The door to the apartment opens from the outside. As he
walks in, Bryson slowly closes it behind him. Next to the door is a tray to
place his keys, he drops his keys on top of another set of keys already sitting
in the tray. Everything is dark, his roommate must have gone to bed, or she's
busy with another query she brought home for an overnight rendezvous. The
thought of it brightens his day to no end causing him to forget what he was
considering doing before he walked into the apartment. He stands for a moment
in the middle of the cluttered living room trying to figure out what he meant
to do next, and allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark. After a moment of
standing around he finally decides to go to the kitchenette and grab a beer.
Carefully stepping around the clutter that litters the living room floor he
makes his way to the kitchen where he grabs a Bud Light from the fridge. As he
heads to his room the thought that his roommate may be in her room with another
man makes Bryson jealous and he stares at her door with a heavy glare as he
walks through his own.
Sometime after Bryson was discharged from the military he
decided to leave Florida. He didn't want the reminder of his former flame and
best friend lingering in every relationship he tried to recreate, and since a
few of his former fellow recruits had talked about Green Bay he decided it was
time to make the move. Well, that and the fact that the other people he
formerly knew that still wanted to associate with him were into drugs or much
less savory past times or had simply moved on to greener pastures that he did
not find quite as green as they did. While his first few months in Green Bay
didn't seem particularly fruitful, he forged ahead not intending to relocate
once again. Finally, he garnered friendships and acquaintances from his time at
work and frequent trips to some of the local bars.
In the seven years he had lived in Green Bay, Bryson had
held many jobs. From the bad (telemarketing, ala Boiler Room) to the worst
(working the seafood department at the local grocery store is not a good way to
score chicks unless they dug a guy who came home from work smelling like shell
fish). Every once in a while he would find a job that seemed to be going
somewhere, or at least seemed enjoyable, the company would either fold, he
would learn the dark side of the business, or other circumstances would cause
the job to go the way of the dinosaurs. After a few marginally successful to
dismally disastrous employment opportunities, Bryson finally settled for a fun,
if low paying, job jockeying a register at a local Circuit City.
While he hated the customers, he loved his coworkers. From
the hipster hippie Aaron who trained him in his position, to the hot yet
accessible Anna who he used to jokingly argue with about their (fake) juvenile
delinquent kids, to the retarded yet lovable drama geeks it was possibly the
most fun he ever had at a job. That’s also where he met Monica. She started
about six months after him, and he helped train her. A local journalism major
at the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay, she was something of a tomboy, not
afraid to get her hands dirty and easily fitting in with “the guys,” but she
still had very feminine qualities in how she held herself and dressed at work.
Also, she was a celebrity look alike, the spitting image of Eliza Dushku; in
other words, she was every guy’s dream, and she knew it.
She flirted with every guy that laid eyes on her, even the
ones who weren’t buying what she was selling. She never gave any of them the
impression that they were getting more than her friendship though, but that
didn’t keep them from speculating, and Bryson in turn enjoyed the feeling that
he was something more than average. Having a friend that was equally
comfortable having a beer while watching a football game, going opening night
to the latest comic book movie that was driving local fanboys wild, or sitting
at home watching a romantic comedy had its advantages, especially when she was
willing to do the latter on her own. Bryson found himself more often than he
had anticipated on the very uncomfortable stage of a local bar for an
unfortunate karaoke duet with Monica. Despite the discomfort, he didn’t really
mind it too much; the candle he harbored for her was brightened by being able
to call her friends, even if that meant sharing a sticky stage in front of a
drunken crowd.
At the time that Bryson had first moved to Green Bay he was
staying with the cousin of one of his old Marine Corps buddies on the condition
that he would eventually save up enough money to get his own place. Well, that
didn’t quite work out the way that Bryson had initially intended. Between trips
to the bar, and the occasional lack of work when things didn’t pan out, Bryson
wasn’t really contributing or even coming close to getting out. Now his
roommate/landlord, Mike, was getting antsy. Actually it wasn’t so much Mike as
it was his fiancée, Melanie. When Bryson first moved in she wasn’t used to
walking around Mike’s apartment clothed, and in the several months that he
stayed there she still didn’t seem to have a clue what pajamas or night gowns
were for. Bryson didn’t mind so much, but she seemed to have a major problem
with it. While at first he didn’t have too much of a problem with the living
arrangements, Mike was starting to get irritated with having to confine
business to the bedroom so he was starting to push harder for Bryson to find
his own place.
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