Short Story: Molly & Robby

Molly & Robby 

The décor of the bedroom clinked in rapturous applause for the dismount as Robin thrust himself from his restless roost atop his bed bunk and crashed onto the floor below; the ground groaned at the poor form.  

The early morning stirrings would not bother most, typically because ‘most’ would be stirring with them. However there were those for whom the precedent set by such a stark morning was not very riveting and they were quite content to shut out the dawning light, tighten blankets and apply more pressure to their hollow, and sunken, pillows.  

Molly was one such person, a stumpy figure with a pronounced nose, and she was less than enthused for the morning bustle. Her sunken and mellow eyes winced in response to the dawning light, which struggled to adjust as she drew back the duvet, huffed in angst, and emerged from her hovel. Her only reprieve was the shadow cast on her by her proud as a peacock partner, Robin, as he admired his own visage in the radiant light. 

 “You know I don’t sleep very well Robby~.” the croaking chorus of Molly’s voice was palpable as she rubbed her eyelids with care, her grievance fell on deaf ears. 

            “Ah~ come on Mole’s, you know I’m an early bird, not a night owl.” 

“We’ve talked about this. You could have at least kept the light out.” 

            “Well that’s not my fault, you just spend too much time down in your workshop, it’s soo dark down there you must never know when to go to bed.” The tone shifted with his dismissal. 

“It’s dark because my eyes ain’t so good Robin!” she turned on the bed and dangled over the edge “Also what I’m working on is sensitive to light, it’s necessary, if I had harsh lights on it would dama…” Molly trailed off and with a heavy sigh turned to see that her mug of cold coffee had been knocked over during Robin’s vigorous wake up call. “I’m going to my workshop, I need to focus on something else.”  

 

 

Molly’s workshop was a dim den of polished metals, treated wood stations, and reflective surfaces in a semi-circular space. The bedrock of the den was cobbled, and cold in that way that made the texture seem damp. Fixtures hung with gadgets and gizmos adorned the walls and the ceiling hummed with faint hues of light, not bright enough for most but comfortable for Molly’s personal space and necessary for her current project. Splodges of dried oils, crumbled clays, and scorches from past labours stained the canvas of each station, like paint on an artist’s palette. The amenities of the room implied a home away from home, with all the associated domestic busyness, a true cave of solitude for those technically inclined. Shavings of wood, copper and rubber had been shed across the floor like dust and grit trekked into carpet and at it’s hearth sat a kiln modified with appendages, pipes, knobs, and dials. 

Molly’s latest contraption was smaller and far more delicate in comparison to the other devices and apparatus strewn across the room. From the perspective of an untrained eye this device might have seemed like a simple pair of spectacles; however they are infinitely more fragile than they appear. The calculations and calibrations alone required for their intended purpose, improved colour saturation, were so minute in scale, one false adjustment would set her back hours, possibly days, of work. 

She toiled over these glasses with a fervour fuelled by insomnia and caffeine. Passive aggressive mutterings to herself only egged on her passion as she vented her frustrations of the morning disruptions; riding the high of excess enthusiasm she was experiencing in this state of sleep-deprived mania?  Intoxication? Euphoria?  

It was an altogether toxic amalgamation. 

Robin bounded into the workshop, a beam of light shot into the dim den; unfazed, Molly concentrated on the intricacies of her work. It didn’t help that she was wholly uninterested in Robin’s antics today. 

“What do you want Robin?” her apparent apathy oozed into the atmosphere. Were he not so benighted, Robin might have understood his social footing in this situation he unwittingly created. Instead he unconsciously vowed to plough ahead.   

“I was curious to see what you are working on, you’ve been down here all day.” 

“I’m working on a pair of glasses for me. Look I appreciate you taking an interest but this is a fragile environment right now, I need to concentrate.”  

“It can’t be all that difficult Mole’s.” 

Molly let out an exasperated sigh and turned from her station, plotting a course toward a nearby kettle. If she was going to have to deal with Robin’s shenanigans, she was going to need a top up. 

Robin continued his stride into the workshop unfettered; only the faint glints of his beaming visage in the glossy surfaces gave him pause. 

            “Although I’d get too bored doing the same thing all day, aren’t you tired Mole’s?” 

She turned the kettle on “I’m always tired, but I gotta get this finished so I can allow the lenses to align overnight.”  

            Robin glared into a body of metal “It’s so dark in here too” he sighed, ignoring Molly’s protests and concentrating solely on his visage in the reflective surfaces “at least let me turn up the light so that we can see better.”  

Molly spun in a panic. 

“No, don’t!” she reached out to stop Robin but it was too late, the pace at which Robin had reached the control implied he had no intention of leaving the light as it was, regardless of Molly’s opinion on the lighting. 

“TURN IT OFF!” Robin did so immediately. The bellow of such a cry would have vibrated a tuning fork. Molly scurried over to her station and hunched over her device, cradling it in her palms in a vain attempt to shield it from the light.  

Molly had never raised her voice to him and he was unaccustomed to this sensation washing over him. It was like a two-pronged assault, a rush of sharp and venomous force from the front that made him fluster; and a creeping shiver from behind, cold and stagnating his posture. The juxtaposition of heat and cold threw Robin off balance, his legs were wobbling and he felt like he was tilting despite being rooted in place. His body felt taut and tight, like every muscle contracted and tensed in a fight or flight response. Robin didn’t know why but he knew he messed up; he mustered up the courage to move and return the lights to their previous setting. The damage was done, she knew this, denial was just stage one of her grief.  

Still looming over her work “Why don’t you listen to me?” her voice was soft, barely a whisper.  

            “Molly I …” 

“No!” the kettle was beginning to boil. “This is my space, I work here, this is comfortable for me.” Condensation dripped like tears down the kettles form, “I have told you time and again why my space is the way it is and yet you don’t listen.” the kettle began to shake from its pent up energy,  “I told you not hours ago that what I am working on in here is sensitive to light!” without additional input the kettle settled; Molly trailed off, “was sensitive to light. Please just go Robin.”  

As he began to walk away Robin glanced back to where Molly stood motionless, unable to form the words needed, not that they would help right now; instead he thought it best to do as she asked. 

 

 

Dejected and exhausted, Molly retired to their bedroom; she had enough of today and desperately wished Robin was already asleep. To her surprise Robin, keeping his distance, wasn’t anywhere to be found. This would be cause for concern, he wasn’t a night owl, but she wasn’t currently capable, emotionally nor physically, to go looking for him. For a time she pondered over her ruined glasses, laid them to rest on her nightstand and followed suit. 

            Observing from afar, Robin bided his time. With Molly asleep he was free to exact his plan of making a new pair of glasses unabated. Scampering toward the workshop, Robin set to work on making amends for the damage he caused.  

To his fortune Molly had mostly left her stations in the den as they had been earlier, along with all her notes and sketches on the spectacle designs. However, to his chagrin, the notes were as good as pig Latin to Robin’s dull sensibilities toward anything more advanced than a simple diagram. If he were to have any hope in his endeavour he was going to need the original, broken, pair. 

Slinking into their bedroom Robin took care in where he trod, many mornings of pompous displays have made him accustomed to where the floor croaked the most. The glasses lay on the nightstand adjacent to the bed, Molly laid dormant beneath her cosy sheets parallel to the nightstand and Robin intended to keep her that way.  

“The least I can do is let her rest.” Reflecting on his actions, waking Molly up twice in one day would not do him any favours after his earlier transgression. 

            Lost in thought Robin bumped the nightstand, the rumblings shook the spectacles off the edge. Like a whip Robin reached out and caught the falling lenses. He paused, tensed as he did earlier, waiting for the inevitable.  

 

Nothing. 

 

Molly remained motionless, her faint heavy breaths suggesting she still slumbered. With a glide Robin turned heel and vacated the bedroom, glasses in hand, desperate to cause no further disturbance.  

 

 

Secluded away in Molly’s workshop, all lights off save for one dim desk lamp, Robin perched for the night and like a hawk, he peered at the device, piecing together its construction in his mind. 

“This isn’t so hard!” he muttered to himself “It’s a simple pair of glasses, I just need the parts.” 

With haste Robin rushed from his station to collect what he needed, but came to an abrupt stop. 

“Wait!” the revelation dawned, “Where am I going to get the pieces for the frame?” he pondered, “It’s not like I can just make them, I’m me! And I doubt Mole’s has spares lying around.” 

There was a long pause before … 

“Oh~ I’m such an airhead” bonking himself in frustration “I don’t need to make a new frame, I just need to replace the lens.” Returning to his perch, Robin began inspecting cabinets, cupboard, and drawers nearby. To his mind, Molly would have left spare lenses, if there were spares, nearby. For all it was worth his peering gaze could pierce through most clutter, but the physical manifestation of a creative mind has no discernable organisation and his search for the replacement lens proved to be a herculean task. 

 

Hours passed. 

              

The dawn of the morning light brought Robin to a jolted awakening; his concentrated efforts had proved fruitless. Disorientated, he mussed that he must have fallen asleep, but he wasn’t in his bed. Coming to his senses Robin realised that he was still in Molly’s workshop, but there aren’t any windows in the den to allow natural light in; Robin turned to see Molly stood in the doorway, whose hand was on the light switch.  

‘Here we go’ he thought. 

            “I came down here when I noticed my glasses weren’t on my nightstand.” 

“That would be me, I borrowed them.” 

            Curious “Why did you do that? They’re broken.” Molly glanced toward the station Robin was perched at, scanning the debris left in his wake. 

“I messed up Mole’s” the lump in his throat swelled “I needed to make it right.” Robin glanced back to his station, at the mess he made overnight, then met Molly’s gaze. “I’m not as smart as you, I didn’t know how to fix it. But I figured, if I could see the glasses you had made, I could try and replicate what you had done.” his gaze sunk to the floor “I couldn’t find the parts.” 

            Cooing, Molly asked, “What part couldn’t you find?” 

“I was looking for replacement lenses, if I could replace the lens I broke, I figured I could fix it.” Robin resigned himself to what he thought was to come, he had hurt her and understood if she were still upset with him. 

            “They’re right here.” Molly approached Robin and passed him a small, semi-translucent box. 

“Thank you Mole’s.” Robin removed the old lens from the frame and replaced it with one from the box. He passed the glasses to Molly, like an olive branch. 

Molly took the repaired glasses from Robin and put them on. 

“How are they?” Robin asked, hopeful for his success. 

            “They’re snug.” Molly took Robin’s hand “but they don’t work like I had planned for them.” 

“Why not Mole’s? I fixed it, I made things right didn’t I?”  

            “When the light was turned on yesterday, this box was here on the station, where I handed it to you.” Molly gestured to the box and station “the lenses inside were also damaged by the light.” 

“I’m sorry Molly.” Robin bowed his head. 

 

Peck 

 

Robin felt a wave of warmth wash over him as Molly gave him a kiss on the cheek. 

            “I appreciate the effort Robby.”                       

And with that the frigid air rose in the heat of their embrace. Being in a relationship didn’t come easy to Robin, but he hoped his endeavours this night had shown his conviction to do better, he must be better, for Molly, for them both.