25 Hour Watch

If the MPAA were to rate Rick Kirby’s life, it would receive a simple ‘G.’  Good clean fun.  Get the kids.  Grossly uninteresting.  No use of drugs or alcohol, no violence or crude language.  Considering his age, most would think there should be a healthy amount of teen partying or sexual content.  Twenty-two year old Rick Kirby would be the first to tell you: no sexual content as of yet.  He was hopeful for the possibility evolving in the future of his story, but it felt unlikely.

The majority of the time Rick didn’t mind.  He liked G-rated kiddy films.  The colors and the music.  An uplifting, inspiring story.  He had shelves of old fairy tales on DVD.  Most of the time Rick’s G-rated fairy tale world suited him fine.  Occasionally he wished for an epic adventure, martial arts flick, or cheesy romance.  Maybe even something carnal, queued up from cyberspace, but that thought really didn’t sit quite right.

Rick was sitting alone at a small table, enjoying his morning coffee and scone.  Typically he didn’t splurge on scones.  Scones don’t do for the body what one who is looking to add sexual content to their rating wants food to do for the body.  Today he’d woken up to find his roommate had taken the last of the milk, which meant no cereal and no breakfast.  When he ordered he had figured it was just one scone.

Of course, as soon as he sat down, his favorite barista popped through the doors behind the counter, tying an apron around a perfectly slim waist.  Rick was now trying to eat his breakfast scone as carefully as possible.  Crumbs determined to stick to his sweater, Rick quickly wiped his mouth and exchanged a shy smile with his barista.  At least it was a pumpkin scone.  If he was going to look like a fool it might as well be with his favorite flavor.  Rick and his scone could be happy together.  They could sing songs and float lazily on a gondola down a romantically lit waterway, Rick’s rating intact.

“Would you like to try an eggnog latte?”

Rick’s barista was standing at his table with a small tray of sample drinks in hand.

“Resh leese!”  Rick’s mouth tried to talk through scone.  Swallowing too soon and too hard, Rick let out a rough cough and lowered his eyes to where his hands were cupped around the warm drink on his table.  “Yes please.”  He said clearing his throat and fidgeting with the cardboard temperature sleeve around his cup.

He couldn’t watch as the small paper cup hopped onto his table.  As soon as the barista left, Rick looked up.  He imagined that there was something flirty about the vicinity of the tiny cup to his hands.  The foam on top seemed to smile sweetly at him.  The other samples on the other tables around him didn’t seem so appealing.

Rick smiled, licking his fingertips and pressing them to a cluster of scone crumbs strewn across his pastry parchment.

Sweet.