of the silly rooster. I never thought much about getting a pet. I definitely never thought of a chicken as a pet, but Gladys definitely makes a good one. I need to go talk to him. There’s no point in putting it off any longer. I grab some blueberry muffins off my counter. I got them on sale at the gas station across the creek. I also pour the rest of the coffee in my pot into a disposable cup with a lid and take those out to my friend.
Yeah, I’m definitely going to miss and worry about Rooster and Gladys.
“You’re late,” Rooster mumbles when I make it outside. I grin, because I usually leave him breakfast on the top of the makeshift shelter that he and Gladys sleep in. I didn’t this morning because I knew I would be coming back. Immediately, however, I feel guilty because Rooster has begun looking forward to the things I do.
“I knew I was going to come right back home from school, so I waited to get you one of those blueberry muffins you like from Smitty’s gas station,” I explain, handing him one of the gigantic muffins and the coffee.
“You’re too good to me, Angel,” he says, and his hand shakes a little as he reaches out and gets the muffin. That’s been happening a lot lately—either that or I didn’t notice it before. He coughs, a ragged cough that is followed by a breath that makes it sound like he’s struggling, and I frown. I’m afraid he’s getting sick. I need to see if I can make him a hot toddy or something this evening. My mother swore by them. Of course, my mother was always a lush—as well as a pill-head and a bitch. Honestly anything you can get addicted to my mother did it. She wasn’t choosey.
“You need to come into my apartment, Rooster. It will help you stay warm. It’s getting colder and colder.”
“I’m fine. I’m tougher than I look. Stop trying to coddle an old man.”
“Sometimes we all need coddling,” I mumble, flopping down beside him.
“Is that a fact,” he mutters, his mouth full of blueberry muffin. “Is that fancy new beau of yours giving you attention, Angel?”
“He’s not a beau—not that I think they call guys that anymore, Rooster.”
“What do they call them?”
“I don’t know, not beau’s, though. Boos is the comparable slang today I guess.”
“Boos? That’s stupid.”
I want to argue with him, but I can’t, so I remain quiet for a bit, before letting out a large sigh because I don’t have the slightest notion on how to bring any of this up.
“Now that sounded like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
“It kind of feels like that,” I admit, feeling worse with each second that drags by.
I tear off a piece of the muffin and crumble it on the ground for Gladys. He immediately starts pecking away on it. As sad as I am, that makes me smile.
“Tell me what’s going on,” he says, and I try my best to smile for him. It’s strange this connection I have to Rooster. I think in my head he’s become kind of a surrogate father. Most would laugh at me, calling a guy I barely know, who is homeless and lives in what essentially is a box with a piece of tin on it, a father, but it doesn’t matter.
It’s true just the same.
“I’m going to have to leave Black Mountain, Rooster. My school made me sign a morality clause and well… another student discovered I work as a dancer at the Beaver. I only came here for the school. If I can’t go to it, I might as well go back to California. At least there, I can stay with my friend Roma and not pay rent.”
“Don’t know what Gladys will do without you. That damn chicken has gotten attached to you,” Rooster says, and his dark eyes completely betray his voice. He’s sad—maybe as sad as I am at having to leave.
“I’m going to miss you and Gladys,” I tell him, and I didn’t mean to, I was trying to hold it back, but I end up letting the tears bleed through. Rooster awkwardly hugs me, and I willingly let him. I don’t care that he smells. I don’t care about anything, because I can feel that he cares, and I don’t think I’ve ever had that. I thought maybe Mike cared, but I was just fooling myself. I know in