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   'Well, what now?'

   "Look, things got out..."

   "No...it was my..."

   There was an anxiousness, and a discomfort altogether outside of the influence of the chill winter blow.   Each had an impression of the other, what had been left behind from their impact rather than the actual person.   It was fresh eyes that each saw with now, and somewhere the fates chuckled at their set up.   Grey suddenly felt his skin itch in a dozen different places. Meghan started to conceal her arms behind her back, and then tried to take a step behind the other, still closed door, but her back leg wouldn't follow. Ultimately she was going nowhere, stranding her with her weight on one just hidden leg with two left arms seemingly tugging on the other stubborn one.   A hand still lie on each door handle as if to close it, while two arms right arms remained hidden with a wrist of one just resting above the door frame coyly.   He watched this scene in a moment of amusement until a dagger of cold stabbed Grey in the kidney, causing a shudder and prodding him out of silence.

   "Meghan, can I come in?"   She looked him over once at this.   Was it to make sure it was actually him here?   That he had actually returned?   Or perhaps it was to decide if he was acceptable in his filth?   If she even wanted his chaos here?   Or something else, buried deep within layers of rationalization?    She would not know the answer tonight.   The door was opened wide as she slipped behind it.

   "Oh, yeah...sure, for a moment."

   "Thank you."   He tried to catch her eyes with an openness he rarely showed, only to catch a glance before she turned away.   At least this time his backpack would have the privilege as he set it propped near the door.

   "You like spaghetti?" she called, already passing into the kitchen.

   "Sure, my dad always imagined he was Italian, as if spaghetti was Italian."

   "Well, it's the canned stuff for tonight.   I don't have time for anything else."

   "That's more than fine.   Mom's strong suit wasn't cooking."

   He straggled behind her, adjusting to the indoors which were as draftier and cooler then he remembered, and much more comforting then what he had known.   Meghan was already head deep in her cabinets, and only barely fitting that, absorbed in her work.   Grey was content to sit himself back in his seat at the table, wanting to do more but uncertain if it would be proper.   His host continued to talk as the many preparations were made in parallel.

   "Grey, huh?   That's what you call yourself?"

   "It made it easier on mom.   I despised being a 'junior', even as a toddler, even more then Gary.   What kind of parent hates their child enough to call them Gary?   Do they not want him?"   It was stated with comedic flair, or as a bad pick-up line, part of a rusted repertoire from years before.

   "Yeah...I'm going to call you Stray though.   I can't seem to get rid of you either..."   Meghan gave a small, hoarse laugh at her clever little quip, then fell silent in response.   Grey forced a more nervous chuckle as he adjusted himself in the chair.   Neither could find their footing on the ice, with the chill.

   "I saw your damaged window on my return.   Do you have a lot of problems with vandals?"

   "Yeah, little bastards...all the time."

   The chill air found a chink in the wood and blew into the space.   The attempted shift in conversation sputtered to a halt.

   "It almost seems like a snowstorm is coming.   The temperature was dropping all day."

   Grey words were unheard or in any case ignored.   A stubborn can of tomato sauce was the focus and the most evident source of her frustrations as she readjusted one hand entirely around the glass while a second grabbed the steel lid.   She bore down, and in a single motion sheared the lid and the glass ring and top clean off.   The glass failed into a spiraling cascade around her fingers, its sauce falling in a single red blob onto her sleeveless grey sweatshirt, leaving its mark on its way to the tile floor.

   Grey jumped off of the chair.   "Holy shit!   Are you alright?   Do you have a first aid kit?"

   Meghan just stood unmoved and silent, dispassionate at the mess.   After a moment to confirm the results, her only visible reaction was to lean forward slowly onto the island, her weight resting on her lowest forearms, the curls of her hair falling onto her cheeks.   A single leg was lifted to where the knee came to rest on the island's base; its bare foot dangled limp having taken the impact of glass and tomatoes.

   "I'm fine...thick skin, remember?"

   "I'll help you with the mess."

   "No, it's fine.   Leave it..."   Grey had already grabbed the roll of paper towels off of the holder and was crouching to assist, ignoring words spoken as an afterthought with no effort.

   "I SAID leave it.   I DON'T NEED your help!"   She lashed out at him and the roll, knocking him onto his ass while attempting to snatch the roll, tearing free only a couple sheets in exchange for her violence.

   "You know, I get it but...Meghan, your foot's bleeding."   A needle-like shard of the jar had managed to pierce her left foot at the top in between the protruding tendons of her two largest toes.   A moderate amount of blood trickled down her skin, hard to distinguish between the vectors of tomato sauce and basil.   She refused to even acknowledge the wound.

   "I'll be fine.   Go!   Didn't you come to shower?   Well go.   It's upstairs.   I did this...just go.   You stink all the way to the high heavens.   Go...before you suffocate an angel."   Grey did not back down, but instead returned to his knees to get a closer look.

   "I get it, big, mean amazon warrior princess needs no man's help.   Perhaps, just maybe, it would be OK if she wanted help?"

   "Fine..."

   "So you have a kit?"

   "Under the sink...Never use the damn thing."   Quickly he retrieved it, and bent down for a closer look, and was struck by the weight of his own words.   Meghan's Amazonian foot was as long as his forearm and sized wide, cut more like a machine then a woman's, as if even these could rend steel.

   "You have Morton's Toe."

   "No I don't!"

   "It means your second toe is longer than your first."

   "Oh..."

   The cut was less dramatic then it appeared and the sliver came out smooth after a bit of a struggle.   She stood still, only wincing once, not at the pain but when his finger lightly brushed her relatively soft arch.   He cleaned the wound, using an extra-large Band-Aid more for its seeming appropriateness rather than any real need.   He could not escape the truth of her for more than a moment before some new revelation revealed itself to him.   A reminder of the imposable situation he was in.

   "I'll take care of this mess too."   He worked his way around her legs for a time, scooping what he could.   She remained still, and distant of the things beneath her. "You have a mop?"

   "I'm...sorry."   Barely more than her lips moved.

   "What?"

   "I'm just not used to people here, to small talk, chit-chat, bar games and the flirting."

   "No one said we were flirting..."

   "I talk to people on the phone, play games online...but this...here is my space...where I'm left alone."   Her foot returned to the floor hesitantly. She gave the results a peek as her foot came to a rest on the tile.

   "No one is ever here then?"

   "My sisters and brother...once in a while.   They are not as obvious as me."   Grey wondered what this could mean, but kept to himself for the time being.   "I just don't get much opportunity for small talk."

   Grey got back on his feet to find her lowered to his level.   She turned her head slowly to look at him and the wad of soiled paper towels in his hands.

   "No, I guess you don't."   He smirked at the irony of her statement lost upon her.

   "Go sit down.   I've got a mop in the closet.   You've done enough."   He was hesitant to comply, and watched her exaggerated motions to straighten herself up.

   "Do you have knee problems?   I could imagine with all that weight..."

   "Sit down or I'll tear you in two and set your ass there and eat the rest," she growled.

   "Look, let's work on your small talk."   He observed Meghan's walk as she retrieved the mop from a closet next to the small bathroom under the stairs.   "It's about attitude, we're all friends, not one is out to hurt you."

   "I should have hit you with the door on the way in.   I still could on the way out..."   Meghan rung the mop out in the deep double-basin sink and began to work the mess with a top and bottom arm.

   "...That's not helping."

   "Makes me feel better."

   "How about this, then?   Do you go out a night with those feet to mess with the Sasquatch hunters?"   She flinched at this, to both his satisfaction and regret.   The whistle of the wind and hoot of that well-hidden owl were the only sounds for a time while Grey waited for her to finish.

   "Meghan, what is your surname?"

   "Moors."

   "So, Meghan Moors, you said you play games online, which ones?"

   "World of Warcraft, mostly."   She inspected the tile of the floor.   Satisfied, three hands layered themselves on her right hip while the top right held the mop upright.

   "What kind of characters do you play?"

   "Well, I have this gnome warrior I like.   You ever played it?"

   "A gnome huh?   Sounds like wish fulfillment."

   "Hah...I guess you're right," she said with a smile.

   "See, now you're doing it, small talk."

   "Shove off."   She made accompanying motions with a couple of random hands.

   "We'll take it slow, I guess."

   "Good idea.   I'll crack open another can of sauce."

   Grey observed as he returned to his seat, with eyes trained for details since before his adult years.   There was a tinge of awkwardness in her movements in even simple tasks.   A gingerness when she tore open the box of noodles, or stirred the pan full of a sauce better fated.   Even in a place made for her, she had not been able to find everything she needed; an adult playing with a girl’s plastic kitchen toys.   Her strength, perhaps even beyond human, seemed to work against her, and on top of handling all those arms.   Perhaps there was even a neurological complexity; all that cross-wiring too much for a human brain.   There was a favoring of her highest pair of hands for the delicate work, and rarely were all of them in use at the same moment.   Every sense told him she would have been happier with two, grabbing an item on occasion with a spare, stirring while cutting; there was no chaos of activity.   Everything was deliberate and controlled.   It was her natural state.

   "You're right handed, right?" he said innocently.   She replied with her back still to him.

   "Gary, at the risk of repeating myself again, why are you here?"

   "I...wish I knew.   It seemed I had something to do here."

   "I'm not looking for work done...How much more clearly can I make that?"

   "I got that.   Believe me.   I just…wanted to make sure you were OK.   You looked like a mess when I left, and I couldn't leave a mess behind.   It's seems my concerns were valid."

   "What is that supposed to mean???" she asked almost obnoxiously.   It broke her cool and she turned towards him, hands not focused on a task flew into the air as in protest.

   "Your window...I can fix that.   It'll be a mess of money to hire someone.   Those small multi-pane windows are a pain."

   "You can do that?"   Arms relaxed just slightly.

   "I can do a lot of things, being versatile has kept me high on the hog," he said with a charming smile.   "I will need the right type of glass, and the tools, and it will take a few days."

   "Fine, done."    Grey stood for a moment to shake on it, but Meghan turned away, tossing large pot of noodles into a colander held over the sink.   He was pushed back into his seat under some sense of rejection.

   "Good...Excellent."

   "Here, eat.   I intend to get my money's worth out of you tomorrow.   You look like would evaporate after the workout I'm going to give."   At least the plates came with more care then what was shown in the morning, evidence of relaxing tensions after the deal was reached.   Grey rested his jacket on the chair back and took his time in the moment.

   "I knew you were right handed."   She would ignore him and his little barbs, choosing to focus her hunger, determined that he would not best her.   She would be in control.

   "At least that outfit looks comfortable.   It almost fits, well, at least it doesn't look like it's about to burst.   You ever thought about sewing, so you could have sleeves?"

   "Not with these fingers.   Needles are too small anyways."

   "Yeah, I can see the problem.   Not an easy fix, either.   Even if you hide the excess appendages, you're still a statuesque eight-and-a-half feet, no avoiding that.   But there’ve been men near that tall...but the arms, it's a wholly new animal...and your fiery locks like a beacon in the night..."

   "Statuesque, huh?"   Meghan eyes shot him an incredulous look under her eyebrows as she continued eating.   "Animal?   More like a beast."

   "No...never."

   "HA!   Statuesque...like some actress form the golden age, a swollen Marilyn Monroe."

   "Why not?"

   "She was a goddess of the feminine.   I could crush Schwarzenegger with my fat ass alone."

   "Well, he got all doughy after he took over ruining California.   Even I would give him a challenge."   Finally, Grey got a smile, an actual smile, not a smirk or a toothy grin that felt like she was about to devour him.   It was innocent and a little embarrassed to have shown itself.   It fed him all the more than the food.   "Meghan, it's going to be a couple of days to do the job.   Can we the elephant out of the room?"   Her fork fell with a clatter onto the empty ceramic plate.   "Sorry, the puns seem to write themselves."

   "Fine...Get it over with so we can move on."

   "So were..."

   "No...I was a normal five-pound, nine-ounce, bouncing baby girl.   It didn't happen until I was twelve, after my brother and sisters were born.   I don't think my parents would have had cursed more children with this if they would have known."

   "Yeah, you mentioned them.   Do they have your...uhm...look like you too?"

   "No, each one of us had different complications.   I went through school a little taller than average, and on the chunky side.   People always thought I was older, so I started acting the part young.   Then puberty really started to hit, and I started to shoot up a bit, and really put on weight, up to a pound a week.   I was eating everything and started plumping out like a butterball.   Until then my parents thought that they had been blessed with a perfectly normal child...after everything mom had already been through...I guess I let them down."   Meghan's arms seemed to drift into her story, just one or a pair at a time, but quite noticeable after the rigid control she usually had over them.   She voice smoothed and lightened, sounding more youthful than he had heard before.

   "Something happened to her?   Like you.   So it's hereditary.   So they must have known something might happen."

   "My parents told me later that they had been assured if they had a child it would have to be normal by default.   Some assumption, but yeah, she had been sick for years once, a rare, virulent form of leukemia back some forty years ago or something."   Meghan slid back into her chair, top arms behind her head, bottom wrists still hung resting on to the table, the last pair of hand remaining on her thighs.   "My dad was a doctor, not an MD, but a nuclear scientist in research, and had a whack-job friend, one of those genius types really on the edge of sanity who was supposed to be a real doctor.   This guy was already working on gene spicing with retroviruses and plant genetics.   Well, it cured my mother, among other things...and here I am.   His radiation research probably didn't help either, two-tailed sperm or something..."

   "It had this effect on her, the growth and mutations?"

   "You act like it's some lab experiment, it was my mother you know..."

   "It's a lot to take in all at once.   The knowledge that there is a whole family out there of..."

   "Watch it!"   A finger wagged at him from an arm underneath the table.

   "Dragons and fairies, ogres and leprechauns, all of it, it could have been, or could still be real.   The possibilities of genetics and everything...all of it, it’s extraordinary!"   Grey almost climbed out his chair as his mind raced against the possibilities.

   "Hey, chump.   I'm right here."

   "Of course, how brutish of me getting carried away like that."   It was his turn to redden, and enough to shine though heavily tanned skin.   He fell back into his set with his hand in his lap like a chided toddler.   "You mother, what happened to her?"

   "She was the most like me; really, I ended up the most like her.   The plant genes cured her, and then made her grow, much taller than even me, and she got all the arms, and started to take on other plant things."

   "They must have reversed the side effects then, you're here."

   "No, not so much as she learned to control the changes, or really to moderate them."

   "Can you control it too?   Your size or anything?"

   "No, but at least I don't look Like I have bark for skin."   She gave herself a poke in the forearm. "But I suspect it has something to do with the 'My Little Pony' hair."

   "I love your hair.   Why should it be ordinary?"

   "Can I be normal in one way?"

   "It looks like a no.   Well, you have the normal compliment of eyes.   At least you're not a giant cyclops."

   "Well, thank God for two eyes then."

   "So what happened to you then to change you?   Turtle goo?"

   "I had an angina attack, then fell sick for over a month in the spring, bedridden with what they thought was mononucleosis.   Whatever it was, it kicked my system into overdrive.   I grew a foot in that month alone, lying in that bed.   These arms..." she wiggled the fingers for emphasis, "...grew right down my sides, from nubs to this in a couple of weeks.   I was in so much pain they kept me sedated for much of that month.   Dad dug up that old fucking quack from somewhere.   They kept me alive through an IV, and even that wasn't enough.   I woke up rail thin, all the weight had gone into my growth, and the arms; well, except for my boobs, these damn things..."   She hoisted them up both up and together with four hands, as if they needed the accentuation to be noticed.   He twitched, as he had been slowly leaning in through the course of the tale.   Through wild imaginings he convinced himself that the cleavage was going to do to him what it had to the sweatshirt, a dark gap even peeking through the neck hole.   "...They decided to spread themselves across all my new pectoral muscles.   They grew three cup sizes and five inches."

   "At least you don't have six breasts."

   "Maybe, but maybe they would be more manageable and not get in my way constantly."

   "True..."

   "And really...it's not like it would make any difference in my social life.   People wouldn't say 'hey look, it's the six breasted freak that just happens to be eight feet tall and a bunch of arms to boot.   Hey, there goes Spider-Sow!' "   Her voice went falsetto and tinged with a bitterness nurtured from years of darkness, born of experiences too hurt filled to share.   Grey knew this.   He saw it in a green sea that relived the shame every day, every day memories that became more horrible fantasy.

   "It must have been a terribly difficult adjustment."

   "Yes...I remember the morning when I finally woke up with no pain, no IV.   I was just asleep in my bed like it had been a bad dream.   No one was there at that moment to keep an eye on me, they though the drugs would still keep me down.   I tried to stand up.   I was thirsty or needed the bathroom or something, whatever it was.   I stumbled around a bunch, banged my toes on the dresser and just got dizzier with every movement.   My balance was just...gone, and I couldn't figure out why.   I tripped a second time, and slammed my face into my standing mirror.   I braced myself with it and held onto three corners of the dresser at the same time to keep myself upright.   I hadn't meant to look, it just happened. There was this six-foot plus, six-armed, thirteen-year-old monster with these huge boobs jutting straight out at me.   I screamed and fell back into the bed before hitting the floor.   My father came in from the kitchen where he was trying to grab some breakfast.   He held me right there at the foot of my bed, his little girl, now taller than him."   She held herself with her arms unconsciously, appearing at any moment inapproachable, the next a wounded child.   Grey shifted in his chair, but his eyes never left her face as he absorbed every facet of her tale, something he had never even imagined before.

   "At least he cared...you had the support that you must have needed, but I guess he was more used to it then you were, right?"

   "Yeah, mom tried as well, but she was more the teacher and the disciplinarian.   She knew what it was like and tried to teach me how to adjust, and how to use my arms.   But dad, he was just there when I needed him.   He didn't have to say a thing."

   "It took me a week to just look as myself. The only thing that seemed to have shrunk was my hair; it hadn't really, but now it was just fell to my top shoulder blades.   Already it was changing color from a light brown to this.   That took almost a year,   and it's still changing.   The colors never even stay in the same places."

   "It seems you were cursed.   Even your hair primed to attract attention.   It's like a curse of the gods against man's hubris.   It must have been a bit like Alice with the cake."

   "And I loved that story as a little girl.   My dad read it to me at bedtime.   But it was more like they fell down the rabbit hole, not me."

   "But you said your mom was like you as well."   Grey risked leaning back in a bit as well.

   "Yeah, but she was smaller, just a few inches taller them me at that time, and had cut her hair short to keep her that way, and died it.   Anyway that's another story.   She had always been the way she was to me.   It was the family secret.   I guess I was stupid to think it wouldn't happen to me.   My brother was nine, and started to freak out, my seven-year-old sister got excited and wanted to be like us.   My youngest sister was just a baby."

   "You paint quite a picture."

   "That's not the best part.   I was afraid to use my new arms for weeks, and they barely worked.   I denied them, hiding them under my clothes, jackets blankets or whatever.   I hated them.   Once, my dad caught me about to hack one of them off with a hatchet.   I had gashed myself pretty good before he stopped me.   He even used a tourniquet, and was going to take me to a hospital, but the bleeding stopped in a couple of minutes, and the scar was gone in a couple of weeks.."

   "Something like Wolverine...you could be a X-Men."

   "What in the fucking hell is wrong with you?"

   "If I had a quarter for every time someone had asked me that...well I wouldn't be in your charming company.   So that was the end of school, right?"

   "No, I had a month left, the worst month of my life."

   "You didn't go to school with your arms out exposed, did you?"

   "No...hell no.   They were used to seeing me overweight, so we used towels and cloth to band them.   It was easy to conceal under my boobs.   Dad's quack friend wrote me a note so I wouldn't have to participate in PE, the only good he ever did."   Meghan's eyes became glassy, forgetting where they were, nothing here in the now could capture their interest.   "The girls were jealous.   The boys were little horny bastards.   Suddenly they had an actual Playboy slut in their school rather than just sneaking their father's porno mags.   I got so tired of them and their poking and gawking and 'accidental' bumping into around every corner of the school.   The teachers, they tried their best.   The vice-principle turned into a real perverted scumbag.   He was so obvious, even to a young, confused girl.   I guess you could say it's because of him I developed my 'charm' ".

   "You wouldn't be you without it," Grey chuckled, hoping to lighten the conversation.   Meghan was too far away to notice, stepping on his words.

   "...It all sucked.   Everyone was staring at me, all the time...every moment of school...any moment they...would tear out my arms...these useless, weak baby things I could barely move...I was already a sideshow...but a freak...*snif*"   Meghan bowed her head in submission to memories long pushed away, he arms slid limp off of the table.   Grey could just make out tears between locks of hair before she steeled herself.   "That summer was a blessed reprieve.   I spent most of it adjusting to my body.   My balance was all screwed up by a high center of gravity, arms everywhere throwing me off.   I was always stubbing my toes, or slamming my shoulders on door frames, or my head.   I always had bruises somewhere, there one moment, gone the next."

   "At least it didn't look like your parents were beating you or something..."

   "Worst though were my damn hands.   I spent most of the summer strengthening them and sorting out the nerve endings.   I tried to use one, and the one next to it would jump, or both would lunge for the same thing, and they were so weak.   Hours and hours I was picking up rocks, then pebbles, then rice.   One hand at a time, then two, then more, it was so frustrating.   I had weeks to lean what takes years for a child, and all the same time weightlifting."

   "And all the time hating them more."

   "Yes!   And after all of it, I was limited.   I can't juggle with all six hands, hell I plain can't juggle.   I can't write with all of them at once...just at a time one like everyone else.   Although I can do it with each right one with some skill at least...I can't play a six handed piano, although that might be more because of these sausage links on my hands."   Her arms mocked all these actions as she described them.

   "You fingers certainly aren't fat.   None of you is, well...except for two things.   You have a very classic beauty."

   "They seem like it sometimes...classic beauty huh?   That's code for fat."

   "No, like I said, a Marilyn Monroe."

   "She could have been considered fat today."

   "She didn't have a body that could tear apart a phone book either.   And that's by just looking at it.   I think the term 'brick shit-house' would be applicable."

   "Gee, thanks…Where was I?"

   "Pig fingers..."

   "Oh, right.   Thanks to old people I at least have phones and keyboards that work.    Yeah, and then there was the clothes.   At least then I was bean pole, and could find clothes.   Almost every stitch I had needed to be thrown out and replaced."

    "It never ended, did it?"   It dawn on him that at least he could shave, conform back into society and pretend to belong.   Meghan could never do such a thing as he understood it.   His mind reveled in the exploration of the imagery she described.   He understood it more than most, but on a more visceral level, what remained could only be experienced.

    "No, I did hide some for belly shirts as a joke, besides I could slip my other arms underneath them hem, the whole damn shirt was used up by my chest.   If only the boys could have seen that."

   "What did you do that fall?   Did you go back?"

   "I tried.   Dad had me made a body suit like mom's   It worked for a while...but...anyway I was home schooled after some months after a...a few...incidents.   That spring I fell ill again and shot up another four inches, and that was it for me really.   Every spring I went through a growth spurt, every year growing and filling out, until I was nineteen, where I topped out at almost eight-and-a-half feet; the tallest woman ever...well, except for my mother at one point, and if she wanted to be taller.   My 'bean pole' body long gone, men's pants don't fit around my gigantic ass, women's pants my waist, or thighs, or anything really, and none of them are long enough, and what do I do about shirts?"

   "Get something tailored then."

   "And tell them what?"

   "I'm sure you could find someone who would keep quiet."

   "And what if they don't, what would I do?"   I shatter the Guinness record, taller than the tallest man alive today.   You know someone that would keep that to themselves?   Well, I'm not risking it, and you will respect that."   Meghan stood, and walked over to stand proud over Grey, to brag, even to feel comfortable with herself, even to this one depressingly slim man.   He leaned back to relieve the strain on his neck while he watched her approach.

   "Thank you for sharing your story.   It must have been difficult."

   "No, actually it was nice to confide in someone after all these years.   But..."   She leaned over him, his head found itself between her forearms as her top hands landed on the backrest of the chair.   "...no one in this town knows about it, or me.   If you betray me..."   His eyes widened at the swelling biceps as his chair was on the tilt, way back.   Her lowest arms stretched to steady him, just enough, at the corners of his seat.   His jacket crumpled onto the floor as he nervously adjusted his weight to regain some semblance of balance.   "...I will have you hunted down so I can tear you apart personally..."   She leaned in close, her face over his, her protruding chest just touching his own.   "...You are here at my pleasure...to fix my window.   Got it?"   The nail of her middle right finger gave a forceful jab into his sternum.

   "Yes mam."

   "Good."   She straightened him up with a quick jerk, almost shooting him out of his seat as if her point had not been pressed enough.   "Now go get yourself cleaned up.   Your stink has not gotten any better."   She turned and walked away without a second look.

   "You want some help with the dishes?"

   "No, I've got everything in hand here," she replied straight faced.   Already various vessels of all descriptions were making their way to the sink.

   "Where is your shower then?"

   "Upstairs to the right, directly over the kitchen."

   "Alright then."   Grey walked the unlit hall, a little relieved at the prospect of a cleansing shower after weeks of want and lack.   He was in the now like few moments in recent years.   The past didn't bother him.   The future was of no concern.   Not that any other day these would be his focus, but now it was even more so.   Hunger was never his obsession, or shelter.   His needs pyramid had always been flipped, and he couldn't care less.   He grabbed his backpack by a shoulder strap, where his few precious things lie, the clothes gifted to him earlier lie folded with care on top.   "Do you have a light switch?   I can't see anything up these stairs."

   "WAAIIT!!!"   The voice confounded him, high pitched and breathy and all together someone else.   Grey almost sprawled headlong to dodge a red tipped cruise missile, which nearly crashed herself while attempting to make the corner despite steadying herself with arms on various walls and the handrail, leaving wet, soapy hand-prints everywhere.   The missile caught flight, taking the stairs three at a time, yet on the balls of her feet so she could handle the steps, stumbling once and almost pulling the rail out of the stair.   Grey followed at a respectable distance with a canary eating grin, wondering if this was like Pamplona and if following her would be his final mistake.   If so, it would all be worth it.

   Still, he waited a minute for the staccato thumps and creaks to find to a more rhythmic tone, and observed a cloud of dust falling slowly way through the rectangle gap, before poking his head above the floor-line.   A single bare bulb attached to the wall above the final stair provided the only illumination, casting shadowy profiles everywhere.   In the distance were dimly lit towers of canvas drop cloth mixed into a ridgeline of various colors of plastic tarps.   A sneeze escaped him, followed by two more rapid fire, brought on by the chaos in the air.

   "Hold on...shit!"   Meghan's voice came from somewhere behind him in the shadows.   She was throwing another covering, this one could even be a bead sheet, over one final form.   "I do my work up here, where the sun shines bright."

   "I suppose that you aren't willing to share that work with me?"

   "No."

   "I thought not."

   "The bathroom is this way.   Mind your step...wait let me get those."   There lie a pile of small I-beams near him, perhaps six inches wide and even longer then she was tall.   Each hand grabbed one, her long fingers forming a vice grip on the cross bar, and lifting them with no more effort than a picnic basket.

   "Wow, incredible."

   "What?"

   "Those are easily 50 pounds each and that length, and you're palming them, to even balance something that long..."

   "So?"   A sheepishness appeared on her face.   She started to crouch just a bit, as if to return them, like a kid caught pulling out a cookie his mother's jar.   Grey was drawn closer to the spectacle.

   "Three-hundred pounds, that gets a so?"

   "I do it a lot..."

   "Have you ever tried to gauge your strength?"

   "I tossed a table half-way across the building because I was pissed, does that satisfy you?"

   "Sorry, I'm just going to need some indulgence here, the novelty of it all."

   "I'm not a novelty, or freak show performer, or an outcast marked in scarlet for shunning.   I'm just a woman.   I'm just trying to get by."   She stressed every syllable, to the point of hoarseness.

   "So am I.   I get it...I really do.   Being stared at...like a monster...I should know better.   I am truly sorry..." Grey's voice broke off as he found himself at a lack of word to express his meaning.   Whatever he said, or perhaps that he did not, had an effect.   "Let me help you with one."   He grabbed one, and with some difficulty managed to shift the weight over his shoulders.   She had a soft look as she watched, something like confusion, more like a motherly sympathy as they moved the beams towards the front of the warehouse.

   "Watch for the gap.   I have a hoist to move things in to the bay for transport."   He was indeed careful, the light kept many secrets. His beam hit the wooden floor with more care then hers, and she noticed.   She kneeled, and leaned over towards him, to the point where her height matched his, lowest arms balancing her on the thighs.   "Well...The showers this way."   They walked together across the floor to another white sheetrock segmentation, painted, but otherwise similar to the one below.    "It might be a little weird, even overwhelming, I had it custom made for me."

   It was like nothing he expected after the regimented image she had presented downstairs.   Behind a door a dozen feet in itself, were walls painted a glossy lavender, with deep blue towels and accents.   Small glassy tiles in shades of green and lavender covered the floor and the walls of the shower and deep bath, in reality a full Jacuzzi complete with jets.   Space, the dominate feature was the wide swaths of space between its features, enough space to make Meghan feel small.

   "Oops, forgot about in here."   Meghan scampered to pick up the clothing left hours ago.

   "I like it.   It’s refreshing to see some personality.   The bra is a nice touch."   Meghan lunged passed him to pluck it off of the doorknob with her three right hands.   "I think I could use it as a tent."   He grinned as she looked at him with a odd look, seemingly considering he might do such a thing.

   "Well...it keeps things out of the way...as much as it can."

   "Pretty utilitarian...Not 'Victorian's Secret' that for sure.   It looks thick enough to turn a knife."

   "It's custom, and expensive...They just don't make them like this."   She held it to dangle by the straps for show.   "You know what it's like to have constantly have these things getting in your way?   It's a pain, literally.   At least I can control the arms."

   "I can't say that I do."

   "I guess not..."

   "Some guys would freak just at the sight of the bra."

   "I know...I've surfed my portion of the internet."   Her eyes looked him down once, and a toothy grin, reminiscent of a predator, formed on her face.   She held the bra to his face with outstretched arm.   "This isn't going to be a problem for you, right prick?"

   "Which answer will keep me in your graces?"

   "Good answer.   Just shower."    The golden cups were snatched from his reach.    "You know where your bed is.   We'll go over what you need in the morning."

   So that night he soaked in the soothing waves of water and wondered when the last time was that he had to reach upwards for a shower handle.   He felt like a kid again in this huge shower, which should have brought on happier times, but it could not.   Rather, it left him with a vague sense of vulnerability, as he was relying on someone else, and someone who was only seemed comfortable when in a dominating position.   But tomorrow was another day, and he could take care of himself.   He would prove that there was nothing to fear.