Page 13 of Rhymes with Metaphor
“They’re scrubs,” said Joel.
“And do you do much scrubbing in them?”said Reg.
“Scrubs are what doctors wear.”
“Jumping the gun, aren’t you?”said Reg.“You’re a student.”
“Dress for the job you want,” said Joel.
“Which job do you thinkIwant?Or were you giving me career advice?”
Joel blinked at him.“I don’t give unsolicited advice, but based on what you’re wearing, I’d say your chosen profession was hermit.”
He didn’t say “hermit” like he meant it as an insult, more as a statement of fact, which made it somehow more insulting.
“Big words from a boy who rinsed my genius down the drain,” said Reg.
“I’m eighteen,” said Joel.“And I’m trying to study for my MCAT.Close my door on your way out, please.”He turned back to his laptop, dismissing Reg.
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As Martin was drivingReg home, he said, “That went well.How was Juliet’s little brother?”
“You mean New Bug.”
“Who?”
“Her kid brother,” said Reg.“He’s like the New Bugs at school.The ones who arrive on Day One acting like they know everything.The little sod.”
“Hit it off with him, did you?”
“He called me a hermit.”
“He’s perceptive.I’ll give him that.”
“I hate him,” said Reg.
“Could you hate him with a deep and abiding tolerance?At least till I’m more established with Juliet?”
“Hmmph,” said Reg.“Why are you looking so pleased with yourself?”
“In spite of that production of yours, Juliet has agreed to go on a proper date with me.I asked her to come to the park for ice cream.”
“Don’t go berserk.”
“Berserk would be buying her a power tool.”
“Afraid she’ll put up a shelf?”said Reg.
“You can’t spoil my good mood, but bravo for trying.”
Martin dropped Reg at his loft and left to get ready for his date.
Once inside, Reg looked at himself searchingly in the mirror on the back of the door.He was used to being given deference right out of the gate based on his height, his looks, his class, and the accent he refused to let go of.Encountering someone who was unimpressed with all of it, as Joel was, unnerved him.If nothing about Reg impressed Joel, then what did?Reg saw in the mirror someone who looked old for his age, someone whose face had filled in in the past few years and now looked indolent.Well, hewasindolent.What of it?
On the brick wall of his living room was a framed sketch Reg had made of Flip’s racket hand, sporting the platinum bracelet he’d commissioned for him on the first anniversary of their relationship.The bracelet was shaped like a cobra biting its tail, in honour of Flip’s fast backhand.The hood of the cobra was designed to resemble a tennis racket.The snake had an amethyst chip for one eye and an emerald for the other.Wimbledon colours.
The rest of the walls in Reg’s loft, apart from where his BFA in Creative Writing hung in the study, were bare brick, and Reg had developed a habit of jotting notes on them in chalk.He didn’t want to interrupt his flow by hunting for a pen and paper, and as he usually couldn’t find pens or blank paper in his loft, every wall of his loft had a piece of chalk lying beside it, and nearly every brick within reach bore his scrawled words.Reg picked up a piece of neon orange chalk lying on the floor and wrote on a bare patch of brick under the sketch of Flip’s hand:Dress for the hermit you want: Scrubs.
