Or so I hope desperately. I always have trouble with these silly little LJ cuts. I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do.

I wrote it, and I like it enough to post it, and that's all that counts for me.

Hope it pleases.

Paint the Days Away

Ah, the first day of summer vacation. There is nothing else quite like it. Excluding, of course, the countless other days of summer that follow it.

This was one such day.

Throughout the summer months, Blink found a comfortable routine in which to live his life. Watching talk shows in the morning; soccer in the park in the afternoon; helping around the house, running errands, and general dicking around in the evening. And of course, a steady stream of friends to make this routine more interesting.

This Thursday morning would have dawned unremarkable in such a view, had the ‘evils of Wednesday night’ not befallen Blink.

“There’s no ‘no’ for an answer, young man.”

Blink knew that when he was called ‘young man’ there would be no escape from the beast. The beast also referred to as ‘hard manual labour’.

“All I want is for the baseboards to be repainted. Is that so hard for you? Two hours, out of your day is not so bad, especially because you don’t even have a job this summer.”

Blink resigned himself to looking sullen. “Which baseboards?”

His mother smiled, but to Blink it was much more of a smirk. “All of them, honey.”

“All of them?! That will take me-”

“Two hours.” And that was the end of any argument.

Thursday morning happened without Maury, Montel, Rosie or Ellen. Yes, even Jerry had to be cast aside, in favour of the baseboards.

Blink decided to start from the top. His parents bedroom, in which the baseboards needed a fresh coat of a dusty pink semi gloss, would be the starting point. Blink used his green painter’s tape to tape off the walls. He hated this part, where he would be expected to make all the lines perfectly straight or risk painting over something vital.

So when the phone rang and distracted him, he was not pleased. Luckily, it was his best friend Mush who was calling to say hello.

“Hey, what’s up today? Soccer at three, like always?” Mush wanted to know.

Blink filled him in on the unfortunate situation.

“That’s terrible… Sucker.”

“Yes, I may be a sucker, but I am a sucker who is allowed to do his chores in his underwear. You can’t, because you baby-sit the neighbour’s daughter. Which reminds me, why are you not there today?”

Mush sighed. “Damn, your memory is worse than my grandfather’s. I told you before; she’s at day camp for this week and next. So I’m free.”

Blink’s mind worked like lightning. “Free to come over and help me paint?”

Mush sighed again, even louder than before. “What’s in it for me?”

The phone slipped from Blink’s loose grip when he twisted awkwardly, trying not to drip paint on the rug. He didn’t hear most of what Mush had just said, so he tried to play it safe. “…Just get over here.”

“Guh. I’m on my way. You owe me though.”

Blink did not reply with the biting sarcasm he normally used. He was too busy trying to keep the paint even and not streaky.

Mush knocked once on the door, and then let himself in. The beauty of living next door was that it was never too far to walk.

“In here!” Blink called when he heard Mush’s footsteps on the stairs.

“Wow. You weren’t kidding about the underwear thing.”

Blink narrowed his eyes. “Problem with that? I figure if they are going to use me like a slave, I’m going to be comfortable at least.”

Mush held his hands up in subjugation. “No arguments here, chief. What do I paint?”

Blink handed him a brush and a little tin of the putrid pink colour. “Start under the window. If you spill any of the carpet, you will be beaten. And I am not kidding.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Mush started on his own baseboard as Blink continued intensely in his corner. They didn’t speak for a long while.

“Mush?”

Mush looked up. “What’s up?”

“Thanks. I hate this. You make it easier.”

Mush grinned to himself. “Why? Because I’m your best friend?” He felt like a sentimental dork for saying it. They rarely discussed their friendship; it was taken for granted. They both silently understood how much the other meant, but that was what it was: silent. Both were under the impression that it would be awkward to bring it up.

Blink thought about it briefly. It was much too awkward to talk about. So he tried the casual approach. “No, because I can make you do it. I can just relax and watch my little slave do the work.”

Mush got to his feet. “Slave? Did I hear that correctly?”

Blink stood up too. “Yes, I believe you did.” They stood nearly eye-to-eye. If this situation had have arisen between Mush and anyone else, there would be hell. But it was Blink so he let it slide.

“Okay then.”

The painting in the other three rooms on that floor went quickly. Unfortunately, the baseboards than ran along down the stairs were slanted, making them that much more difficult to tape off and paint.

“Gah, this is retarded. There’s no need for these damn things to even be painted. They look fine,” Blink grumbled as he hurled the roll of tape down the stairs. The impending storm of anger darkened the stairway.

“Hey, why don’t you get us some food and I can finish with the tape?” Mush diffused the frustration with ease, after thirteen years of practice. Blink eyed him briefly, but went down into the kitchen.

It was agreed that the stairs were the hardest part of the whole house once they were in the last room, the rec room in the basement.

“Hey, where did you put that white paint?” Blink asked, looking around behind him where he thought he had just set the can.

“I’m using it now. You can just wait your turn.” Mush smiled.

If Blink had have been paying a touch more attention, he would have realized that this was no normal smile. But Blink was distracted by whatever Mush was holding behind his back. How unfortunate for Blink.

A split second later, Blink had a long streak of white paint down his arm. “A-bla?!”

Mush grinned wickedly. “That is my mark. I own you now.”

“Your… mark?” Mush nodded. Blink stood on shaky legs. “Your mark?” Mush nodded again. “Well… I guess that settles that. Except…”

Mush cocked his head to one side. “Except what?”

Blink ran his finger in the wet paint and poked Mush straight in the forehead. “Except that’s my mark.”

Mush spluttered with indignation. “You little weasel. This of course means war.”

“Of course.” The two boys ducked and laughed and splashed paint at each other, both trying to saturate the other more.

“Ryan Ballat! Daniel Meyers!”

Blink’s mother stood, in her ferocious, six foot two glory, at the bottom of the stairs. “What in tarnation do you think this is? A paintball arena? I swear, if one drop…”

Blink rushed over to his mother with the most apologetic look he could muster. “It’s okay, ma. We were just finished, all we-”

“Too right you were finished. Daniel, get yourself home, now. Honestly, my kids could paint better than you. And they are more well behaved.” Blink’s mom worked at a day care centre.

Mush apologized to Mrs. Ballat, waved goodbye to Blink, and made a dash for the stairs. As he scuttled out the front door, he heard Blink being cussed out and ordered to clean up. He snickered to himself as he was halfway across his own lawn. Blink’s mom was a hard-ass when in came down to ‘monkey business’ as she deemed it. It must have something to do with working with kids all day.

Blink called Mush later that evening. “Hey Mush, I’m sorry about mom getting all mad.”

“No sweat. We totally deserved it.”

Blink cleared his throat. “Well… I wouldn’t quite say that.” He stretched out on his bed, picking paint out of his hair.

“What do you mean?”

Blink gave a nervous laugh. “Well, my mom called your dad, and you’re coming back over tomorrow. We have to re-shingle the roof.”

“…”

“Yes, and I’m not even joking. It probably wouldn’t have been so bad, but because I sort of told my mom that you started it, she figured it was only fair you get punished as much as I do,” he rolled over onto his stomach and looked past his desk out the window. Blink could see Mush’s bedroom window. The light flipped on, and suddenly Blink could see Mush quite clearly. He grinned. “Sucks to be you,” Blink reminded him.

Mush gave him the finger idly. “You have to do it too.”

“No,” Blink whined and sat up so he could see Mush better. “Nu-uh, because you’re my slave, remember?” He heard Mush laugh and he saw him laughing. It was a strange thing to be able to see the person he was talking to on the phone. They had been doing it for years, but still Blink couldn’t settle the tiny jolt it gave him every time.

“What is so funny?” he demanded.

“There’s paint in your hair.”