Expo Spork & Mari - Vignettes



Gee, the grass sure was interesting. The moss, too, come to think of it. Mari didn’t catch any of Spork’s looks, didn’t notice their confusion. She just kept staring forward, fingers tapping out an erratic rhythm that had no clear tune. She didn’t really know how to tell them, she didn’t really do emotions normally. Even with Spork, it was usually just at her worst, when things got too much for her to bear and they exploded. She supposed that’s why she was here.

“My parents got a divorce.” Mari deadpanned, letting the statement fall to the soft, slightly wet ground below. She let out a sigh, mirroring Spork’s smoke-laden exhale, trying to steady herself. “Mom got the certificate today.”

She’d made a habit over the years of checking all the mail that came to her house. It started with a curiosity as to the mail that she gathered before her mother came home from work, wondering what was inside the letters that weren’t addressed to her. The Internet made it easy enough to find out how to discreetly open various types of letters, as well as how to reseal them. Mari had been doing it for a few years, now, and today had been no different. She got home, gathered the mail, and began opening it at the kitchen table. It was a sort of routine that she’d gotten into.

She hadn’t known what to expect in the official-looking envelope with her mother’s name on it. She certainly hadn’t expected her mother would come home from work early. She hadn’t even heard the keys in the lock, just heard her mother’s voice as she came around the corner. Mari didn’t even try to hide that she’d read it, just shoved the paperwork back in the envelope and said she was going to go hang out with Spork. And here they were.

The words didn’t make her feel better. She’d thought they would, that’s what they were supposed to do. It still twisted her up like wires wrapped around the inside of her chest. She still wasn’t looking at Spork, didn’t want to look at them and see the expression they wore. It didn’t matter if it was pity or comfort or just plain nothing. Especially not with what else she had to say.

“They’d signed the paperwork a few days ago.” The wires tightened, threatening to choke her. Mari hunched forward a little, unconsciously wrapping around herself. Her hands had stopped moving and instead lay on the ground, nails digging into the soggy ground.

“On my birthday, actually.”

 


The news had Spork grinning from behind their hand, apprehension forgotten. Finally. They weren’t surprised that Ms. Ito had finally kicked her terrible husband to the curb - they were just surprised that it had taken this long. Seriously, they would’ve thought that Mari’s parents were already divorced, what with the way her dad lived in his own apartment and only ever showed his lousy face for holidays and spelling bees.

They’d timed him, once, on a particularly vindictive Christmas where Mari had gotten ahead of them and expressly forbidden them from sneaking cat litter into his shoes. He stayed for exactly an hour, and then got a mysteriously well-timed “work call” that had him out the door almost to the second. He was, in no uncertain terms, an asshole, and they had no idea why Ms. Ito kept letting him in her house. Good on her for finally kicking him to the curb.

Their mirth died quickly when they realized that Mari wasn’t sharing it. She sounded pretty broken up, actually, clipped and tight in that way that meant she had her hands around the neck of whatever emotion was currently troubling her. Spork still wasn’t the best at the whole comfort thing, but they’d learned enough to know they should drop the smile. They did, turning in her direction just as she dropped the second bombshell.

“Oh, shit,” they hissed, after a second, as the implications dawned on them. “What an asshole.”

He’d planned that, hadn’t he? Keith was just the sort of dirtbag to bail as soon as he didn’t have to pay child support, and Mari had just turned eighteen. They reached a hand out, then reconsidered, drawing it back and offering her their other hand instead, the one with their half-smoked cigarette in it. She had never taken them up on their offer before, but it seemed like the kind of thing that would tell her that they were in her corner.

They considered saying something else, maybe a reassuring ‘at least he’s gone?’, but they weren’t sure how she would react to it. Despite how long they’d known each other, Spork didn’t really know much about Mari’s relationship with her dad. They knew that they hated him, with the kind of instinctive dislike that had led them to smear increasingly outlandish shit on his too-fancy shoes for several Christmasses in a row, but they were drawing a blank on how she felt about the whole thing.

“That sucks,” they said instead, lamely, ready to draw their hand back when their offer of a smoke was refused, as it usually was. “It’s like the world’s shittiest birthday present.”

 


Spork’s revelation was not news to Mari. She’d known that he was, as they put it, ‘an asshole’ since her mother had first told her that her father had gone to live in his own apartment. Originally they’d promised that time would be split between the two places, that it was close enough that it wouldn’t disrupt her normal routines too much.

Except Keith’s place wasn’t close enough to Spork’s for them to walk over, and he hadn’t been willing to drive her in this direction unless it was to return her to her mother. Like taking her to see her friend was more of an annoying errand than something fathers did all the time. Split time became weekend stays. Then those weekends began to alternate. Not long after that, they became little more than dinner at a restaurant near Keith’s house and sleeping at his place before catching the first ride back to her mom’s. If he noticed that she was using his card to pay for it, he never said anything.

Those dinners became less and less frequent, until they too faded into obscurity. All that was left were the bare pillars that were required to maintain what could generously be called a presence in her life. Mari got a card with a check in it for her birthday, and he stayed for approximately an hour every Christmas. Keith also made the occasional appearance at her public competitions, events, or milestones. She didn’t doubt that he’d appear at graduation, sitting through the ceremony and politely clapping, taking a single picture with his hand lightly on her shoulder before leaving again.

She’d changed her last name to her mother’s as soon as she had the opportunity for fuck’s sake. Mari knew her father was an ass, she hadn’t wanted anything to do with him as soon as it became apparent that he didn’t want anything to do with her. She didn’t realize that her fingers had sunk into the mossy ground. She ripped them out, wiping her hands free of the wet earth that clung to them. Her breathing had become ragged as she’d been lost in her own thoughts, and she glanced in Spork’s direction.

Without hesitation, she roughly grabbed the offered cigarette, jammed it in her mouth, and sucked in a breath. The smoke that filled her lungs was harsh and bitter, scalding hot and ashy, and just as quickly as it entered, it left in a series of violent, hacking coughs. She held the offending tobacco product out from her body, as if reducing its proximity would lessen its effects. White-hot tears welled up in the corner of her eyes, which she wished could be solely attributed to her coughing fit.

“That.” She choked out, her voice rasping as the words slid against her raw throat. “Fucking. Asshole!” Mari yelled, slamming a fist against the ground as her scream was cut short by another coughing fit. “Of course he’d do this now. You’re about a decade late, Keith!” Her words were interspersed with coughs, fist colliding with moss to punctuate her words.

She took a few shuddering breaths, chest heaving as the last of the smoke left her lungs. She brought herself to her feet, unable to keep from pacing agitatedly. Flashes of something kept passing through her mind: spelling bees, science fairs, and the like, all with Keith in the background, the same neutral expression.

“He’s not just an asshole, Spork. Sometimes I wish I had one of your parents instead, because at least they pretend to fucking care. Keith treats me like I’m some doll that he gets to take out and show to people before putting me back in a glass cage until the next time he has to show me off!” Mari was yelling at this point, moving around the small clearing with envenomed rancor. Her cheeks burned and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She made no move to wipe them away.

“He didn't care about being at any of my events, he didn't care about seeing me do well, he didn't even give me a 'good job'! He just wanted to do the bare minimum to stay in my life, the least he could do while still claiming that he had a hand in every single thing that I did good at. And you wanna know the worst part?" She wheeled on Spork, pointing a finger in their direction uselessly.

“I know for a fucking fact that he was counting down the days until I turned eighteen. You know how my mom got the divorce papers today? It also contained a copy of their marriage agreement. You know what it said?” She knew Spork wouldn’t answer but she didn’t care, didn’t care who heard her at this point. She crouched down in front of them, eyes locked with unseeing eyes.

“It said that if Keith divorced my mom, he’d have to pay a ton of money in child support. The only way to get out of it was to wait until I turned eighteen.” She let that sink in for a moment, flopping down next to Spork and staring up at the trees above them, ignoring the faint damp that permeated the area. “Then, no more money. No child support, no money to mom. If he waited until I was an adult, he'd be able to sign away any claim to me as his daughter." Mari sat with Spork in silence, tears quietly sliding down her face and falling to the ground below.

“What kind of guy does that?” She said quietly. “And why did he want to be a dad?”

 
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If Spork’s eyebrows lifted any higher, they might just escape their face. They leaned forward as Mari coughed, carefully tapping their way up her arm and then plucking the cigarette from her fingers. Yeah, no, they weren’t letting her take another hit. That coughing sounded awful.

They weren’t sure that they wanted to finish it either. They felt kind of bad, actually. Rather than putting it back in their mouth, they dropped it into the lemonade can, where it could fizzle out amid the watery ashes.

“You tell him,” they said, approvingly, tilting their head into their shoulder as they considered whether they should attempt to pat her on the back. That was what you were supposed to do when someone was coughing, right? They weren’t actually sure.

Before they could reach a consensus, Mari recovered on her own, launching to her feet and into the most passionate tirade they’d ever heard from her. For the most part, Spork sat back and let her rant, occasionally egging her on in their own way.

It went something like this: “I wish I had one of your parents” (“lol”) … “He didn’t even give me a ‘good job’!” (“What an ass.”) … “You wanna know the worst part?” (“Mm?” (They had produced an untainted lemonade from behind a tree root and were taking a sip, but they sat forward with interest.)) … “He was counting down the days until I turned eighteen.” (“Wow. Creep.”)

“You know what it said?” For once, they were silent. They placed the lemonade in the dirt beside them, and didn’t even tap their fingernails against the can. She had their attention. It seemed like the only thing they could give her, at that moment.

Their lips tightened into a flat line at the confirmation of their theory. Yeah, they thought it might be something like that. Keith was a jerk, but he was a smart one. There was a reason they’d had to get increasingly inventive in their quest to keep vandalizing his shoes.

For once, Spork didn’t have a smartass comment to defuse the tension. They couldn’t think of anything to say that would make things better. It was just a shitty situation, and Mari didn’t deserve to be caught in the middle of it. But she was, and if she was wrapped up in it then so were they. They’d made a promise to her, years ago, and they weren’t planning on breaking it.

She sat beside them, and Spork put their arm around her, drawing her into their side. They weren’t built for comfort, they thought, not for the first time. But for her, they would learn. Their hand, already beginning to develop the rough calluses that they would only further cultivate over the years, patted her arm, and they bent their head down to speak to her as softly as they could. “I don’t know. That was… really, really shitty of him, you’re right. But, hey, you know what I do know?”

They abandoned the lemonade can, twining their fingers with hers in a way they didn’t do for anyone else. Their smile was solid, reassuring in the way a deadbolt was. Familiar. Safe. They squeezed her arm, and lifted their joined hands to wipe her cheek with their wrist. “I’m not going anywhere. Neither is your mom. Keith can be as shitty as he wants, and that won’t change. I promise.”

(It would be the first promise they broke, between the two of them. They wouldn’t even realize, not until they were setting their bags down on the other side of the country and breathing free for the first time in their life. They didn’t mean to break it, not really, but they never would’ve stayed in that town forever. Mari understood, they would reassure themself, when they had time to think of it at all.)

 


It was the ass-end of dawn, and Spork’s phone was dead. This wouldn’t have been such a big deal, normally - they’d made a habit of staying up late, lately, and somewhere along the way late had become early and then made the slow but satisfactory slide into ‘whenever’. While they could keep up, their phone often couldn’t, as they frequently forgot to charge it. It was whatever. Such were the perks and quirks of being their own damn person, and no longer beholden to such petty things as ‘sleep schedules’ or ‘partying in moderation’.

No, the problem was that they were a few states removed from their usual territory, and while they were fairly sure that they had the right address for Mari’s quaint little college not-frat-house, they weren’t one-hundred percent sure. And they had no way to double-check, so they had to take the cabbie at his word that he had dropped them (and all their bags) at the right place.

But, like, they were pretty sure. So it was probably fine. They could probably charm their way out of it, if they’d stumbled up to some stranger’s house instead. Yeah. That was an excellent plan. If it came to that, of course.

They leaned their elbow into the doorbell again, listening to the answering buzz ring within the house as they sipped at something fizzy and fruity. The drink was kind of shitty, but it was from the airport, so they didn’t have high hopes to begin with. They couldn’t really taste the alcohol in it, though, which was a shame. They should probably get something stronger. Either that or give in to the crash of supernatural proportions that they could feel waiting just beyond the horizon.

But both of those options required Mari to open her damn door, first. Seriously, what was that girl doing in there? Wasn’t she expecting them? They’d sent her the plane taking off emoji and everything! How much clearer could they be?

Alright, so they didn’t actually tell her in as many words that they were dropping by for a surprise visit-slash-couch-surf. And they hadn’t texted her when they landed, because they forgot, and then their phone died in the cab over. But they were sure it would be fine. They’d just explain when they saw her. Which they would, any second now, because she was going to open the door. Any second.

“Maaaarrrriiiii!” There was a dull thunk as they knocked their forehead against the door, already impatient. They were booored. Planes were the worst. They’d been cooped up for way too long, and they did not have enough alcohol or hot chicks to offset this offense. Not that Mari counted as a hot chick, but at least it’d be someone to talk to. “Let me innnnn.”

 


Whoever had made the decision to let Mari go to college deserved to be shot. Whoever had decided to let her get a double major in two fields that were only tangentially related at best deserved to be shot twice. Whoever decided to also allow her to get double minors and participate in a five-year master’s program deserved to be shot three times. Then again, if everyone got what they deserved then all Mari would have to show for her troubles would be six bullet holes, and she’d be no closer to getting her work done.

That was the kind of joke Spork would’ve laughed at, their proper risk-of-snorting laugh, not their polite ‘ha’. Not that they were incredibly polite before they’d both gone off to college. It had always been a given, at least in Mari’s mind, that they’d go to the same school when they graduated. They’d keep up the old routine: she’d keep their head above water, they’d do their best to annoy her whenever they could. Their routine had been comforting, and Mari would have been lying if she said she hadn’t enjoyed the time they spent together as partners in crime.

Somehow it hadn’t occurred to her that Spork would choose a different college, one more suited to their “play hard, work hardly” lifestyle. Of course she’d helped them get in, although honestly they’d done most of that work themselves. Her job was mainly ensuring that Spork’s parents thought whatever booze-soaked post-secondary school they chose had plenty of accessibility options and would be the perfect place for their darling child to thrive.

That was the last big project she’d done that had involved them. There had been the fierce bearhug that she’d gotten when she left, but the difference in schedules meant that Mari wasn’t able to go help them move in, regardless of how not so subtly their parents tried to bribe her. She hadn’t seen them much since then. There was the token holiday appearance, naturally, but they both kept it pretty short. Mari because she was itching to get back to her projects, and Spork because they were itching to be as far from their parents as possible.

They didn’t talk much anymore. The last text she’d gotten from them was an emoji of a plane taking off, which she’d taken to assume meant their plans for the evening involved getting as high as they possibly could. She’d responded with a short “See you when you land” to keep up the joke/metaphor thing before throwing her phone onto her bed and herself into her work.

Mari didn’t know what time it was when she was jerked out of her slumber. The fact that she was sleeping at all was the first sign something was wrong. She’d planned on staying up the whole night, lost in a haze of wires and breadboards. She’d considered moving on to the actual soldering parts of her project, but decided that sleep deprivation and molten metal was a quick way to lose her security deposit.

She blearily glared at the traitorous carafe that sat on her workbench. The carafe, to its credit, managed to look perfectly innocent, dregs sitting in the bottom, perched upon a two dollar pot holder. Mari had anticipated the night in front of her, brewing a full pot and adding cream and sugar directly to it. Mugs were a luxury for those who could afford to sleep. Something in her pointed out that sugar could lead to a caffeine crash, but a harsh buzz shoved that thought deep into her brain as all synapses began firing towards a single purpose:

Figuring out what the fuck that noise was.

It didn’t actually take long to realize the sound was her apartment’s buzzer. She didn’t know what time it was, but judging from the gray sky that peeked through the curtains she never bothered to fully close, Mari figured it wasn’t a time any sane person would be at her door. Then again, whoever it was didn’t seem sane judging from their slurred yelling. Great, that would be another noise complaint filed to her landlord. Mari twisted the lock and pulled the door open, ready to tell off whatever drunken frat boy had gotten her apartment mixed up with his shitty bachelor pad.

The smell hit her first, sickly sweet fruit and stale alcohol came off them in waves, mixing with the distant yet familiar scent of cigarettes. She took in the rumbled clothes, the shaggy and unkempt mullet, the shades on their face and the cane dangling from their wrist. It took Mari a moment to register the bags in their hands, but she ignored it and focused on them instead. Sure she’d given them her address, but she figured it was a courtesy thing, like a “keep in touch” at the end of summer camp. But here they were, wavering slightly under the weight of their bags and the presumed alcohol in their system.

“Spork?” Mari said, hesitantly. The tiredness was gone from her voice, replaced by a tone of incredulity as she attempted to figure out what was going on. “Why are you here? How did you get here?”

 
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Spork was beginning to contemplate the merits of finding a window and a large rock, rather than continuing to scratch at Mari’s front door like some kind of sopping wet beast. They were not a pathetic meow meow, they were more like a stray dog, if anything, and they were fully capable of getting into any building they were sufficiently motivated to get into. The only thing stopping them, really, was the faint but persistent knowledge that Mari would be rather upset with them if they broke her rental property. And, well, the equally faint but only marginally less persistent thought that they might not have the right address, and did they really want to go to jail for this? When there were so many more interesting things to put as the first entry on their rap sheet?

What was the coolest crime, anyways? They pulled their phone from their pocket and were halfway through tapping out the password before they remembered that it was dead. Frowning, they tucked it back into the tender embrace of their hawaiian shirt’s boob pocket, then rolled their eyes and poked a finger into the buzzer again.

A sharp clack drew their attention, and Spork tipped back the last of their drink, lowering it just in time for the door to swing open. Out of habit, they crunched the can in their hand, crumpling the aluminum in one sharp gesture. And they waited, holding their breath, almost, for the moment of truth.

It was Mari’s voice that greeted them, and not a random stranger’s. Spork’s responding grin could outshine the sun.

“Mari!” They swept forward, barreling into her with enough force to knock her off her feet - and then, suddenly, they were the only thing holding her up, their arms around her in the bear hug to end all bear hugs. The weight of a whole other person, however skinny, destroyed their balance, and they bashed their shoulder into the doorframe trying to regain it, but they were laughing, crushing her tightly against them and just as quickly drawing back to ruffle her hair, squeeze her shoulder fondly - a sharp ting! as the crumpled can met the floor, but they didn’t care - and, eventually, just as suddenly as they’d begun their onslaught, they were pushing her lightly away. “I flew, duh. And boy are my arms tired! Man, it’s good to see you. Get it? Ha, of course you do.”

Taking up the handle of their suitcase - the duffel was still balanced on top of it, thank satan - they walked right into the apartment. The toe of their shoe caught the side of the can they’d dropped, sending it clattering off with a metallic racket that they studiously ignored as they turned a wolf’s grin on their friend. “So, where should I set up?”

The entryway led into a cozy little hallway. Kind of bare, from what they could tell, but they could work with that. They swept their cane over the floor near the door, found where Mari left her shoes, and kicked their own off haphazardly before wandering down the hallway and deeper into the building, suitcase trundling after them.

 
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