don’t talk much.”
Rex looked genuinely confused at the apology. “Why’re ya apologizing for that? I don’t mind.”
Blood rushed into Abram’s cheeks. “Oh. I-- Um.” I can’t talk to people right. “It’s, ah--” It’s really annoying and I hate it. “I’m told that--” I’m told that I have problems conveying my thoughts. “That I’m hard to talk to.” And to hang out with. “To read.” I don’t emote vocally. “Communicate with.” There. It’s out there.
The other man stared at him blankly, still confused apparently. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”
Now it was Abram’s turn to be confused. Rex continued:
“Your face is really expressive, ya’know? Like, it’s really easy to guess what you’re thinkin’ about.” He shrugged. “And you do talk, when you wanna. I don’t see the problem.”
Abram nodded, slowly, taking in the other’s words. Yeah, I guess he’s right. I mean, I get shit across just fine. I live with people, for fuck’s sake, that takes communication. He nodded again, with more confidence this time, and resumed eating as though nothing had happened. Rex started chatting about the exhibits and dinner went by quickly.
Right before the two left, Abram held out his flip phone to Rex. We should hang out more often. Gimme your number?
Rex grinned and took out his own phone. “Good idea! Here, I’ll give you my number, you give me yours.” Phones were exchanged, numbers entered, and they finally parted ways.
By the time the subway arrived, he’d already typed out a text to Rex.
‘hi rex, had a g8 time 2nite. U get a taxi?’
He liked texting much more than talking, but found that Rex was more concise in his replying. That was fine, he could put up with that if Rex put up with him in person. For all his abbreviated messages, though, he never stopped texting back. Without realizing it, Abram had arrived home, nearly walking directly into the door of the townhouse. He opened it, then proceeded to continue texting as soon as he closed the door.
“Abram’s back!” called Greyson from the living room next to the entry. Ismael poked his head out from the kitchen, slice of pizza in hand, and waved with his free hand. Abram grunted in response, and went right to his room, eyes glued to his phone.
Marcus poked his head into Abram’s room, not bothering to knock. “Did you have fun?” Abram didn’t respond. “Diin?” Shut up, I’m busy. “Diindiisi?” Go away, can’t you see I’m talking to someone? “Abram!”
“Noodin!” snapped Abram, using his twin’s own Ojibwe name. “I’m texting.”
Marcus, for once, looked surprised. He was usually very good at controlling his expressions and actions, and the totally gobsmacked expression was laughable. Abram didn’t laugh, instead turning back to the message he was carefully typing. He didn’t notice when Marcus left, and paid no mind to the shocked exclamations from his other roommates wondering what the hell he had been doing.
He had a dino-buddy. Ain’t that the fuckin’ coolest!