Page 8 of Insidious

Beep.

***

The hospital beeping fades.

The scent of antiseptic becomes the smell of soap and warm water.

Metal sinks and sky-high piles of dishes.

My sleeves are rolled up, and my hands are in a sink full of bubbles.

Colin stands beside me, drying plates with a tea towel.

We are both wearing the blue overalls from the aircraft maintenance course. The sleeves are pulled down because he is always cold, and his hair is sticking up like he’s run his hands through it too many times. We started our course together and have been best friends since. He just split up from his boyfriend of two years a week ago but seems to be coping.

He’s distracted today. That’s unusual because Colin can never stop running his mouth.

Colin is the first person to talk to a stranger. The first to help someone lift something heavy. The first to lend you a tenner when you realize you forgot your purse.

Today, it’s his turn to dry the plates.

I flick a bit of soap at him.

“Careful,” I say. “Your hair gel is dripping onto the plates.”

He snorts.

“You’re the one washing them and blaming my hair gel for a half-arsed job.”

“I am not the one carrying an oil well on his head.”

He rolls his eyes.

Colin glances at the stack of dishes and sighs like the world is against him.

“You realize,” he says, “that while we’re doing this, actual engineers are designing actual aircraft engines.”

I snort.

“Excuse you. We are almost technicians. Almost being the operative word.”

“We’re trainee grease monkeys,” he agrees.

“Speak for yourself. I am definitely human.”

“Luna,” he says solemnly, “We literally spent three hours today arguing about whether that bolt was metric or imperial.”

“You are such an exaggeration queen. That was you arguing,” I say, “because you can’t read.”

“Oi.”

“Slacker.”

“Loser.”

He bumps my shoulder and almost makes me lose my balance.

“At least I passed electrical systems. You nearly set the simulator on fire.”