An Exponential Noon
"Fiber. The bare minimum you should be getting, daily: fourteen grams. Now, realistically, we all need about twenty-five ... okay?"
Ross was in class. Nutrition for health (for rodents ... there was a health class for each major 'group' of furs; rodents, rabbits, felines, et cetera).
"If you're lower than that, work your way up, because ... if you think the answer is just to eat twenty-five grams today, after having NOT been ... well, you're not gonna feel very good. And then you'll say, 'Well, Lisa gave me bad advice!' No. Just ease your way up."
The meadow mouse's ears swivelled. He was sitting in the second-to-back row, writing a story on some looseleaf pieces of notebook paper. Often did that. Wrote stories ... during classes. Maybe he should pay attention more (and get better than a C-average). Or get his head out of the clouds. Maybe. But not today. Today, he wrote stories (and on the side, in the margins, he took his notes). Could this be called 'antique' multi-tasking ... doing multiple things that DIDN'T involve technology?
"Fiber does a few things," continued the teacher, a chipmunk. Her brown, stripe-tail ... waving about behind her. One of her foot-paw was in a special medical boot (for another few weeks; she'd snapped a tendon while playing soccer). She was a nice teacher. Now, with a dry-erase marker, she drew on the white board that stretched across the front wall of the classroom (which was configured in 'steps,' with each row of tables being a step higher than the one before it).
"No, it's not a road," the chipmunk said, of her green drawing. "It's your intestines. So, we have food ... now, say, you're eighteen to twenty-two years old, and you eat everything in a single day. Pizza, chips, everything. Now, it's all gotta go through all of this," she said, tapping her marker on the board. "Which means ... roto-rooter time! Our big snowplow: fiber. As it goes through, it helps clear a path. Smooths the flow of food, digestion ... to ... where it's going. But we'll leave THOSE details to a minimum."
A few giggles.
"But, who here loves apples? Let me ask you that ... "
Ross was among those who raised a paw.
"Skin off?"
Two or three left their paws up. (Ross lowered his.)
"Naughty, naughty ... the skin is GOOD for you. Your mothers were right. And why? Fiber. Good source of ... "
Ross glanced at the clock. Not too long (to wait; for class to end). He was to be meeting Aria. His mate. Outside, after this, and ... they'd have a walk together.
" ... now, whether you know it or not, and we're moving to glycogen and stuff: but low-carb diets ... a popular fad diet. Low-carb, high-protein diets, over TIME, put some REAL strains on your liver. It's not all that realistic a diet to begin with, because carbohydrates are energy, and our diets, daily, need to be ... up to sixty or so percent carbohydrates. But, when you go too LOW on carbs for too LONG, your liver starts converting different energy ... "
Ross stopped writing. The teacher was looking back ... back to his part of the room. He didn't want to run the risk of her coming back here, seeing he was writing MORE than notes, and pulling the, 'would you like to share with the class' routine ... no ... look intent. Look intent.
" ... cause you don't want high blood acidity. It damages the tissues." She glanced at the clock, and then, said, "Well ... I guess your prison sentence is up. For today," she said, with a gleam in her eye. "But you'll all be back here on Monday. And, remember, your first paper is due at the beginning of class ... "
By the time she'd finished her sentence, half the students were already out of their chairs.
"There you are."
Aria looked up. Sitting on a bench outside the Industrial Technology building. Near some flowers (that were past their peak).
Ross, adjusting his frayed backpack (so the straps were on both his shoulders), took a deep breath. Whiskers twitched. "I'm ready. Uh ... it's, like, 11:45. I have to be at Herron by ... well, I'd rather be there by 1:15."
"So you can sit by the aisle?" the snow rabbit presumed, standing, securing her own backpack. Her next class was at two (back here), and his at one-thirty (in the Arts building).
"I LIKE the aisle." A pause. "I don't like being squashed between furs I don't know for an hour and fifteen minutes," he said, of his art history lecture. In a big, dim room, where it was easy to get sleepy. Where they said 'BCE' and 'CE' instead of 'BC' and 'AD' ... he'd given up on being miffed about that; nothing he could do. Though he found it bizarre (and frustrating) how most artists, like scientists, had come to be so lofty with themselves ... as to not believe in anything that couldn't punch them in the nose.
There were times when academia was a poison.
"Makes me nervous, anyway," Ross continued.
"Yet you are not claustrophobic."
"I don't like being in a 'social sandwich' ... if I'm pressed up against anyone in the dark, it's ... well, you," he said shyly, keeping his voice quiet.
An eye-smile from her. Her waggle-ears waggling. "We should get going."
"Didn't I already say that?" Ross asked, with teasing gentility.
"You did ... before you proceeded to dawdle here, conversing with ... "
" ... the fur I love. I always have time," he said, "to stop for the fur I love."
A continued (even brighter) eye-smile. And nod of gratitude.
He returned the nod. A snow rabbit thing. Tipping, tilting the head, nodding ... though he couldn't waggle his ears like she did. Could only swivel them.
"But, with risk of being repetitious: we best," she said, taking a breath, "be going. If we wish to have a satisfactory time."
"We BEST be going?" he repeated, of her grammar usage. "We'll make a Hoosier of you yet." A grin.
And they began their stroll down the sidewalk.
The IT building was very close to Downtown (a twenty minute walk to the very center of things). And the (slightly overly-elaborate) Herron building was on a parallel line ... almost. Anyway, both buildings were close enough ... to allow for going. And coming back. All within the time-frame available.
"I don't like crossing these streets," said Ross, upon reaching a pedestrian crossing. "It's like I'm in that ... 'frogger' game ..."
"As little as I know about video games, I do know that 'frogger' was a frog."
"Well ... 'mouser,' then. Just ... you know, it's like ... I don't know." He went quiet, as they approached a pedestrian crossing. "Those buttons," he said, pointing a paw, "that say 'push to walk' ... like they ever do ANY good? Nothing happens when you push 'em. Ever. Someone's having a REAL good laugh over that ... "
The snow rabbit, with quiet, contained mirth, said nothing.
The traffic light turned red ... and Aria, taking initiative, looking both ways, began to stroll across the asphalt. The vole scurried after, and a bit past her. And was on the other side before she was.
"You are panting."
"I had to scurry!"
"Had to?" Eyes on his. Ice-blue to hazel.
"Yes," he defended.
"I did not hop across the street. I walked. Therefore, you can, too."
"Hop?"
"Walk."
"I ... "
" ... am being difficult," she declared. "You are in an 'antsy' mood."
"That's ... not even true," was his response, walking side-by-side with her. Toward the canal. And, as they walked over it, his head turned ... the meadow mouse remarked, "Those must be nice apartments. The university and all that stuff on your left. The canal right on your right. Look at those." A squint. "Those are fancy apartments."
"Our apartment is fine."
"I know. I'm just ... saying ... "
" ... that the water is bluer here?" She took a long look at the canal. "I do not believe it is."
"Well, the sun's not out," was Ross's response.
She eyed him carefully, with her own version of neutral, quiet teasing. "And you are not being difficult?"
A helpless smile. Biting his lip, and looking away, and then looking back at her. "No," he managed, holding back his giggle-squeaks.
A tilt of her head. "Just making sure."
The giggle-squeaks, this time, came out, and ... he just shook his head, grinning. As they continued.
"Besides, there is no use in pining for a 'better' apartment ... when our ultimate goal is to be in the countryside. Once we graduate and ... have jobs enough to buy an older house." They would fix it up themselves. Someplace with fields all around. And pastures, and ... woods, and a creek, and ... a refuge.
A home. To raise a family in.
"True," he whispered ... and sighed. "Mm ... "
The day was very cloudy. Very overcast. Last night, there had been lightning and thunder. The kind of lightning that ... you couldn't see the flash point. Where it came from. It just seemed to light everything around. And the thunder doing the same (only with sound). So, it was cooler today, with the cold front, and ... but at least the wind hadn't blown in yet (the wind that never ceased to come after rains, to dry what had been done). Fifty-seven degrees, currently. A high of seventy, they claimed (as if they knew). It would be dry and eighty ... over all the weekend, though.
Ross was wearing a light, slick, black jacket. A wind-breaker thing. A button-up, plain t-shirt, and some blue jeans. His ropy tail snaking out behind his rump, and his big ears like dishes. Nose sniffing.
While Aria was simply wearing jean shorts and a t-shirt (sky blue, which complimented the powder-snow of her fur). Her bobtail poised close to her. Her ears standing tall and healthy.
"You're not even a LITTLE bit cold?" the meadow mouse asked (as they crossed another street, perpendicular to where they'd been).
"God designed my species to survive in ice and snow. I can handle a mid-September chill."
"I know ... I just ... keep thinking you must be cold."
"Have I given any indication of such?"
"No, it's ... I just want you to be comfortable." A pause. "You can have my jacket."
"I do not NEED it," she stressed patiently. "I do not feel the cold. It feels ... refreshing. You know this." She'd taught him about snow rabbit physiology. He knew more about it, really, than any non-snow rabbit could ... he, in turn, had detailed her on the ways of mouses ... " ... I could be bare in a snowstorm, and I assure you, even then ... I would be fine."
"Well, why would you be bare in a snowstorm?"
A coy look. "I do not know. If I were, though ... "
" ... I wouldn't be able to join in."
"Well, we'll have to think of something," was her whisper. "When is the first snow of the season here?"
"Not 'til December, normally ... "
"Time enough to plan."
A giggle-squeak. "Mm ... you're ... I like it when you're like that."
"Like what?"
"When you tease me like that. It's ... comforting. The way you do it, I mean. It's ... whatever. I just ... mm ... " A pause. "How cold is too cold for you?"
"Approaching zero and sub-zero temperatures, Fahrenheit ... presents a danger to the ears, nose. Have you ever tried to breathe very cold air?" Her white bobtail did a flicker-flick.
A quiet nod. "Makes you almost ... cough ... "
"Yes." A nod from her. "I am not impervious," she said, "to the cold. I am just built to handle a lot more of it ... than other furs can."
"I know ... mm ... "
They took a side-route, through the parking lot at the State House, and ... toward the State-House steps.
The buildings all around them now.
Aria eyed them discreetly, gaging them all. Their architecture. Their styles. Recalling what she'd read of their histories.
While Ross just craned his neck up, wide-eyed, trying to figure out ... how they went so high! His thin, bare tail snaked behind him. Absently. With a wild mind of its own. Mouse tails were so interesting to watch.
They were, the two of them, at the east end of the State House, and looking down the brick street. Earthy, sandy red. That led to (and all around) the Circle. While the walls of buildings ... on the left. On the right.
They stayed there for a bit, near the statues. Near the limestone. Looking about. Lingering (for wasn't a good linger ... a need, and not a want?) ...
OneAmerica Tower ... very geometric in shape. 533 feet.
300 North Meridian, the tallest building in the city known only by a street name ... the first nine levels, actually, a parking garage. And the exterior made of red granite from South Dakota ... 408 feet.
One Indiana Square. 504 feet. Straight-line winds, from a batch of tornadoes, had blown out, earlier in the year (when the Final Four had been here) ... had blown windows all out of one side of the building ... prompting street closures at the bottom. But a new, better facade was being constructed. Very rectangular building.
Market Tower. 421 feet. Eight small spires atop it. Right on the Circle, that building.
As was the Chase Tower. The tallest building in the state (and the tallest in the Midwest, outside Chicago and Cleveland). 811 feet. Looking strikingly like the war memorial ... a few blocks away. Handsome, sturdy ... blue. With a glowing, trapezoidal-like crown ... and two spires. You could see it from Meridian Street ... all the way, like, ten miles north.
Ross, neck still craned, felt his paw being tugged. He blinked.
"Time to cross."
"Oh ... " He scurried with Aria across the street, heading toward the Circle.
"It is very apparent."
"What?" Another blink. "What is?"
"That you are a 'country' fur."
"Mm?" He looked up again ... and then forward, and then back to her.
"You are the ONLY one around here ... who is constantly looking UP instead of forward."
A shy smile. "Well ... just never been around such ... things," he whispered. "Just so different. Mm ... they didn't have skyscrapers up North, did they?"
"Outside of Anchorage, no ... but I was much further North." The snow rabbit from within the Arctic Circle, in Alaska.
A nod. "Well ... how come you aren't looking up, then?"
"Because," she said smartly, sticking her arm out, paw on his belly, stopping his forward motion. (Eliciting a bit of a surprised squeak.) "You would walk right into the streets ... without my eyes on YOU." An eye-smile. As they'd reached another pedestrian crossing.
A flush.
An eye-smile.
Eventually, they crossed. Winding up on the steps of the Soldiers and Sailors Monument.
Ross looked up. And sighed. "I didn't bring my camera," he said, under his breath.
"It is a very cloudy day."
"Well ... "
"Unless using black and white, your pictures wouldn't have had ... prime aesthetic appeal. We can come back on the weekend," she assured, "when the sun is out. When the color is here."
A breath, and a nod. "I know. I just ... I just see, everywhere," he whispered, "pictures to be taken. Scenes to be ... seen," he said. "Every day. Every place. It's ... " He trailed.
She watched him ...
... as he watched the monument.
Construction started in 1888, built with Indiana oolitic limestone. Finished in 1902, and for many decades ... the tallest structure IN the city, and the very center. The monument, complimenting the city's original Washington DC type of design (as a 'mile square') ...
... was a symbol.
He looked forward to Christmas ... when they would string colored lights from the top and make the 'world's largest Christmas tree.'
Ross looked all around. Monument Circle. Buildings all around, the brick road in a circle surrounding the monument and its wide, many steps ... the symphony, curved, was there. Outside chocolate shops, cafes ... and the mall along the way. And he took a breath, and closed his eyes.
"Are you okay?"
A quiet nod. Eyes opening. "It's not my idea of heaven," he said, "but ... "
" ... you are getting used to it?"
A giggle-squeak. A tiny motion of his paw. "Maybe."
"We shall have to drag you into rural confines ... and give you a good shot of 'rustification.' We do not need an urban meadow mouse."
"Is 'rustification' even a word?"
"It is now," was the snow rabbit's neutral, level response.
Giggle-chitter. "Heh ... well, anyway, there's no such thing as urban mouses."
"No?"
"No ... "
"I look around. I see mice. You are not the only one here."
"They might be mouses, but ... city mouses? No such thing."
"Then what are city-dwelling mice called ... if not mice?"
A cheeky smile. "Rats."
She eye-smiled back at him. "Real rats might take that ... as a bit of an offense."
"Having mouses being compared to them? I should think any-fur would be flattered to have mouses compared to them ... "
"No comment," was the snow rabbit's teasing retort.
A giggle-squeak, and he nudged her. "Hey!"
She nudged back. "So, then, you living in the city ... as of now ... you are, too, a rat?"
"No, cause I come FROM the countryside."
"So, you've immunity from being negatively branded in a verbal, urban fashion?"
"Uh ... " Ross was starting to get lost, a bit. "Yes?"
An eye-smile. "I think you've talked yourself into a knot. Your logic has failed you."
"Darling, I never had any LOGIC to begin with. You know that."
An eye-smile, and a little mew-sound.
Ross looked around, smiling. And then more serious. His heart skipping a beat.
She saw his pupils dilate. And tilted her head.
"Just thinking," he whispered.
"Thinking what?"
"How all the furs on the sidewalks, and all the cars driving round, and ... how, on this platform here, we're elevated above them all. Easily seen ... "
Her ears, slender and tall, waggled.
" ... just ... never really had a passionate, public kiss before."
An eye-smile. "You wish to kiss? Now? Here?"
"Just flitted through my mind, is all. Is all I'm saying ... "
"Alright." A nod.
"Alright?"
"Did you think I would object?" A head-tilt.
"Uh ... no, I just ... "
" ... had a bold idea, and was hoping I would talk you out of it?" She took a step closer to him.
"Uh ... maybe."
"Your heart is beating exponentially faster than it was ... a few seconds ago," she whispered.
"If, uh, that's your idea of verbal foreplay," he whispered, flushing, giving a giggle-squeak ... " ... well ... yes."
In front of all that wished to see, all the passers-by, the snow rabbit tilted her head. And closed her eyes, and pressed her soft, pure-white muzzle to his muddy-brown one. His nose flared, and his whiskers brushed hers. His dishy ears getting hot, and hers getting warm and limp ... and ...
His eyes closed, as he rose to the tips of his foot-paws ... with the wet, sucking lip-kiss. Hold it, hold it ... and ... " ... mm! Hmm ... "
" ... mm," she went, pulling back to breathe. To open her eyes. And a little sigh. "That was nice," she whispered (above the city-sounds).
A weak nod from him. "Yeah," he said, licking his lips. Swallowing.
A pause.
"Uh ... lunch? Somewhere? Something?" he asked his mate. His heart hadn't stopped racing.
A nod. "Certainly. Though we shouldn't linger TOO much. We cannot be late for our classes."
"No," the meadow mouse agreed, taking a breath, and spying a restaurant just a ways away. With outside seats. He reached for her paw.
She took it.
He squeezed, and savored the touch. The scent of her ... still on his nose, which sniffed the air.
And, though looking all around (this overcast, exponential noon), there be a city there ...
... it was just as fair as one could want.
And they went down the steps.
Swallowed by the city-sights, and bombarded with the city-sounds, obsessed with each other, and, oh, so hungry.
(In so many ways.)