Escape the Heat

by Mike Mayak

“Pwhew” Jake Malagar said. “Cold in here. Should have brought my hoodie.”

“It’s 101 degrees out there,” Ricky Jago said, thumbing at the big glass doors that looked out onto the Library parking lot. “Besides, you look good.”

Ricky eyed Jake. Young, tanned, dark-haired with lean arms in a white tee-shirt with worn jeans.

“Shirt could be a little tighter.” Ricky said.

“Oh you!” Jake laughed, looking and sounding like an underage call boy. He was neither but he liked to give people that impression. Both of them were barely 23 years old, but with a lot of experience.

He plopped down on the couch just inside the doors near the front desk and stretched out, one arm under his head.

“You look like a liquor ad in the Advocate,” Ricky said.

“Yeah,” Jake grinned looking up at the ceiling.

Jake sat up; something had moved in the flat, tiled ceiling above him. It wasn’t a reflection from the glittering mobile that hung by the balcony above them on the second floor or something blowing in the air conditioning. The ceiling had rippled for a moment, like shaken pudding or the flat water of a swimming pool on a calm day when a swimmer pats it.

An earthquake, maybe? But Jake hadn’t felt anything.

“Hey, let’s grab a croissant or something.” Ricky said, pointing at the little snack bar.

“Uh, yeah.” Jake said sitting up. “You just feel anything?”

“Only you,” Ricky said, brushing his hand against Jake’s butt as they walked over to the snack bar.

Jake leaned against the cool stone wall, eyes closed as he munched on his croissant.

“This is good,” Ricky said, waving his half-eaten croissant in the air.

“MmmmmmHmmmm,” Jake said, glancing up at the painted arrow on the wall above him, pointed to the Auditorium.

Jake suddenly felt sudden warmth from the wall at his back.

“Taste…nice…” came a whisper.

Jake swallowed a piece of croissant and sat up straight. “You say something?”

“Nope.” Ricky said, taking a slurp of soda through a straw.

“Maybe it was in the next room…” Jake muttered, realizing Ricky was paying more attention to the male and female baristas.

Jake leaned back against the wall.

It rippled. The whisper went on.

“I been here since before stone building. I sent here. Trapped. You sensitive. Can feel. Hear. See…”

Jake groped for his soda.

“I sleep except when it hot,” came the whisper.

Jake grabbed Ricky’s arm and jumped off his chair.

“C’mon. Let’s go sit under an AC vent.”

They did. Jake wondering what the land had been like when only the whisper had been there.

—end—