“Blast it!”
For what had to have been the third time that day I dropped the wrench I was holding between my paws, the tool clattering to the ground silently thanks to my hearing protection. Why wasn’t anything going right with this machine? Something like this should have been easy for me, having practiced it hundreds if not thousands of times. The present heatwave was warming my workshop to an unreasonable degree, causing my pawpads to perspire more and slip on whatever they were holding.
I imagined this would be significantly easier if I could simply suspend the tool with the near-nonslip grip of telekinesis that other carbuncles possessed. I made a mental note to install insulation and air conditioning sometime before the next summer (the time of year, not my daughter) rolled around.
Since this project didn’t seem to be going anywhere at the moment, I decided to at least be productive performing some other task; preferably one that required a little less dexterity. But first I had to tend to a need I had been putting off for too long.
I climbed up out of the pit dug to allow work on the undersides of my projects– never again did I want them suspended– and pocketed my ear plugs. I took a prolonged pull from my water bottle before looking myself over; I did not want to make the mistake of wearing the wrong kind of overalls a second time. Thankfully I was indeed protected by the absorbent variant that acted as a built-in diaper, this one a dusty brown. Further covering my azure fur was a green shirt with similarly absorbent properties. Under the brown work boots I wore on my hind paws were socks with wavy stripes of brown, green and blue (these were not absorbent, but unrelated they reminded me of a river with that pattern).
Relieving myself was a simple matter I could attend to on the spot thanks to this ensemble, which I favored for its high capacity. I also enjoyed its ability to suppress odors (I’m pretty neutral about my waste, which I’ve been told smells pleasantly like the ocean, but I want to be polite).
Once I was done, I returned to work, my gait altered slightly to account for the redistributed weight (suffice to say my overalls were quite heavy after the much-needed break).
I was occupied cleaning the high-pressure water jet device when my son, Winter Warmth entered the workshop.
“Mom…I’m pregnant.”
“Hi, Pregnant, I’m Mom,” I shot back, not even deigning to look up from my work.
“Man, two moms, and still somehow I get dad jokes” he pretended to say under his breath. She spoke up. “Psh, you’d be so cooked if I ever actually got knocked up.”
“Maybe you should stop saying things like that to the point they lose any meaning, then.” I paused my maintenance and looked up, brushing my curly seafoam-green hair out of the way of my thick glasses. “Is there actually something on your mind?”
The white carbuncle casually flung herself into a spare chair and reclined in it, her short and straight blue hair spilling over the side. He was wearing an extremely short tube top with a matching miniskirt, both a deep violet verging on black. The outfit was far skimpier than was my taste– the periwinkle of his reusable belt-style diaper easily visible, and looking well-used. I was aware of how hot her body temperature burned, so I declined commenting on the ensemble.
The laid-back position my daughter was lounging in allowed his glasses –overall not unlike the kind I was wearing– to fall off his face and go skittering onto the floor, leaving his milky blue cataracts exposed.
“Shit!”
I smirked. “No, thank you, I already took care of that need earlier. And mind your language.”
Winter seemed to ignore my retort as the orange jewel on her forehead glowed, quickly picking her glasses up with her PA and replacing them on her face.
“Eh, not really anything on my mind; I’m just bored. The sibs are all off in the city doing something without me again.”
“You know you could have accompanied them. I recall them asking you several times if you wanted to go. You just don’t like leaving the house.”
“Can you blame me?”
“Yes. Your actions are your own.”
“But c’mon! You know I don’t like being around people.”
“A good way to solve that would be getting to know more people. All of your siblings have friends they enjoy hanging out with.”
“I’ve got friends!”
“Online friends aren’t the same thing; they can’t replace the connection and camaraderie gained from contact with people in real life.”
“Besides, it’s a lot harder to use my heat sense outside, in a whole world that’s constantly baked in hot sunlight. I do way better in a temperature-controlled environment.”
“You shouldn’t let your disability dictate what you do. Your sister goes on regular outings, sometimes including hiking or camping, even with their chronic pain and mobility challenges. I can build and maintain complex machinery despite lacking the precision and dexterity of any aura. You’re more capable than you give yourself credit for.”
“That’s easy for you to say! You don’t know what it’s like not being able to see anything!”
“I know what it’s like not being able to do something that everyone else around you can do.”
We were both quiet for a time. I busied myself working on the machine, but I wasn’t actually accomplishing anything meaningful.
“Mom?” She sat up in the chair, assuming a more upright position.
“Yes?”
“You ever wonder why we’re the ones who have to put up with shi-...stuff like this? It could’ve been anyone else. Why’d it have to happen to us specifically?”
“The world is an inherently chaotic place, and it doesn’t care about anyone in particular. Bad things happen to good people, and good things happen to bad people. The best we can do is play with the cards we’re dealt.”
“Yeah…sometimes I just wish it didn’t have to suck so much…”
I got up from fidgeting with my tools and sat on the floor beside my son.
“I know it sounds like I’m being hard on you, or that I’m indifferent to your tribulations, but I love you and just want to see you live a full life. Make no mistake: I’m proud of you for what you have accomplished. You are a talented musician. You can already do a multitude of things that others require eyesight to do. I believe that you’ll be able to do whatever it is you put your mind to.”
“Y-yeah…”
He was trying to act cool and nonchalant, but I could tell he was nearly failing to fight back tears. I reached over and offered him a hug. She hesitated for a moment, then accepted it, embracing me tightly.
Neither of us said anything, quietly crying while the only thing audible was the faint hum of machinery.
Eventually we let go, each of us lifting our own glasses to dry our eyes with our paws.
Winter turned to me and smiled weakly. “H-hey Mom?”
“What is it?”
“You wanna go out and get some ice cream?”
