Chapter 8 — Bonk
And thus begins Chapter Eight.
Now, children.
There she stood.
Green Hair.
Before me.
And I
joint in hand
continued buffering.
The council watches the loading circle.
I looked at her.
Then at the joint.
Then back at her.
The variables had become clear enough even for me.
Green Hair.
Bedroom.
Reduced clothing.
Bed.
Nuo.
Children.
Pattern recognition finally activated.
So I stood.
Walked toward her.
Looked at her.
And asked the most elegant question available to a published author.
“Bonk?”
Silence.
The council erupts.
BONK?
Yes.
Children.
No poetry.
No seductive whisper.
No:
I’ve wanted this since the beach.
No elaborate consent ritual dressed in rose petals and French dialogue.
Just
Bonk?
Green Hair nodded.
“Bonk.”
The council stares.
Perfect communication.
Exactly.
No ambiguity.
No misunderstanding.
No subplot.
Objective confirmed.
Children.
In Green Hair’s defence,
subtlety would have been a catastrophic waste of time.
Nuo and subtlety have historically maintained hostile diplomatic relations.
Hints?
Missed.
Signals?
Possibly interpreted six years later while showering.
Direct question?
Excellent.
So:
Bonk?
Bonk.
The council stamps the agreement.
Then I looked down.
Joint.
Pause.
And asked
“Can we smoke first?”
The council collapses.
Children.
Priorities.
Bonk?
Good.
Bonk while high?
Story Nuo’s assessment:
better.
Therefore
agriculture before recreation.
Green Hair stared at me.
Then giggled.
“Yeah, sure.”
The council smiles despite itself.
And children,
apparently,
at that precise moment,
I was the cutest creature she had ever encountered.
How do I know?
Because she told me.
Not Present Nuo speculation.
Not ego.
Historical record.
She said so.
Which suggests that somewhere between:
Bonk?
and
Can we smoke first?
I had triggered the Puppy Response at catastrophic levels.
The council nods.
Understandable.
So
smoke session.
Green Hair told me it was fine to light up inside the room.
The council raises a finger.
Was it?
Children.
Bad decision.
This will become relevant later.
Not now.
For now,
Story Nuo heard:
You can smoke here.
And considered the matter resolved.
The final boss remained asleep somewhere inside the level.
The room door existed.
The joint existed.
Therefore
light.
Smoke.
Pass.
She smoked.
I smoked.
The room slowly acquired atmosphere.
The council becomes concerned about the sleeping father.
Future problem.
Exactly.
Children.
One of Story Nuo’s most consistent survival techniques:
Make future Nuo deal with it.
Present task?
Enjoy.
And we did.
Talked.
Smoked.
Laughed.
Perhaps kissed between passes.
The Archive does not need to reconstruct every movement.
What matters is
joint burned down.
Smaller.
Smaller.
Done.
The council looks toward the now completed objective.
And then?
Children.
Yes.
We bonked.
Pause.
The council opens a very large file.
Close it.
Immediately.
No further details.
This is a family show.
The council looks around at the preceding fourteen Wanderings.
You talk about drugs constantly.
Fine.
Family show featuring occasional recreational substance abuse.
The council raises several folders.
Occasional?
Fine.
Consistent recreational substance abuse.
Happy?
Marginally.
Good.
But bonk details remain classified.
Green Hair.
Nuo.
Consent established through the highly sophisticated diplomatic framework of:
Bonk?
Bonk.
And what occurred thereafter
belongs to the private archives.
The council seals the door.
Now
later.
Post bonk.
Children.
There we were.
On the bed.
Leaning back against the headboard.
Green Hair beside me.
Then against me.
Head or body resting into my shoulder.
Comfortable.
The shift from complete stranger to this level of familiarity had taken
what?
Hours.
The council checks.
Absurd speed.
Yes.
But by this point,
chronology had stopped mattering.
She had cried into my hoodie.
I had cried in front of her.
She had kissed me.
We had stood laughing in the ocean.
She had driven me across the city with my arm around her waist.
I had inspected her pink bedsheets like a tourist.
And now
this.
Children.
Some relationships take months to become comfortable.
Some take one weird night and terrible decision making.
The council nods.
Green Hair leaned into my shoulder.
Probably congratulating herself.
Because let us examine her mission.
Read terrible book.
Relate to sad author.
Locate sad author.
Call sad author.
Summon sad author from house.
Transport sad author to beach.
Make emotional connection.
Transport sad author to Kazhakootam.
Sneak sad author past Final Boss.
Invite sad author into bedroom.
Seduce sad author.
Children.
Mission complexity:
absurd.
Success rate?
One hundred percent.
The council applauds Green Hair.
Honestly
congratulations.
She had set herself perhaps one of the strangest objectives ever recorded in the Archive:
Bonk the sad author I have never met.
And somehow
success.
The council looks at Nuo.
Was much resistance encountered?
None.
Anime Girl Protocol removed most challenge.
Fair.
And me?
Post bonk?
Rolling another joint.
Of course.
The council sighs.
Children.
There are moments when I wonder whether the true protagonist of some of these old stories was not Nuo,
but rolling paper.
It appears everywhere.
I sat there,
Green Hair against my shoulder,
and began preparing the next one.
She watched perhaps.
Maybe played with my sleeve.
Maybe simply rested.
The exact small movements are gone.
But the atmosphere?
Easy.
Fun.
No awkward:
So what are we now?
No immediate emotional bureaucracy.
No concern about what this meant tomorrow.
Story Nuo was not building relationship projections.
He was simply enjoying the night.
The council nods.
And perhaps Green Hair was too.
Now.
Was this next joint a post bonk joint?
Technically.
Pre bonk joint?
Also
potentially.
The council becomes suspicious.
Children.
Let me save time.
Because the next few hours do not require several chapters.
The Archive has enough dignity left to condense.
One sentence.
We did two things.
The council waits.
One of them
rolling joints.
Silence.
And the other
classified by family show regulations.
The council erupts.
Understood.
Children.
That was the night.
Repeat.
Agriculture.
Bonk.
Agriculture.
Bonk.
Perhaps conversation layered between.
Laughter.
Rest.
Then repeat.
A remarkably efficient two item itinerary.
The council opens the schedule.
ACTIVITY ONE:
Joint.
ACTIVITY TWO:
Bonk.
ROTATION:
As desired.
You make it sound like a fitness circuit.
It practically had fewer stations.
The council refuses further formatting.
Fine.
But children
fun night.
Very fun.
At least so far.
Important phrase.
The council narrows its eyes.
For now.
Because somewhere in the house
Final Boss.
Still asleep.
And Story Nuo?
Increasingly comfortable.
Which is always dangerous.
The first time I entered Green Hair’s room,
I moved like an intruder.
Quiet.
Alert.
Aware that there was a father somewhere below.
Now?
Hours later?
I had smoked in the room.
Bonked in the room.
Rolled another joint in the room.
The human brain is excellent at normalizing environments
that absolutely should not feel normal.
The council nods ominously.
But no future events yet.
Correct.
We stop where the memory stops.
For now
bed.
Green Hair against my shoulder.
Me rolling.
The night continuing.
No grand emotional revelation.
No discussion of destiny.
No declaration that this would become a Wandering.
Story Nuo did not know what Wandering meant.
He knew only:
This day began with me sitting alone in my room.
Now I am in Kazhakootam,
inside the bedroom of a neon green haired woman
who acquired my terrible book as shop change.
The council pauses.
When phrased like that
Ridiculous.
Completely.
And yet entirely real.
The book had failed commercially.
Then succeeded as currency.
Then spent months on a shelf.
Then connected with one sad girl.
Then caused a phone call.
Then caused a scooter ride.
Then a beach.
Then tears.
Then friendship.
Then Kazhakootam.
Then
bonk.
Children.
Literature has consequences.
The council laughs.
Perhaps not the ones your publisher advertises.
And I think even Story Nuo,
apathetic as he was,
understood that this was
fun.
Not profound.
Not healing.
Not yet.
Just fun.
A night that had gone somewhere he could not possibly have predicted when the phone first rang.
Unknown number.
Who dis.
A few hours later
this.
The council looks at causality and gives up.
Excellent.
So we remain there.
Green Hair leaning against me.
Joint engineering underway.
Final Boss asleep.
The room gradually becoming a smoky monument to terrible foresight.
And Story Nuo
content.
For now.
Thus concludes Chapter Eight.
The Buffering.
The Highly Elegant Question:
“Bonk?”
The Equally Elegant Answer:
“Bonk.”
The Immediate Agricultural Priority Check.
The Indoor Smoke Decision That Will Absolutely Not Matter Later.
The Successful Seduction Mission.
The Family Show Disclaimer.
The Post Bonk Headboard.
The Green Hair Against Nuo’s Shoulder.
The Next Joint.
And The Extremely Simple Schedule For The Following Hours.
Children.
She had come looking for the sad author.
She found him.
Comforted him.
Brought him home.
And somehow completed the absurd side quest:
Bonk Nuo.
The council awards Green Hair full marks.
Story Nuo?
Already rolling the next joint.
Because there were only two activities on tonight’s itinerary.
And one required preparation.
