SR walked briskly along the streets of the city in which he lived, paws in the pockets of his navy blue jacket. This route home was longer, but generally safer than a more direct route. Still, it wasn't so safe that he needed to have no fear of the Norms and SCABS loitering on the corners and in the alleyways. The only signs on this street that it was Christmas were the occasional Christmas lights in the windows of some apartments over his head, the green-tinsel Christmas trees hanging from every-other lamp post, and the infrequent carol drifting down to the street from someone's open window high overhead. The current selection was 'Angels We Have Heard on High.'... Two months after wishing Gunther the best in his life, SR found himself on the ten-hour flight back to his home in the United States. There were the warm greetings from family and friends, the few days of acclimation back to speaking English and eating with his fork in the right hand, and then faster than he realized, SR was back at college, checking into the dorms and preparing for the spring's classes. Again, more out of laziness and convenience than anything else, it was back at the State University. He was standing in line at the bookstore when someone behind him called out his name. Spinning, all he saw behind him were two dog-morphs and a few uninterested Norms. SR leaned to look around the SCABS. "I'm right here, dude." The golden retriever smirked. SR's eyes went as wide as dinner plates. "Chad? Whoa, man! You've changed." The retriever laughed huskily. "No shit! So've you!" He introduced SR to the woman-to-whom-he-was-boyfriend, the pomeranian-morph who was also in line at the bookstore: Amanda Roberts. They spent a few minutes getting caught up on old times, and Amanda and Chad invited SR to join them and some of their friends that evening for dinner and a movie in the basement of their co-ed dorm. SR accepted. ...SR carefully walked around a large rat-morph who was passed out on the sidewalk. He'd certainly had a bit too much Christmas cheer! Still, after a moment's consideration, by the look of his clothes, SR decided that the rat was already at his home, and continued his journey to the apartment complex across from 45 Gnade Street.... He never regretted accepting that invitation. It was largely because of this group of friends that he was still alive after SCABS had run its course in his body. That first evening was uncomfortable, to say the least. Some of the people he remembered from before were there-- Dianne, Chad, and another friend from his high school, Tod Freeman. But all of them, old friends and new, were SCABS. And all of them knew what SR had spent the last two years doing. But what an eclectic group of misfits they were! To this day, SR was still not sure what actually unified them as a group. One afternoon, Amanda and Dianne had been overheard in the library discussing some of the finer points of that day's philosophy 365 lecture. On the other side of the partition from where they were sitting, one sorority girl asked her fellow member of Delta Delta Delta what they were talking about. She responded, "Oh, don't mind them. They're just part of that Threatening Intellectual Clique." Amused, the odd collection of friends conceitedly adopted the name. ...SR paused to enjoy light of a Christmas tree glowing in the window of a clothing store on one street corner. He could smell that it was real-- a rarity these days, and in this part of the city. His stomach began to remind him that it had only had half a lunch.... The awkwardness didn't end after that first meeting, either. SR figured they wouldn't want to associate with him, being who he was. Still, Chad and Amanda continued to invite him to movies and dinners that the group frequently had in the basement of the dorm where they lived. Eventually, partly to alleviate Chad's chiding, and partly to escape the clutches of one Margie Withers, a marriage-crazed member of SR's church who thought it was open season on returned missionaries, SR moved into the dorm where half of the members of TIC resided. It was then that SR really began to get to know them. There was Chad, who, along with growing a new fur coat, had become the Computer Science Department's resident encryption and security guru. There was one occasion during the spring semester when some of the faculty of that department came to him to ask for help catching a hacker that had broken into one of their systems. Within a week, he had the culprit. It took SR nearly a month to worm that information out of Chad. In the end, SR had the distinct impression that it hadn't been the first time Chad's services had been called upon. Amanda probably did the most to keep the group together. The self-proclaimed and accepted Empress-for-Life of TIC, she had a knack for cooking and organizing that made her the natural choice for the High and Mighty Declarer of Meetings of TIC. Her charismatic skepticism and detestation of things technical more than made up for the occasional long hair that would find its way into the food. (Damned fur!) Diane and Tod made what at first SR thought was an unlikely couple-- a bobcat-morph and a small boy. Before SCABS, Tod had been the tallest member of the group. Now, with the body of a six-year-old, he was forced to bring his Electric Circuits book to class to sit upon so that he could reach the top of the table and take notes. Still, they were engaged to be married in the distant future, and SR eventually came to understand their great love for each other. ...SR stopped and ordered a burger from a fast food joint on the way home. Aside from the two SCAB employees, he was the only person in the place. The two equine-morphs (SR couldn't quite place the breed) were busily cleaning the area before closing time.... Among the people SR hadn't known before came Victor Gnu. When he wasn't in his cave-like darkened dorm room, hunched in front of his coveted computer, he could be found hanging precariously from one of the nearby cliffs or riding one of his cherished twentieth-century motorcycles at break-neck speeds down the highway, the fur on his wolf-tail and face flapping madly in the wind. It was rumored that Victor was responsible for having made all the screens in the student computer labs blink on and off to the rhythm of Metallica's 'Enter Sandman' during dead-week of the previous semester. When SR asked him about it, he merely looked up, flashed a broad, toothy, wolfish grin, then turned back to his glowing monitor. Good hackers don't get caught. Then there were Jack(ie) Green, Chris Moffet, and Gene Gruber. Jackie had been a homosexual male before SCABS had transformed him into the embodiment of every fourteen-year-old boy's wet dream. SR had once procured the Queen Goddess of Goth's wrath by assuming that homosexuality was the same as trans-genderism, and making a statement to that effect. Chris and Gene, both of whom became reptile-morphs (SR never found out which species) after the Flu, were, along with Jackie, avid role-players. All three could often be seen together, watching the latest fantasy flick or playing the cards. Gene had the unique ability of making his vodor say the most sarcastic remarks in the flattest of tones. It made for an odd sort of cross between Stephen Hawking and Dennis Miller. ...SR looked upward as a shadow glanced across the building on the other side of the street. High overhead, an owl-morph of some sort was making its way home on this chilly Christmas Eve. SR smiled.... Aah! And then there was Jason Kaufmann. Of all the members of TIC, SR felt he could identify with him best. His parents had promptly thrown him out of their house when the first signs of plumage began to appear. Appropriately enough, this Alaskan now sported the white down of a snow owl. He loved his parents, but seemed to be eternally hurt by their thoughtlessness. Although he was fairly certain Jason already knew about it, SR was reluctant to tell him about some of the activities in which he had participated in Germany. An overly modest programmer, he and SR had done some of the craziest things together-- from the nights they'd wandered the campus aimlessly, cavorting and musing about their own insanity; to the numerous times SR had driven them both, at an average speed of fifteen miles-per-hour over the speed limit, Jason's talons digging into the nylon carpet of SR's green Jeep and his already wider-than-life eyes nearly popping out of his head for fright, to the place SR called the Stargazing Spot; to the time they drove almost fifty miles over icy roads at nearly ninety miles-per-hour in pursuit of an apparently drunk driver, flashing their lights in warning to the oncoming traffic until the officers of the peace were able to catch up and detain the menace. ...SR stopped dead in his tracks when a peculiar scent wafted past his sensitive nose. Could it be? No-- but it couldn't. Drifting down from a second-story apartment came the distinct aroma of skunk. But not the skunks SR was thinking about-- he had spent so much time at their house that he could identify their unique pungent odor at a hundred paces. Sighing, SR picked up his feet and continued on his journey.... Terry and Terri. Neither had known each other before SCABS had left its scar on their lives. Still, they seemed to go together like butter and bread, and SR was sure that had they not been partially mutated into the same species, they would have met and fallen in love anyway. For them, the fact that they were both black-and-white furred mustelid-morphs was merely a convenience. Remarkably enough, Terry's parents didn't react badly to his transformation. But when they learned of his intention to rent an apartment and move in with Terri, they made it clear that he wasn't welcome at their house. That nearly destroyed him. Still, Terry was resolute, and in less than a year he was able to afford the down-payment and mortgage costs of purchasing his own house-- with very little of his parents' help. A skunk in an enclosed space for a long period of time is a very bad thing. Consequently, Terri almost always had some kind of incense burning whenever they had any of the other members of TIC over. Although they could live with the smell-- about which they could do little to prevent-- the other members of TIC, especially the dog-morphs, often found it unnerving. The incense burning was so frequent that some of the aroma had the reciprocating effect of rubbing off onto Terry and Terri, giving their presence a unique flavor that SR would come to identify with friendship and warmth. During the spring semester, Terry introduced SR to late twentieth century rock, and SR almost instantly fell in love with the sound of Pink Floyd, Peter Gabriel, and Sting. His collection of Ultra Compact Discs would nearly triple during that next year-- almost all of the new acquisitions being from that musical era. ...SR briskly walked past the large front doors to a Normals-only church. They were open, and someone was playing 'Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful' on the immense organ within. Despite his love for that song, SR was glad that he wasn't joining in with that particular congregation.... To his surprise, SR's religion didn't become as taboo among his friends as he expected. At one point during the spring semester, during a normal conversation with Diane, the Terries, and a few other members of TIC, the subject came up, and SR was invited to tell them what he believed. Elated that the people he, by now, held so dear would have an interest in his religion, SR spent the next two hours talking about God's Plan, Heaven, Hell and many of the various other things he'd spent two years preaching in Germany-- all the while carefully avoiding the issue of SCABS. All through the discussion they asked questions, intent on really learning, perhaps, what made the clock tick in SR's head. At the end, there was a pause, and Terry looked into SR's eyes with a look of concern showing through the black and white fur on his face. "So, where do SCABS fit into all this?" SR's cheeks instantly reddened, and he broke eye contact with Terry. Looking at the carpeting on the floor, he slowly responded, "Um... well... they don't." SR looked back at Terry. This time Terry looked at the carpet. "Oh." was all he said. It could be said that what followed was a moment of clarity for SR. For the first time in his life, he realized that SCABS are human. ...At last the music of the organ was far enough away that even SR, with his sensitive vulpine ears, could no longer hear it. 'Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful.' SR smiled to himself. Perhaps he would take up the vixen-in-the-yellow-dress's offer to attend church, one of these Sundays. But it was still too early.... That semester ended pretty uneventfully. Chad, Amanda, Victor, and Diane graduated and moved to coastal towns to pursue their careers. There were still jobs out there for SCABS, if they were qualified enough. And all four of these certainly were. Because of a summer-long, out-of-state internship (SR didn't do too badly in school, either!), SR was able to spend all but the last week away from his family. This also went by uneventfully: SR put on his best happy-face and managed to keep his family from finding out about any of his acquaintances. The next semester brought many changes for TIC. With Her High and Mighty miles away, sharing an apartment with Chad and Diane, the position of Declarer of Meetings of TIC was suddenly vacant. Due largely to the lack of applicants to the position and his want not to see such a great group of friends fall apart, Terry, almost by default, took up the responsibility. He did his best to ensure that the weekly get-togethers kept happening, even cooking the meals himself when necessary (which was more often than not). ...SR smiled as he reminisced on those days. Life had been so perfect then! He'd so loved his friends-- and it was so easy: so much easier than hate. Out of the corner of his ear, SR heard a faint melody being played off in the distance. Stopping, he strained to hear it. From an open window high overhead came Tchaikovsky's "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy" from his "Nutcracker" Suite... "You know, Tchaikovsky was manic depressive. He tried to commit suicide several times. Once they even had to pull him out of the Volga river in the middle of winter. He was naked and floating among the ice floes." Terry nodded his head solemnly. He and SR were sitting across the couch from each other, listening to the cannons blasting on the UCD of the 1812 Overture. They had been talking for nearly two hours about everything an nothing. Terri, Jackie, Jason and a few of the others who had been at dinner that evening had decided to go to a drag show that was going to be happening at a local bar. SR and Terry, not wanting to battle the crowds and cigarette smoke, stayed at the Terries' house to wash the dishes and pass the time. "It's amazing how many geniuses like him were also insane or otherwise screwed up in the head," Terry stated. SR nodded and waited for the finale to finish before popping out the disc and inserting a re-mastered Pink Floyd UCD. He waited for the guitars to begin fading into "Signs of Life" in that band's characteristic style before pressing the 'random' button and leaning back into the couch. After a minute of enjoying the music, SR spoke. "I still can't believe that I never saw you at Andrus High. I mean, me being in orchestra and you in band, spending so much time in the music building. Sure, you were a year behind Chad and I, but still-- I'm amazed that I don't remember you." Terry smiled. "Well, I didn't exactly have this black-and-white fur coat back then. I remember you-- you and Kelly, the 'red streak' darting from class to class with his overloaded backpack." SR perked up. "Did you know that he never used his locker? I know-- I shared it with him. He always said that there wasn't enough time between classes to stop and exchange books. So there he went, putting almost everything in his red backpack and carrying his folders in that huge stack in his arms." "No wonder! Six minutes is hardly enough time to get from one end of the building to the other, in that high school." SR nodded and listened for a few minutes to David Gilmour's guitar play "Terminal Frost." "You know, I wonder what happened to him. I wrote him for a while on my mission, but at one point the letters from him just stopped. I guess he just got too busy with his course load at MIT and all." Terry twisted his head slightly. "You never heard? He got the Flu almost two years ago." SR was stunned. "Really? Um... how'd that turn out?" "Inanimorph. He became a two-foot tall stuffed bunny-rabbit. He could still walk and talk and do his work, but I guess he just..." Terry shrugged. SR understood. Deciding it was time to change the subject, SR spoke. "Have you ever noticed what an odd collection of friends we have? I mean, I remember that first evening where Chad and Amanda invited me over for the movie. That was quite a shocker for me!" Terry smiled. "You looked shocked, too. The way you sat, all up-tight and uncomfortable in the couch." Shaking his head, SR continued. "No, but really-- I mean, we've got philosophy majors, english majors, architects, electrical engineering majors, and who knows what else in this crazy group." "Don't forget the computer science majors." "You mean computer science gods. I still can't believe that Victor actually made his computer sit up and bark like that. And that isn't even half of it. I mean, take Chad, for instance: he's a devout there-is-no-God-no-ifs-ands-or-buts atheist. And then there's Tod: a totally faithful and god-fearing Catholic. I mean, people like that shouldn't get along!" Terry grinned broadly. "Let's not forget the others, either: We've got wiccans, christians and agnostics, a couple like me, who know there's a God but don't know what else to make of it, and you..." Terry trailed off. SR smiled and completed the thought. "Me: the white heterosexual Norm and member of that religion." There was a pause, then Terry spoke. "Pretty weird, huh?" "Dang straight!" The two sat in silence there on the sofa for the next few minutes, reminiscing and enjoying the sound of "Poles Apart." Terry looked as if he were contemplating something for a minute, then shifted in his seat, repositioning his tail. "You know, the first time I saw you, as uncomfortable as you were, I didn't expect you to stick around. I mean, I think the first thought that crossed my mind when I saw you was something like, 'Oh boy, well this ought to be fun.'" SR smiled, leaning his head back to look at the fake wooden support beams that crossed the length of the ceiling of the mobile home. "Yeah, I guess it was kind of weird of me to keep coming to the dinners and movies." "No kidding! And especially with your religion-- I mean most of the other people I've heard about who are in your church don't associate with many people outside of it. And with SCABS? Hah! And then you moved into the dorm where we lived...." SR cut him off. "Aah! You know me: anything to get away from Margie Winters. I still have no idea why she thought that I was interested in her. I mean, geez!" SR shuddered. "Puppy love?" "No-- if it were puppy love, then she would have been stalking Chad instead of me." Both Terry and SR laughed at that. SR went on. "And that time she 'invited' herself to the movie that once." "Real conversation stopper, there." "Holy crow, man-- it was so intense! And then Amanda there was about ready to bite her head off the whole time." Terry laughed. "She practically did bite your head off afterward!" "Aah well-- her bark is a lot worse than her bite; unlike the Queen Goddess of Goth. Sheesh!" But Terry wasn't easily distracted. He smiled and returned to the previous topic. "No, really though-- I mean, why did you actually stick around?" SR smiled, squirming uncomfortably in the couch. Shrugging, he said, "Aah-- I don't know." He looked out the window in an effort to divert the topic again. Terry remained silently staring directly at SR's face, a smile slowly spreading itself across his lips until his sharp mustelid teeth could be seen. Intermittently, SR would steal quick glances back at Terry. After a minute of "On the Turning Away," SR finally looked directly at Terry and spoke with narrowing eyes. "What?" It was Terry's turn to look away, the broad grin still attached to his face. "Oh... Nothing..." SR shook his head and huffed, turning to look out the window. The words of Pink Floyd filled the empty spaces: "Is it only a dream that there'll be no more turning away?" He took a deep breath. SR had contemplated for months telling his friends about his secret motivation. He had promised himself that before the end of that semester, he would tell them. Here the opportunity was presenting itself, and SR was about to pass it up... Damn it! Come hell or high water, I'm going to do this! he thought to himself. SR turned back to Terry, drawing in a sharp breath. Terry turned back to SR and waited for his answer. Glancing quickly between the shaggy carpet and Terry's eyes, SR spoke. "I guess... well... uh... I guess it's just that I've always wanted to be a SCAB like you all." A look of shock crossed Terry's muzzle, then a smile pulled at his face and he rolled his head back in a great and resounding peal of laughter. Wiping a tear from his eye, he rolled forward again, ending with a chuckle in his voice. "Geez, SR-- you really had me going there for a minute." SR did not smile. He didn't even move. He stared directly at Terry with earnest resolve. Slowly the shocked expression returned to Terry's face. "You're serious about this, aren't you?" SR's face was an unblinking steel plate. Terry began shaking his head. With audible concern, he said, "Why?" SR breathed again. "I don't know." "You don't know why?" "No. I don't." Terry was shaking his head vigorously. "No, SR. You do not want this!" "Yes, I do." Terry was on his feet by now. "But, I mean, have you even thought about this-- what would happen?" "Long and hard." Terry was pleading with his friend. "But, come on man! Think about this! Do you have any idea, when I got the Flu, how scared I was that I might end up being a chair, or a slug, or some horrible thing that goes 'bump' in the night? Do you know what it's like to be stared at as you walk down the street? Or to be chased, or beaten, or to run for fear of your life? Or to know that you'll always have to be twice as qualified as a Norm and expect half the pay to get a job? Do you know what it's like to get up in the morning and see an animal in the mirror, knowing that there's no way you'll ever look human again? Do you know how hard it is to resist instincts that tell you to hose down those Humans First jerks when they jeer and throw rocks and pull your tail? Or your girlfriend's tail? Do you have any clue how full of shit this whole deal is?" Terry was standing over SR with both arms held out, the pads on his paws upward. SR was staring dejectedly at the carpet. Finally, he looked up with watery eyes. In a wavering voice, SR said, "No, I don't know what it's like. But I've thought about all those things." Terry lowered his arms, slumping his shoulders. Incredulously, "And... and you still want it?" Before he could answer, the front door opened and Terri, Jason and Jackie walked in, laughing among themselves about the drag show from which they were returning. Jason strolled over and grabbed Terry on the shoulder. "Man-- you should've seen it! One of the stage managers didn't want Jackie to go on, because this was supposed to be a drag show and he looks pretty female. But then Terri here threatened to go outside and spray near one of the air-intake vents-- Dude! You should've seen how pale he went! I thought he was going to crap his pants right there!" Terry swallowed hard and turned to face Jason, managing a weak smile. "Um... cool." Jason paused for a moment, blinking his large eyes. "Man-- what's up with you two? It feels like death himself has been hanging out here!" SR put on his happy-face and stood. "No, Death Herself is over there. But I suppose buzzards like you would know about that sort of thing anyway, right?" Jason's eyes narrowed and he shot SR a look of mock contempt. "Watch it, monkey brains. The carrion in the pink skin is the best kind." All three of them laughed at that. In the background, Pink Floyd was finishing up the last stanza of "Learning to Fly."... Copyright © 1998 by SR Foxley. All rights reserved. Please contact the author if you have questions regarding the publication of this document.
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