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okaywolfYou&& (working title) is a queer novella about when home is other people, including the monsters lurking in the woods. Check out the about page here. You&& is a sequel to Sometimes The Mountain Buries You.
Basin moves to where none of the nearest cities are the nearest cities to the town where the preceding veterinarian and Sheppard had lived. There's a desert between here and there. Here—where the mountains are steeper and crowded together—the earth wasn't so dry nearly so much, the close hillside was blue rockface that didn't crumble in hands or underfoot, and the air tasted like cold water even in the middle of summer.
They had toured around there, but all the veterinary clinics that might hire them were in cities they didn't want to live in and didn't want to commute to. They had thought about the decision to stay near there regardless, in another town similar to where the preceding veterinarian and Sheppard had become a home, trying to scrape together a home for others in a place that reminded Basin of them.
Ultimately, it made more sense to them to put in some distance and land in the neighbouring region.
The clinic that hired Basin was in a town not entirely unlike the one they had grown up in shortly before they had left it: plenty of animal care needed; a handful of long-established restaurants; more than a handful of franchise restaurants; multiple gas stations; outdated infrastructure on the side of town furthest from the highway. Basin likes it for the treasures and trash to discover at the secondhand bookstore, the considerable quality of the hobby bakery, and the inexplicable outlet in the middle of the timber bridge on the side of town furthest from the highway where they would sit looking over the river while charging their sturdy yet busted flip-phone. It's a decent town.
As much as it wasn't like it, it was too much like the more of a city where they didn't want to be, so they found themselves a cabin to rent in what was technically a community or village. Maybe. A strip of cabins and mobile homes facing a long-closed interpretive centre and level ground packed with motorhomes, with a road winding up and away to cabins on acreages out of sight from the highway. It's a twelve minute drive from the last cabin on the strip to the clinic in the decent town. Basin falls in and out of the habit of sleeping until fifteen minutes before work for weeks at a time.
They don't hate their job. It's a nice clinic that sees a range of pets and farm animals, as Basin prefers. The assisting staff is nice enough, if a little awkward and averse about their appearance and pronouns. The primary veterinarian has much to teach them and the other subordinate veterinarian, and it's honestly a relief to Basin to work where they aren't in charge—too many essential decisions and responsibilities without the experience to handle them.
But still, when left with the repetition of driving to work, working, driving back, they lose the motivation behind their goal. An excess of sleep is the least troubling outcome. And at least the habit falls out more than in when Basin isn't alone in their cabin.
The cabin is dirt cheap to rent, in part due to the squirrels Basin evicts from the attic and the rusty tinge to the water; in part due to the fact it's been empty for years and the original owner's sister appreciated someone saving it from rot since she couldn't bear to part with it.
They put work into making it not only livable but far above the squatting standards of anyone who might come stay with them—someplace to rest and rely on without the anxiety of mice, drafts, and leaks. Both the cabin and the woodshed get their tin roofs patched. Pine needles and dead grass of the yard are removed for fire safety. The toppled post carrying electricity and a landline to cabin at the peak of the cabin's face gets reattached once Basin finds out which of their neighbours was an electrician.
The neighbours inform Basin there was barely electricity before the interpretive centre was built and now, even after the interpretive centre was closed, there's—barely—internet.
The year-round residents of this dusty road along the highway barely number a couple dozen, near doubling on long weekends and school breaks. It's a relief to have so few people to remember, to have so many to depend on if need be. Basin is showered in jams, fish, venison and moose, wood for the stove, and helping hands. In turn, Basin cooks too much on Monday evenings, runs errands in the decent town on work days, and offers their own helping hands. They also provide first aid or declare that "yes, you really do need to go to the hospital" as need be.
Basin's been residing on this dusty road for little more than a year when they are presented with a situation they know better than to send to the hospital.
Basin moves to where none of the nearest cities are the nearest cities to the town where the preceding veterinarian and Sheppard had lived. There's a desert between here and there. Here—where the mountains are steeper and crowded together—the earth wasn't so dry nearly so much, the close hillside was blue rockface that didn't crumble in hands or underfoot, and the air tasted like cold water even in the middle of summer.
They had toured around there, but all the veterinary clinics that might hire them were in cities they didn't want to live in and didn't want to commute to. They had thought about the decision to stay near there regardless, in another town similar to where the preceding veterinarian and Sheppard had become a home, trying to scrape together a home for others in a place that reminded Basin of them.
Ultimately, it made more sense to them to put in some distance and land in the neighbouring region.
The clinic that hired Basin was in a town not entirely unlike the one they had grown up in shortly before they had left it: plenty of animal care needed; a handful of long-established restaurants; more than a handful of franchise restaurants; multiple gas stations; outdated infrastructure on the side of town furthest from the highway. Basin likes it for the treasures and trash to discover at the secondhand bookstore, the considerable quality of the hobby bakery, and the inexplicable outlet in the middle of the timber bridge on the side of town furthest from the highway where they would sit looking over the river while charging their sturdy yet busted flip-phone. It's a decent town.
As much as it wasn't like it, it was too much like the more of a city where they didn't want to be, so they found themselves a cabin to rent in what was technically a community or village. Maybe. A strip of cabins and mobile homes facing a long-closed interpretive centre and level ground packed with motorhomes, with a road winding up and away to cabins on acreages out of sight from the highway. It's a twelve minute drive from the last cabin on the strip to the clinic in the decent town. Basin falls in and out of the habit of sleeping until fifteen minutes before work for weeks at a time.
They don't hate their job. It's a nice clinic that sees a range of pets and farm animals, as Basin prefers. The assisting staff is nice enough, if a little awkward and averse about their appearance and pronouns. The primary veterinarian has much to teach them and the other subordinate veterinarian, and it's honestly a relief to Basin to work where they aren't in charge—too many essential decisions and responsibilities without the experience to handle them.
But still, when left with the repetition of driving to work, working, driving back, they lose the motivation behind their goal. An excess of sleep is the least troubling outcome. And at least the habit falls out more than in when Basin isn't alone in their cabin.
The cabin is dirt cheap to rent, in part due to the squirrels Basin evicts from the attic and the rusty tinge to the water; in part due to the fact it's been empty for years and the original owner's sister appreciated someone saving it from rot since she couldn't bear to part with it.
They put work into making it not only livable but far above the squatting standards of anyone who might come stay with them—someplace to rest and rely on without the anxiety of mice, drafts, and leaks. Both the cabin and the woodshed get their tin roofs patched. Pine needles and dead grass of the yard are removed for fire safety. The toppled post carrying electricity and a landline to cabin at the peak of the cabin's face gets reattached once Basin finds out which of their neighbours was an electrician.
The neighbours inform Basin there was barely electricity before the interpretive centre was built and now, even after the interpretive centre was closed, there's—barely—internet.
The year-round residents of this dusty road along the highway barely number a couple dozen, near doubling on long weekends and school breaks. It's a relief to have so few people to remember, to have so many to depend on if need be. Basin is showered in jams, fish, venison and moose, wood for the stove, and helping hands. In turn, Basin cooks too much on Monday evenings, runs errands in the decent town on work days, and offers their own helping hands. They also provide first aid or declare that "yes, you really do need to go to the hospital" as need be.
Basin's been residing on this dusty road for little more than a year when they are presented with a situation they know better than to send to the hospital.
