Crafted Touch

"Are you coming tonight?" Zach asked his coworker, Rick, from across the lathe that he was sweeping wood shavings away from. "No." He said back with a gruff voice, "Sorry." It was closing time and the two of them were the only people left at the shop to clean up. Rick came off as being surly a lot of the time and never said much more than he had to, unless he was very comfortable. He and Zach worked at the same carpentry company, called 'Crafted Touch', where they took on custom wood working orders. The items they made were seen as prestigious and unique, so people paid well for their bespoke qualities. The employees took on anything from railing spindles to childrens toys; even grand sets of furniture like free standing closets or cribs could be made. Because the shop had it's own solar kiln out behind it, and all the pieces were worked on by hand, the rates were high and the pay was good. "Why not? When's the last time you came out? Zoey will be disappointed in the both of us. You, for not joining us, and, me, for not getting you to join us." The man pressed again. Zach's girlfriend, Zoey, was an aspiring artist who worked in a café not too far from their wood working shop. They'd met properly on one of his lunch breaks, after she had dropped off a box of baked goods at the shop, which first got his attention. They immediately began dating afterwards. Rick had noticed a change in his coworker from then on, noting that since he'd met Zoey, he'd been more interested in his work, taking better care of the wood, and used a lot more detail. He wondered if maybe it was because the man had found someone who he was meant to be with, and became inspired. Beneath his rugged exterior, he was somewhat of a romantic and a dreamer, having grown up idolizing folk stories that had a habit of ending with 'true love's kiss'. Rick sighed and shook his head. "I don't feel like going out tonight. It's a Wednesday." "You say that every time though, regardless of the day! You might meet a girl... or a guy? Come to think of it, I don't know your preferences at all. We've worked together for over a year and I still don't know a damn thing about you! How can I even call you my friend properly?" Zach laughed. After carefully putting his tools back into place, while inspecting his work bench, Rick looked at the hopeful man in front of him. "Are you into this stuff or is it just important to you because of Zoey?" He asked, feeling like someone should only do or say something if it were genuine. "Yes, of course it's for Zoey. You know how crazy I am about her! I'm thinking of proposing to her after she's done with the gallery event this coming month. Zach and Zoey together forever! The more people who show up to her art thing, the better. It's her opening night. You won't have to stay long, just an hour or so, but it would mean a lot to us. I'd probably never set foot in one of those places on my own if it wasn't for her." He was the opposite of Rick. He spoke a lot, very quickly, and without too much guard over what he was saying. Pushing back the loose stands of his unruly dark hair that had come out from where it was tied, and scratching at his equally long beard with his knuckles, Rick looked past his coworker while thinking. His large shoulders fell with friendly defeat and he rolled his eyes. "Alright. Do I need to dress up?" "Yes! You mean it?" Zach smiled broadly and took hold of Rick's anterior biceps with a failed attempt to shake him. He was a skinnier and shorter man than Rick, with a narrow, but sinewy looking frame. It made him appear much younger than he was, especially when they were together, because of how towering and stoic Rick was in comparison. Zach often made a joke about him being a tree in his past life or sometimes called him 'Tree Beard' after the fictional walking forest hearder from the fantasy series, Lord of the Rings. "Sure. There's food at these things, right? I won't need to make dinner then." He said. "That's it? Because of the food?! Can't you at least show some enthusiasm for my future wife?!" "Sure. I like art and I like food too. Now, answer my question; do I need to dress up?" Rick asked again. "No, no, the place will be crawling with artsy folk. You could go in your work apron or tool belt and still fit in. Don't worry about that. I'm just grateful that I won't be the only man there." Zach explained. He didn't say anything back, only choosing to respond with a short nod, and Zach told him they would meet up with Zoey, at the café, as soon as they'd clocked out, so that they could help set up if there was anything left to do at the event's location. Rick's eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at the other man. "So you just wanted me to come so I could work for you?" Zach slapped his hand to his forehand dramatically and then combed it through his barbered blonde hair. It was one of those typical tapered cuts that had a bit of length on top, but not long enough to be considered a 'man bun'. Just the type of haircut to attempt looking objectively manly in an old fashioned way, while still giving off a trendy and edgy vibe for a young man. "No, I didn't ask out of just needing your help." He said with a hint of mocking in his voice that he immediately calmed down to make sure he didn't annoy Rick into leaving. "I don't want to be put to work either, but I'm excited for my girlfriend and want to be useful. It's called being encouraging when you offer someone a hand, especially if you're friends with them! If I had asked you to join us and help me set up when I first heard of the event, you would have come up with an excuse way in advance! You're too introverted! If you don't want to move chairs or tables around when we get there, I'll understand and I won't make you. Just sign the guest book, pick out a painting that Zoey did, make sure to tell her you love it, and then go home. Sound okay to you?" "Sure." Rick said plainly. He hung up his apron, wiped his plaid flannel free of any sawdust, and tucked his shirt tails back into his belted jeans. Zach also tidied himself and they went to the back breakroom to grab their things and go. Once Rick got his thermos and lunch bag, he turned to his friend and looked conflicted, but still said nothing while waiting for him to put his shop coat into his designated locker. "Why do you have that constipated look on your face?" Zach snorted sarcastically. "I don't want to carry my things around at the gallery, but you probably don't want me to stop at home." Rick said while lifting the thermos slightly to show off how clunky it was. "Just leave it at the café then, Zoey can put it behind the counter and we can get it on our way out after." Rick looked at the man's overconfidence with obvious vexation. "That would mean I stay there and wait until the event is over. Not just an hour." He reminded. Zach seethed suddenly as if he'd just touched something hot. "Alright! Alright, Zoey also wants you to meet someone. She didn't want me to tell you because we know how you are about going out, but, she has a coworker that she thinks you might hit it off with." "I'm not going." Rick started turning away, making Zach panic. "Wait! Just take your damn thermos and put it on one of the tables there. You know how eccentric those artists are. They'll just think it's a statement piece or something. I'll tell people it's called the 'Blue Collar Feast'!" He chided, but caught himself quickly again, and continued to plead. "Just come to sign the guest book and go. You don't need to humor us and see it as a blind date, alright? I promise I won't be upset with you as long as you just come along." "Fine." He stated, hating how long the propositioning had already gotten dragged out. "This is only for the food though, I'm hungry." "Yeah, yeah, the food! Thanks, man." The two left and headed down the sidewalk toward the café where Zoey worked, and Rick wondered why he had given in so easily. I'm getting soft now that I'm in my 30's, aren't I? He thought to himself. It was true that he was introverted, but he had other reasons for why he disliked going out-- personal reasons he'd never shared with anyone for fear and worry of being laughed at or being taken as a crazy person. In his mind, it wouldn't be too off base for anyone to assume he was insane if they'd found out his truth; there were many times that he thought it about himself as well. Rick was known to be the best wood worker around as he always knew which wood was best for the job and could tell if something wasn't quite right with a design. He had worked his way up to be in the job he was at, and had even won several awards for show pieces that gained him recognition. Several esteemed people in the city, such as the mayor and big real-estate agents, eventually reached out for his handiwork once he made a name for himself. It wasn't the local fame he was after though, and he knew it wasn't because he was just expertly skilled that he would always follow through. It was because ever since he was a kid, wood seemed to fascinate and fixate him to a state of encyclopedic and pendantic obsession. There was an aspect to his job that he felt was some sort of show about proving his worth to his parents, but in general, it had all started after he'd learned how versatile a material wood could be, about the rings in trees indicating age and becoming something of a sought out beauty in their patterned grain. He worked with it easily, where others struggled under it's fortitude. It marveled him that once wood aged and became petrified, it could turn into something like stone. Sometimes he wished he could do that as well, thinking he was close on his way with his lack of company around. Most of all, Rick swore that wood could talk. Maybe not specifically to him, but he was the only one who ever seemed to hear it. Sometimes it was very pleasant and helped him carry on with his self inflicted loneliness. He'd find himself walking to work, or back home, where new trees had been planted nearby, and they'd whisper about what they would grow into, or what they could get crafted and used for. Little saplings with big dreams of becoming strong park benches for people to enjoy, or some wanting to grow taller than city buildings. It was something positive that he enjoyed hearing and looked forward to on his daily commute. Their voices became intolerable, and sometimes crippling to him, however, when he'd enter a place, or came across a situation where wood had been misused. It happened more often than not, especially as he grew up and left behind alot of his many innocent wonder-filled views from his childhood. If there were items that were neglected or chewed up, screws that were haphazardly put in at wrong angles, horrible grooves made or suffocating thick globs of paint thrown over it, the wood felt ugly. It would complain about how useless it had become and how it wished it could just burn up and get thrown away. Sometimes it complained the way a child would after dropping an ice cream cone, wanting the situation to be fixed but not willing to be patient for a remedy. As Rick got more control over his senses, he found that he could block out the voices to some extent, but as soon as he touched a wooden item, he would hear it's thoughts again. This trick helped him quite a bit at work, and he was allowed to take a lot of the wood that he didn't use, back to his home. It made others around him think that he was just extremely passionate about carpentry, and thought that it must be a hobby for him outside of his job, when in reality, he just couldn't stand to hear the screams if another coworker grabbed a scrap that he'd set aside, and turn it into something the wood hated. Sometimes he could sway the wood with his touch, and make it understand how it could become beautiful even if it wasn't the original end goal from when it had been a small tree. He figured it was no different than himself, he had no intention of becoming a woodworker when he was a kid, but since he had the inexplicable ability and talent, he swayed himself into thinking that working with it was his only purpose.