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“THAT'S OINGO BOINGO,” says the station wagon's driver, pointing at the giant dog in the back seat of his car. At the moment, the Great Dane's head is resting in Mikayla's lap. I don't blame the big dog for being drawn to her. So am I.
In one of the most monotone voices I've ever heard, Lisa asks, “You named your dog Oingo Boingo?”
“Yeah. Is that weird? What's really weird is the f-fact that I introduced you to my dog before I introduced myself.” The boy sticks out a hand and wiggles his long, skinny fingers. I think he wants Lisa to shake his hand, but her arms remain firmly at her sides. “I'm Timuthy. That's T-I-M-U-T-H-Y. It's got a U in it. I should p-probably go by Tim, but I like the U. It's unique. It makes me stand out.”
“I'm Lisa,” our charge introduces herself. “It's spelled the normal way.”
There are two things I notice about Timuthy right away. First of all, he's a terrible driver. He accelerates through yellow lights, tailgates, and brakes at the last minute. Lisa looks worried for her life, understandably so. Secondly, despite his stutter, he's a very chatty young man. He talks about himself, in excess, and rambles incessantly.
“Oingo Boingo is the third dog I've had,” Timuthy says. “When I was little, I had a dog named Stevie... my m-mom named her after Stevie Nicks. She was a poodle who turned into a really picky eater because my dad used to feed her steak all the time. My second dog was a Scottish terrier named Ringo. I guess it would've m-made more sense if he was a Yorkshire terrier or some kind of English breed, since he was o-obviously named after Ringo Starr. You know, the Beatle.”
“Right,” Lisa says.
You can always tell someone is disinterested when they answer a long speech with a single word. Lisa's been in Timuthy's car for all of three minutes, and she couldn't sound more bored.
“Ringo didn't live very long. He snuck outside one day when my dad left the door ajar. My brother and I put up a ton of lost dog posters, but we didn't find him for three days, and when we did finally find him, he was a l-lump on the side of the road. I guess he ran into traffic and died. He was only about a mile from our house.”
This time, Lisa replies with two words. “That's sad.”
“Oh my god!” Mikayla whines. She's so exhausted by Timuthy's digressive speeches, her head falls to my shoulder. I'm surprised she would get that cozy with me, but I'm not complaining. “I always hate when people talk about themselves and you can't get a word in. Why doesn't he ask Lisa something about herself?”
Even though Timuthy can't hear her voice, he takes Mikayla's advice. “What about you, Lisa? Have you ever had a pet?”
“A cat,” she says.
Once again, Timuthy usurps the conversation. “I n-never had a cat because my mom is allergic. W-Well, that's not entirely true because Mom didn't even know she was allergic until we got a cat. I was only five or six at the time, so I barely remember Pinkie. Mom said she found a new home for him, but I think she just dumped him on the side of the road. Oh, and if you were w-wondering, Pinkie was named after Pink Floyd.”
“So... you name all your pets after bands?” Lisa asks. I think that's the most she's contributed to the conversation so far.
“Yeah. I g-guess my mom started the trend, and my brother and I continued it. He has a turtle named Mick Jagger.”
When they reach the interstate, Timuthy starts driving way too slow, and now he's the one getting tailgated and passed. I peek into Lisa's thoughts, confirming her irritation. She's tired of Timuthy's driving and his talking.
Mikayla cries, “Hey! Dummy!” and leans forward to whack Timuthy's head. Her hand passes through him, but I swear I see him flinch. “You need to talk less and listen more! You guys look about the same age. You could be making a new friend, but you're probably putting her off.”
Timuthy says, “We look about the same age, don't you think?”
I should probably commend Mikayla for getting through to him so easily. Her accidental skills are quite impressive to me.
“Maybe.” One of Lisa's shoulders jumps into a bored shrug. “I'm nineteen. How old are you?”
“Twenty-three,” Timuthy says. “I just turned twenty-three a few weeks ago, though.”
Now that Timuthy's paused to take a breath, Lisa seems a bit more interested in conversing with him. She asks, “If you're from Columbus, why were you in Florida?”
“I went for a job interview,” Timuthy says. “It's probably weird that I drove so far to find a job, but I can't find anything local. I've been to about t-ten job interviews, but no one's hired me. I think my stutter is h-holding me back.”
“It's not even that noticeable, though,” Lisa says.
“It's nice of you to say that, but I know that isn't true,” Timuthy says. “A-Anyway, why were you in Florida?”
“I was on vacation with some friends. I got some bad news about my grandma and I needed to go home, but... my friends didn't want to leave early with me.”
“So you decided to hitchhike? That's brave.”
“Yeah. Brave and stupid,” Lisa says.
“Hey! I'm not so b-bad!” Timuthy exclaims.
Right after he says that, Timuthy changes lanes and almost gets hit. For that reason alone, Lisa doesn't agree with him.
“Hey, do you want to get something to eat? I'm s-starving,” Timuthy says.
“Maybe. But if we stop for food, we'll have to go someplace cheap. I'm pretty broke right now.”
“I can pay for your meal,” Timuthy says.
“You don't have to do that.”
“I know. But I want to.”
Timuthy swerves off the interstate and stops at the first restaurant he sees: McDonald's. There, he buys two Happy Meals and coos over the toy. I don't think I've seen a man his age get so excited about a toy car. He drives it around their table and bumps into Lisa's tray.
“I haven't had a Happy Meal since I was ten,” Lisa says.
Timuthy cocks his head and asks, “Why not?”
“Uh... because they're for kids?”
Timuthy, undaunted by her answer, keeps driving his little car around the tabletop. “Adults need happiness too,” he says. “In fact, I would argue that we need happiness more. Everything is f-f-fun when you're a kid. Most adults have the joy sucked out of them.”
Mikey, who recently manifested a burger for herself, says, “This guy is one of the biggest dorks I've ever seen. But... he's kind of an endearing dork.”
“Do you like endearing dorks, Mikayla?” I ask. “Because I'm probably an endearing dork myself.”
Mikey doesn't respond, but I'm intrigued by the smirk on her lips, so I peek into her thoughts.
“Is he hitting on me? Maybe not, but that almost sounded like a flirt.”
If I was flirting with Mikayla, it was entirely by accident. I would flirt intentionally, if I could, but I'm terrible at it. I wish I was charming, smooth and confident—basically, more like Jophiel and less like me.
“I should buy an extra burger for Oingo Boingo. He loves burgers.” As he talks, Timuthy starts criss-crossing his fries on a napkin. “I don't want to leave him in the car too long. He gets lonely when I do.”
“What are you doing?” Lisa asks, pointing at his stack of fries.
“I'm making a f-fry fort. It's something I've done since I was a kid. I can't break the habit.”
Lisa eye rolls and says, “O... kay.”
“Can you imagine a life-sized fort made entirely of fries?” Timuthy asks. “That would probably be my favorite place in the world.”
“You know what?” Mikayla whispers to me, as if she's afraid the humans might hear us. “I'm kind of an endearing dork too.”
“You're definitely endearing, but I'm not sure I would call you a dork.” I want to touch her, to brush a lock of hair behind her ear, but I don't. Until I'm no longer her instructor, I should stay professional. “You're sweet, Mikayla.”
Timuthy stacks his fry fort about five fries high before he starts devouring it. Lisa watches, but the look on her face is unreadable. Her mouth is gaping, but her eyes are intrigued.
We're still in the restaurant when I get a text from Archangel Gabriel. He's asking Jophiel, Ariel and I to take on a horde of demons that have gathered at a cemetery. I don't want to leave Mikayla, but I can't ignore a text from Gabriel. If I ignored Gabriel, he would almost certainly tell Michael, and I would be in a heap of trouble.
“Um, Mikayla?” I address my student with hesitation in my voice. “I'm afraid I have to leave for a bit. Are you willing to watch over Lisa and Timuthy while I'm gone?”
Mikayla's eyes bulge, but she answers coolly, “Yeah, I guess so.”
“If you need me, send me a message,” I tell her. “I might not be able to answer right away, but... I'll do my best.”
I guess this is why Archangels aren't instructors. You never know when duty might call.