Advent Calendar '07: Day 2
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There was a pile of puppies on Manny’s living room floor.
Not the cute ones, no-of course not. Instead of soft fur and wet noses and wagging tails, these puppies instead had gangly-long limbs, ratty worn clothing, hair that stuck out in odd places and bodies that still weren’t quite sure of themselves. These were the puppy breed known as rookies: the young ones, the bright-eyed eager kids, the innocents, the newbies.
The hopeless heap of tangled limbs that currently occupied the floorspace in front of the still-on television, a loud action movie playing noisily as the three puppies slumbered on blissfully.
Curtis was lying on his stomach, his head pillowed by one crooked arm; the other arm outflung on the deep russet carpet as he mumbled a little in sleep. He was missing the sock on his right foot and the one on his left was just barely hanging on, and when Manny looked a little closer he could see bits of popcorn stuck in his hair. As gunfire exploded on the televisions screen Curtis jerked, fitfully, frowning a little and wrinkling his nose as he nevertheless dozed on.
The noise hadn’t at all bothered Jared, who lay sprawled with his head resting on the small of Curtis’ back. Legs splayed, arms splayed, mouth slightly open as he breathed, he didn’t even stir at his pillow’s sudden movement. He just kept on sleeping with soft snores escaping him, his fingers unconsciously flexing in the dark curls that lay beneath his hand. Kris’s cheek was pressed against Jared’s stomach, draped across his American teammate like a sack of potatoes: one arm curled against his chest, the other lying across Jared’s legs. There was a thin strip of skin visible between the material of his jeans and the material of his shirt, bunched up from whatever tussling had gone on before the three had passed out. The remote control to the television was shoved in his back pocket.
There was an overturned bowl of popcorn on the floor near the couch and Manny made a face at the inevitability of having to clean it up, though he counted his blessings that the cans of soda were still on their coasters and not, say, tipped over on the carpet.
A glance deeper into the room revealed a small beacon of sanity: Danny and Ole-Kristian, sitting in the loveseat near the window. The arrangement of the furniture had their backs to Manny, but he could still hear them talking in gentle murmurs as they sat close together beneath a soft wool blanket, Danny’s head leaning against Ole’s shoulder. As he watched, Ole turned his head so he could place a gentle kiss on Danny’s forehead, eliciting a shy smile from the Ohio native.
The movie finally hit the credits, and when none of the pups on the floor made any motion toward waking up, Manny shook his head ruefully and retreated back into the kitchen to finish washing dishes, delegating cleaning up the living room to a later time.
After all, you always should let sleeping puppies lie.
There was a pile of puppies on Manny’s living room floor.
Not the cute ones, no-of course not. Instead of soft fur and wet noses and wagging tails, these puppies instead had gangly-long limbs, ratty worn clothing, hair that stuck out in odd places and bodies that still weren’t quite sure of themselves. These were the puppy breed known as rookies: the young ones, the bright-eyed eager kids, the innocents, the newbies.
The hopeless heap of tangled limbs that currently occupied the floorspace in front of the still-on television, a loud action movie playing noisily as the three puppies slumbered on blissfully.
Curtis was lying on his stomach, his head pillowed by one crooked arm; the other arm outflung on the deep russet carpet as he mumbled a little in sleep. He was missing the sock on his right foot and the one on his left was just barely hanging on, and when Manny looked a little closer he could see bits of popcorn stuck in his hair. As gunfire exploded on the televisions screen Curtis jerked, fitfully, frowning a little and wrinkling his nose as he nevertheless dozed on.
The noise hadn’t at all bothered Jared, who lay sprawled with his head resting on the small of Curtis’ back. Legs splayed, arms splayed, mouth slightly open as he breathed, he didn’t even stir at his pillow’s sudden movement. He just kept on sleeping with soft snores escaping him, his fingers unconsciously flexing in the dark curls that lay beneath his hand. Kris’s cheek was pressed against Jared’s stomach, draped across his American teammate like a sack of potatoes: one arm curled against his chest, the other lying across Jared’s legs. There was a thin strip of skin visible between the material of his jeans and the material of his shirt, bunched up from whatever tussling had gone on before the three had passed out. The remote control to the television was shoved in his back pocket.
There was an overturned bowl of popcorn on the floor near the couch and Manny made a face at the inevitability of having to clean it up, though he counted his blessings that the cans of soda were still on their coasters and not, say, tipped over on the carpet.
A glance deeper into the room revealed a small beacon of sanity: Danny and Ole-Kristian, sitting in the loveseat near the window. The arrangement of the furniture had their backs to Manny, but he could still hear them talking in gentle murmurs as they sat close together beneath a soft wool blanket, Danny’s head leaning against Ole’s shoulder. As he watched, Ole turned his head so he could place a gentle kiss on Danny’s forehead, eliciting a shy smile from the Ohio native.
The movie finally hit the credits, and when none of the pups on the floor made any motion toward waking up, Manny shook his head ruefully and retreated back into the kitchen to finish washing dishes, delegating cleaning up the living room to a later time.
After all, you always should let sleeping puppies lie.