Charles was having an excruciatingly bad day for one reason or another. Whenever something of this sort happens, he tries to calm down by saying the days of the week in French. Lundi, mardi, mercredi, jeudi... the words went on and on in a never-ending circle in his head. It was working and he felt himself cool and he managed to keep a smile on his face without twitching unnecessarily.
When lunch hour came around, Charles realized that the tables in the cafeteria were suspiciously sticky and he began to feel a gurgle in his stomach. The cool he had achieved earlier seemed to evaporate at that very moment and he became irritated again.
He wasn't sure what was wrong with him. He didn't have a very valid reason for being angry. The blinding lights in the cafeteria flickered a bit and Charles drummed his fingers to an undefined rhythm. The sticky surface of the table was very bothering.
"'Ey!"
Here he comes, Charles thought to himself. Striding along without any worries at all. Like the happiest man on Earth. French word for half-breed and refers to people with mixed First Nations and European ancestry.
"Come sit down, Metis." Charles gestured to the seat across the table. Metis slid in effortlessly and set his tray on the table. Charles wrinkled his nose at the sight of what Metis was having for lunch.
"Do you want some?" Metis asked, obviously referring to his ice cream and fries.
"No."
"I wasn't going to give you any," He said with a smirk, "Even if you said yes."
"I know." Charles didn't want to watch Metis dip his fries into the melting ice cream. Frankly, it made him feel sick. Metis knew that and made very loud slurping noises as he did so. Charles just continued to drum his fingers on the table very loudly.
"What's the problem? You look ticked." Metis looked Charles over quickly then frowned. "Oh, I see. You want me to buy you lunch."
"No. I'm not a beggar like you."
"I see." Metis chewed on a french fry. "Bombed that History exam?"
"I didn't have a History exam today, Metis."
"Well, you're obviously being a retard, Charles." Metis said with an air of sophistication, adding dramatic effect by waving a french fry around. "PMS, much?"
Charles realized that Metis was starting to make his blood boil in a not-very-good way. He wasn't sure why he was having this urge to start choking Metis but he knew it wasn't a good urge at all. He had to stop being angry.
Lundi, mardi, mercredi, jeudi, vendredi, samedi, dimanche.
"Metis."
"Mmmyesss?"
"What do you do when you get angry?"
"Why are you angry?"
"I don't know." Charles said, with a sigh. "I'm just... I don't know."
"Well, I'm not a very good person to ask this question to." Taking a spoon, Metis scooped up some of the vanilla ice cream and plopped it into his plate of fries. "You should know that I'm always angry."
"Always?" Metis didn't look so angry at the moment.
"Always. I figured you were the one who never became angry, Charles."
"Don't be stupid. I'm pissed off right now and I can't figure out why."
Metis took a sagely nod, mixing his strange ice cream-and-french-fries concoction with a wide smile on his face. "What you need to do, Charles, is to release your anger on someone."
Charles had figured that Metis would say something like that.
"I'm not a dumbass like you, Metis." Charles said, pretending to be interested in glancing at the clock on the far wall. Metis shrugged.
"Or punch a wall! I don't care." Charles was just about to retort that he wasn't going to do that and end up with broken knuckles when Metis screamed. Not a guy scream but a real girl scream with a high-pitched shrill and all.
Metis had managed to drip ice cream all over his shirt. Vanilla ice cream and a black sweater was not a very fantastic combination.
"Oh, my God!" Metis began flailing. "Oh God, oh God, oh God, do you know when I bought this shirt?" He began pointing at the mess like a madman.
"Stop screaming, man. We can just wash it off in the restroom." Charles got up and pulled Metis by the arm and dragged him out of the cafeteria. He had hoped that Metis's screaming wouldn't create a scene but people were already staring at them in awe. Metis was still an emotional wreck, yelling something about thirty dollars and brand new, so Charles was the one who had to turn the sink tap on and pull Metis's sweater stain into the running water.
"What the hell are you doing? You're getting water everywhere!!" Metis shouted.
"That's the point."
"A-are you following the washing instructions? Because if this shirt's ruined, I'm gonna-"
"Shut up please, Metis."
The sound of running water filled the room and Charles was glad that Metis stopped talking. He was just pouting and looked as if he was going to burst out crying. It was then that Charles realized. Yes, he finally realized how funny Metis looked whilst bending over the sink and having water drenching his shirt and looking as if he was going to start sobbing. In fact, Charles started laughing.
"What? Why are you laughing? Do you realize the calamity of this situation?!" Metis said angrily. But Charles just snorted.
Lundi, mardi, mercredi, jeudi... Today was jeudi. Thursday.
"Metis."
"What?"
But Charles shook his head. "No, it's nothing. We can wash your sweater in the washing machine in the sewing classroom."
Actually, it was something. Charles felt as though his anger had disappeared. It was as if all of Charles's anger had transferred to Metis (who was scowling and looked terrible). Charles was glad and wanted to thank Metis for being his friend and always bringing a smile to his face but he didn't really want to get all mushy about it.