Docs said he had less than six months to tie up loose ends. He stared down at the letter in his hand, the bruises on his arms and hands from all the needles, and scoffed.
The envelope was stamped “return to sender.”
As the front door opened behind him, he crumpled the letter in his hand and tossed it over the fence into grass that should have been mowed a month ago.
Another man, older and in much better health, stopped beside Ethan and lit up his own cigarette. “Maybe we can call?”
Ethan shook his head. “I tried, Craig. Number is out of service.”
“Tried his sister?” Craig asked.
Ethan deflated. “After how much I stole from her when I lived there? No, she won’t answer the phone.”
“You could leave a message,” Craig said. “Or I could try talking to him?”
“Look, man, it doesn’t matter now.” Ethan took another drag of his smoke before putting it out, half-finished. “Nothing does.”
“It does, Ethan. If it didn’t, you wouldn’t have named him Chris’ godfather.”
“I was high,” Ethan groaned.
Craig shook his head, clearly unamused by Ethan’s dismissal. “Whatever, man. I can’t make you call him. Or her, or anyone. It just seemed like it was important to you.”
Ethan groaned through the stiffness wracking his body as he moved away from the fence. He stared into the distance a bit before he shrugged. “You’ll see him at my funeral.”
“Don’t talk like that, dude.”
Ethan didn’t respond, and the two stood in silence. He was tired. Tired of the painful treatments, tired of grieving a life he would never have, tired of the what-ifs and the regrets. Ethan debated picking up the letter and giving it to Craig, but thought, no, my friend doesn’t need another burden.
Ethan inhaled another drag, finishing his smoke and crushing it beneath a slippered foot. “I miss the piano. Miss my guitar. Used to jam out all the time. Wherever we could find a spot.” Ethan motioned weakly to the window. Craig turned his head and together they watched a young woman building a tower in front of a toddler with brown curly hair. The boy looked like he was waiting to bowl down the wooden blocks. Moments later, he did, clapping his hands, delighting in the destruction of his own efforts.
Tears streaked down Ethan’s face as he laughed at his son’s delight. “Take good care of him,” Ethan said as he wiped his fingers across his cheek. “Don’t let him grow up like me, okay. Please?”
“Only the good qualities,” the other man said. “We’ll even get him classically trained, just like you were. He’s gotta be able to play those riffs, just like his daddy.”
Ethan pointed his finger at the other man. “Don’t let him do any drugs other than pot. Tie him to the chair if you have to.”
The other man chuckled. “Oh don’t you worry, Ang and I are gonna be asshole parents.”
“Good, man. That’s good. Let’s go inside, now. I’ve been standing too long; I need to sit down.”
“It was a long day for you. You gotta be tired.”
Ethan nodded as Craig opened the front door for them. As Ethan turned to follow his friend, a bird-call pierced the air above his head. Above the fence, hanging out on the low-lying willow branch was a gray-feathered bird. It cocked it’s head in Ethan’s direction before fluttering on its perch.
Squawk! Squawk!
Craig shook his head. “Bird’s been there for, like, two weeks straight.”
Ethan sighed. “It’ll move on soon, like everything else.”
Death
I first laid eyes on the gray crow on a particularly solemn night. The creature sat on the windowsill of the Victorian home I was visiting. Rain poured down upon him, nearly drowning out his mournful hymns. The poor thing was incessant, desperate even. He fluttered about, tapping on the glass pane of the bay window.
Death waited for no man, or so man’s saying went. But neither did Fate, which confuses me to this day. Regardless, I found myself hesitating. There was another, unfamiliar force at play here. It was not Fate, for She urged me forward with her usual impetus. No. This resistance came from another entity altogether.
Curious, I wandered up the walkway and stopped beside the frantic bird. It ignored me, flailing against the window like it had succumbed to rabid sickness. I inhaled deeply, seeking the tangy scent of disease, but nothing other than the smell of pollen and burnt bread lingered in the air. Odd. The bird did not have the transparent agency of an ethereal being either. The desperate pleading came from a sane and earth-bound mind.
Was the bird here to impede my objective? Not that it could, though many had tried and failed in that regard.
As I moved to enter the home and take what I came for, the gray-winged creature turned in my direction. It faltered mid-flight as if it had laid its eyes on a bird of prey, crashing to the grass below the window. When it finally shook itself right, I was able to discern the identity of the strange bird.
It had been some time since I had encountered a Namegiver.
Ah, so the gray crow was here because someone was rejecting their namesake. What an unlucky soul to have been chosen by Fate for such a thankless endeavor. Humans called them Seers, Clairvoyants, Shamans—those who were capable of seeing the threads of Fate. It was a special burden for a human to bear; I knew it well. I wondered who inside the home the Namegiver was trying in vain to reach. Peering through the window, I saw a sparsely decorated living room littered with building blocks and stuffed animals in various states of dress. “Do you desire something I can provide, Namegiver?”
The bird stared at me, frozen. It cawed before taking to the air and circling in front of the large bay window. I knew the sadness the creature must be feeling. I was not numb to the suffering of the living— it was obvious on the faces of every life I took. Lucky were the ones who were given the grace of time. That patience always came from a Seer, but the natural order of things only allowed for so long of an intervention.
In the end, pity won out, and the distress emanating from the tiny creature forced my hand. I would let him have his moment; he had but few left.
I hoped the home’s inhabitants would come to their senses soon, but they paid the bird no mind whatsoever. Fate’s patience was wearing thin at my procrastination. Soon I would have to take from them what She demanded.
On the second day, storms of rain and hail drowned out the Namegiver’s wails. He cawed with such abandon that I nearly risked Fate’s wrath, leaving without my charge.
On the third day, the sun emerged, chasing away weary clouds, causing the fog to wither and whorl into nothing. By now, the bird had become catatonic, so much so that I was able to pat his fragile head. The act startled him from his reverie.
I spoke unto him, “My friend, I am sorry, but your efforts are in vain. Whoever you are calling to is not listening.”
I peered into the bay window of the Victorian, seeing the source of the Namegiver’s desperation. I shook my head. These were always the most difficult souls to take. I glanced at the bird perched on the windowsill and sighed.
I turned back to the window, speaking to the bird as I studied the infantile occupant sitting inside the living room. “Terrible, isn’t it? How humanity moves with a purpose they do not understand, yet every moment they feel as though they are in complete and utter control, but the moment things go awry, they realize that that control was but a comforting illusion.”
The gray bird bobbed its head and took flight into the still-gray sky.
Fate shoved at my back. Urgent. Unyielding.
One more day.
It was the most I could offer.
Cade
Tap-Tap. Caw.
Caw. Tap-Tap-Tap. Caw!
I groaned and reached across the couch to the coffee table, keeping my eyes clenched shut against the burning zeal of morning.
Caw, caw, caw! Tap-Tap-Tap.
My fingers landed on a smooth paper surface—the book I was up too late reading last n
ight. I grabbed the paperback and chucked it across my studio apartment. It thundered against the glass of the window, hopefully scaring that damned bird off. Three weeks and the stupid fucker wouldn’t leave me or my window alone.
I waited to see if the bird’s pestering continued. Silence. I peeled one eye open. The light beckoned, as if it wanted me to be a part of its cheery procession. I buried my head beneath the pillow to avoid it. It was rare for me to have a day off from both work and school. I was determined to take advantage of it.
Ping.
“What the ever-loving fuck?” I groaned and shuffled my covers around in search of my cell phone.
It was a message from Gramps: 5 today?
I stared at the words and tried to decipher the meaning. I was lucky the message was coherent. Sometimes Gramps missed the buttons, and I got something that was more emoji than English.
While I was zoning out trying to remember what day today was, another all-too pleasant chime interrupted my ruminations.
This time it was my buddy Jared. Can you pick up Hennessey from the store tonight?
Damn it. I gotta stop making promises when I’m too tired (or drunk) to remember them. Since I wasn’t going back to sleep at this point, I got up from the couch and stretched out the aches associated with sleeping on worn-out cushions.
A party sounded nice if I was being honest with myself. If I bought Jared the bottle he wanted, he’d probably let me stay another night. . .or I could sleep at the party if it was at our spot in the woods. I shot an affirmative back to him and meandered over to the kitchen to make coffee.
One gritty cup of sludge poured, and two sips later, it hit me. Today was Sunday. I always watched the Patriots games with Gramps. A quick search told me that they were playing at 5pm tonight. Fuck. That’s what his text was about. Now I was going to have to choose.
I gulped my coffee and considered my options.
Four hours later, I was back at Jared’s apartment with the bottle of cognac. Jared rushed out of his room, zipping up a gray Carhartt jacket. His hair looked like his little sister had gelled it up again, but at least his jeans were clean. I laughed and passed him a comb I’d found resting on the kitchen counter.
“Thanks, man. You ready?”
“Yeah, I—” A sharp pain reverberated in my head, and I suddenly felt out of place. The world spun. I gripped the counter to keep from falling. Waves of anxiety coursed through my guts.
“You alright, Cade?”
I closed my eyes. The spinning slowed, the pain fading. As I opened them, I saw concern painted on Jared’s normally jovial face. Amidst the subtle throbbing and anxiety, Gramps’s voice echoed through my mind. His laugh. His silly, nonsensical anecdotes to every problem I had. If the feeling of sadness wasn’t overwhelming, I would’ve smiled.
“Cade?”
“I . . . uh . . . I should go see Gramps instead.” My eyes scanned the apartment for my phone—slowly, so as to not upset my precarious posture. “Sorry, but I think I’m gonna cut out. You can take the bottle, dude. I’ve . . . I’m gonna go check on someone, okay.”
I ignored the confused look Jared shot me and stumbled past him into the living room. Grabbing my cell phone from the coffee table, I sent a text to Gramps confirming our meeting at the usual spot. It wasn’t like he ever made any plans with anyone but me anyways. Knowing how my mother only saw her own father as nothing more than a money pit saddened me, and I instantly felt selfish for blowing him off. I wished choosing between a bed and family wasn’t so hard.
“I’ll stop by the party later, okay?”
“Sure thing, dude,” Jared said as he checked himself out in the hallway mirror. He ran his hand through his auburn locks and smiled at his reflection. “And, hey, if you’re going to work, bring us back some of those donuts you make, will ya?”
I made it to the park just before dusk. The game had already started, but Gramps sat as he did every day, on the second bench on the northern path just under a copse of fir.
“Who do you think is going to win tonight, Cade?” he grumbled. “Patriots or them Cowboys?” I sat down beside him. He chuckled and pulled his red plaid jacket tight around his chest. “Awfully cold out here for May. Maybe I’ll go with the Patriots then.”
I laughed. “Sure, Gramps. Whatever you say. You’re going to end up owing me another dollar then.” I rubbed my thumb and forefinger together with a smirk.
His eyes gleamed as he shook his head, chuckling more to himself than anything else. “Audacity’s wasted on the youth.” Gripping the side of the bench, Gramps pushed himself to his feet with a groan.
He stumbled as he took a step and I jumped up to steady him. “Does Ma know you’re out here without your shoes?”
Gramps looked down at his brown slippers with tiny tan bows on top. “What? They have rubber soles. It counts!”
“Right. She’s gonna flip her shit if she finds out you’re wearing those outside again.”
Gramps scoffed. “That woman can go to hell. Unlike her, they make me happy. Well, let’s go then. I want to see how I win that dollar.” He winked at me.
I chuckled. “Ha. We’ll see. Them Cowboys been killing it lately.” I looped my arm in his and walked him down the concrete path to his assisted living apartment.
“You sure you’re happy coming all the way out here to spend your free time with a sick old man like me?”
“Of course I am, Gramps.” I patted his arm. “Don’t be silly.”
“Well, as long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”
I nodded at the familiar phrase, yet the somber tone made me pause. “I’m . . . well . . .” My thoughts turned to my dismal life. I did have my freedom, and even though it did cost me my financial stability and my first semester of college, I was happier.
With myself at least.
I no longer felt like I was being tossed about in an emotional tornado, afraid to make the wrong move lest it fling me out of someone’s good graces. Life wasn’t about bending to approval. Even if it was the one thing I desired. “Yeah, Gramps. I think I am happy.”
“Good. Life ain’t about getting the things you want.”
“No?” I said, laughing because I knew where this diatribe went.
Gramps let the silence linger for a moment, then patted my arm.
“Well?” I asked, as I always did.
“Well,” he repeated, looking to the path ahead of us, “That’s a pretty deep subject.”
I laughed at his token phrase for what must’ve been the thousandth time. “That it is, Gramps.”
We walked into the night, arm-in-arm.
Death
I always hated last rites.
They were a gift for the living, often to assuage them of their sorrows. Guilt at being left behind and of having left so much unsaid. The priest—Father Malloy—stood in front of us, asserting and assuming the dead were now in a better place, with their God or . . . wherever. No one knew where souls went upon their passing. Neither did I. Fate did not tell me what I did not need to know.
As the priest wound down his version of a speech I had heard more times than could be reckoned, I tapped the knee of the young man next to me to get his attention and pointed to the couple he had been avoiding. They had taken their seats in the back row across the aisle and, if my visit was to be of any value, I needed him to see the two of them.
The young man—Cade was his name—looked over my shoulder and frowned before turning back to face the casket. I waited until the priest had finished and the crowd started to disperse before asking him if he was going to extend some form of reconciliation.
“I’m not going over there.” Cade folded his arms. “I’m done with them.”
“It’s not because you need to reconcile that I need you to go to them, son. It is because you—”
“Bullshit. You don’t know me.” Cade’s expression grew darker. This is why I love humans. Full of surprises.
“Cade?”
I turned in the direction
of the voice to see a young woman with bright blue streaks in her hair standing in the aisle.
Cade gasped, jumping to his feet. “Sis?”
An ache flared in my chest as she wrapped her arms around her brother. The gray bird squawked from its perch, wherever it was, echoing in my mind like a taunt. Its cries grew more desperate.
Cade’s sister was not the person he needed to speak with. It figured that the moment Fate had graced us with Her presence, neither I nor the bird could dislodge the boy from his estranged sister.
The woman released him from her embrace. “You think I was going to sit back there and not say hello? I saw you staring, asshole.” She smiled. “You gonna come say hi to Mom?”
The tension in the air spiked. The gray bird squawked again. Louder, more insistent.
“Look, I don’t want to do this right now, Lauren,” Cade said.
“I think you should.”
“And lie about who I am?” Cade snarled. “Like you did? Or did you finally tell them you have a ‘man’s profession’?”
“Oh, and running away was a better option?”
“I’m happier!”
“You’re too much of an idiot to see that’s not at all the case, Cade!”
At that moment, I stood and laid my arm on Cade’s shoulder. He stiffened as though he'd forgotten I was there. “Let’s hear what your sister came over to say, no?”
I looked past the crowd and saw the siblings’ parents standing a dozen feet back from the funeral. Cade’s eyes turned in the same direction.
Lauren leveled a confused stare in my direction, but quickly shook it off and addressed her brother. “Where were you this morning? You didn’t pick up the phone.”
This was it. I took a step back behind Cade, ready to catch the poor boy if need be.
“What do you mean? You didn’t leave a message. I figured it wasn’t important.”
The sister turned back to the parents as they looked on. I could feel their grief from here, but what was done was done. Cade was the only one who had heeded the bird’s call. He had owned the name he was given. He just did not know it yet.
The First Stain Page 19
