NOVEL NEXT Chapter 20: What a day that was
I was right.
Dragons are people, and as people we can interpret our instincts and decide how we follow them. I do think other animals can do this too, and often do, but we are too removed from them to see it most of the time. We can’t interview them.
Whitman was, after all, able to communicate through gesture and writing in the playground sand.
His feet are too clumsy to use a tablet or oversized keyboard.
His name is Joel, actually. He wrote that in the sand.
We had to ask him a lot of yes and no questions, with him elaborating with glyphs and words occasionally, but we did interview him.
He’d attacked me originally because he was desperate and scared, and thought it was the thing he was supposed to do to secure his territory. Which he perceived me to be in, or too close to.
He’s been living on the streets for several years, and was pushed into the woods of the southern foothills by losing that challenge to me.
We don’t have a lot more information than that. We’re looking into getting him his own AAC of some sort. He’s frustrated beyond belief that he can’t talk anymore, and angry that I can actually say a few words and he can’t.
And, at the coaxing of Rhoda and Chapman, I ceded him the South West portion of my territory, from Chestnut street to the water, which includes the park we’d just fought over, plus a number of businesses, including two of the more well known brewpubs. It’s twice the land that I’m left with.
I’ve got most of downtown, and a network of friends who are making sure I get what I need. And my building is where I get my identity from, anyway. I don’t need all that space to be mine, really. Not logically, anyway.
Negotiating with my emotions is a different matter, but I’ve been working on learning how to do that for a couple decades now. That’s a huge part of what my therapist is for.
It’s Tuesday morning, the day of my next appointment, and I’m hanging out with my friends and the staff of my coffee shop in the lobby. We’re less afraid of other dragons attacking now.
Rhoda, Nathan, and I have been filling the others in on the details of yesterday’s events, and how the negotiations went.
Chapman’s at work, and I won’t see them today until maybe when we cross paths outside our therapist’s door. And that’s OK. It’s fun.
Things are not completely resolved.
I have no idea if anyone will ever figure out why we dragons are a thing now. But, I do know it’s a thing Chapman and I are going to keep poking at for the rest of our lives until we uncover it. Together, hopefully.
But, also, there’s a lot of legal and political work to do. And, as Mayor Chisholm warned, it looks like I’ll be seeing some court dates in the future. Which should be stressful, seeing as the court house is in Waits’ territory.
But, hopefully, by then, I’ll be negotiating with Waits over my Discord server, and we’ll work out a plan. First step there is to get a team out to Waits and make sure they have access to the internet and their own form of AAC. Rhoda is planning on calling the Opportunity Council to see if they can help with that.
Astraia has made diplomatic contact with the dragon I’ve been calling Loreena, using human partners as go-betweens, and learned that her name is Tannis. And I didn’t get much sleep last night, because the three of us were trading ideas for how to contact the others.
We’re people. We can act like people. And humanity has created some pretty nifty tools to help us do that, too. And most of us are already familiar with them.
We just have to use them.
There’ve been a lot of times in the past week where it felt like it was falling on me to solve all of these problems. And every time I failed to succeed at whatever I was doing, it was hard not to feel like I was failing myself.
The thing is, I’m not the queen of the local dragons. I’m just me. The loudmouth who lives on the roof of the Magnolia Apartments. And my job, really, is to get along with the people I know, dragon or human, and maybe not get in their way.
And the morning songs are feeling better every day.
Oh, yeah, and the people in that helicopter were members of a private wildlife management company, Equisetum Wildlife, owned by one Daniel Säure, also owner of Morning Glory Corp, and working with the Sheriff, specifically. There’s a bit of a legal and political mess regarding what happened last night that I don’t fully understand, even after it was explained to me, and I’m hoping it shakes out in my favor.
We’ll see.
Säure, it turns out, also owns the daily newspaper, which is why it’s even still in business. I think he might be a billionaire. So if he decides to back my opposition in court, we’re going to need some serious help.
I’m trying to put that out of my mind, for now.
It’s a little hard, because Nathan takes that tidbit of knowledge and really verbally chews on it, talking about conversations he’s had with Seagull. And the Kims take the bait, and it turns into a whole discussion over the counter during the slower hours of late morning.
I huff and turn to Rhoda, and she raises her eyebrows at me, tilting her head in my direction sympathetically.
I want to talk about something different, but quietly, so I don’t hit talk on my tablet, instead turning it to face her when I’m done typing.
“Chapman says maybe you like me,” I say, like a teenager. It’s so hard to figure out nuance on this thing, even when taking the time to write a full sentence. Nuance usually requires too many words, so I often lean on other people’s grace and forgiveness for the resulting bluntness.
Rhoda reads the sentence carefully and then leans back to sip her coffee, smirking at me through the whole gesture. Then she studies me a little bit and says, “I’ve always wanted to be your friend, Meg. I do like you, and care about you. And I’m really glad you’ve opened up and we can talk more freely now.” She sits there for a little while at that, and I spend that time wondering if she’s done talking, but then she says, “I’m going to put it like this. You have never been like any of the monsters of my ancestors that might have been called dragons. But I’ve always recognized that you are a dragon. And I like the kind of dragon I see in you. Especially after yesterday. So I’m honored to be your friend. Now, if you’re asking me if I might like to see myself as a member of your chosen family, whatever that means, that’s something we’ll have to work on. We’ve only really started actually talking to each other, after all. But I think we’ve made a good start.”
I like that. That feels comfortable.
So we sit there and smile at each other for a while.
Afterward, I climb to my roof to lie spread out in the sun for an hour or so. Half of the time I’m up there, I know that Chapman is attending therapy during hir lunch break.
I have an alarm set on my tablet to let me know a good time to set out for therapy, so that I get there early enough to trade finger guns with Chapman in the lobby.
Well, I’m not using my human disguise. I hate that thing. And I’m only using it in emergencies, to keep it secret and effective.
So, my finger guns look like trigger fingers looped around imaginary guns, because I can’t fully straighten my individual claws out while holding the rest tight. They don’t work independently quite like that.
Still, we know what we’re doing, and we both wink in the process.
And then I walk into my therapist’s office and hunker down for my session, carefully placing my tablet in front of me.
“Meghan,” she says. “Before we get started, I want to report on the homework I gave myself, looking into your case and options. Are you OK with that?”
“Yes,” I say.
She’s startled to hear that come from my throat, but smiles and blinks and nods, saying, “Unfortunately, it really doesn’t look good on the SSI front. Nationally, there is a lot of arguing going on about it, and it looks like it’s going to take them a while to work anything out regarding dragons. And while the State of Washington is fairly progressive, they aren’t in charge of regulating how SSI is handled. That’s purely a federal program. However, you should be able to qualify for SNAP and Medicaid through Washington the instant you lose your SSI, so you’ll have that as a cushion.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Do you have some way of making sure that you have shelter, or a way to pay rent? Are you going to need help with that?” she asks me.
I look down at my tablet and poke it, “Maybe.”
“OK,” she says. “Let me know what kind of help you need.”
“Yes,” I say. I’m starting to wonder what Chapman talked to her about, but it’s none of my business, unless Chapman shares it with me later. In any case, I’m getting help now, obviously. But I’ll keep all my resources open and ready to use.
“I wish I could do more for you in this regard, but it’s really not my specialty. I can maybe help you find a caseworker, though,” she says.
I feel like maybe my counselor hasn’t learned much about what just happened. Maybe she was too focused on the SSI thing and didn’t pay attention to local news. That’s OK.
“Thank you,” I type.
“Are you OK with this?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I am very sure about it. At this point, bureaucratic garbage like that feels like it might give my life a sense of mundanity that I need. I almost feel like I’m ready to tackle it all myself, which would be a whole lot of progress on my C-PTSD if it turns out to be true. I’ve still got a lot to process, mind you. But the SSI thing feels like the least of my worries right now. And there are a couple of things in my life, Rhoda and Chapman specifically, that I’m really looking forward to having to deal with more often. And I'm having a hard time not focusing on them, really.
So, I make a point of preening and composing myself to pay attention to my counselor, as a show that I’m ready to change topics and move on.
“Well, then,” she smiles, leaning back. “Tell me about your week!”
Oh, wow, this is going to be a long hour.
