A Compendium For The Broken Hearted

by Meredith Miller

  *

  In short order, Brian was born to a house that had barely become accustomed to three family members. The name came to honour Vanessa’s first cooking teacher, back when she was just starting off and needed a mentor desperately. The man was still alive albeit halfway into his eighties by the time the little one joined the world. He had looked extremely happy when he tried to hold the newborn, for Brian had opened his eyes and yawned sleepily at him, blinking his bleary eyes.

  The first time Seth saw the child, he was stunned. Such little hands the baby had, you felt an instinctual sense of warmth spread right through your heart, as well as a need to protect. While Seth looked a lot like a mixture between both his parents, Brian favoured his father. He had that same dark look to him, all jet black hair and eyes.

  At first, Seth spent most of his waking hours with the baby. The little one wasn’t even into his second month when his older brother started playing with him. The house was single storied, but had two large rooms, a smaller one, a living room, and of course a large kitchen boasting enough space to fit two full time chefs and two helpers of various degrees. One helper would cut up vegetables, sauté things occasionally, and measure out salt under a careful yet trusting gaze. The other would giggle helpfully from a baby seat on the smooth kitchen counter, or whine in a demand for attention.

  One day, after Brian was bathed, Seth saw their mother move the baby’s arms and legs, flexing them. “It helps encourage them to start growing,” Brian was still young enough to share Vanessa’s and Martin’s room with them, his regular changing spot being their big white bed.

  “Let me try!” exclaimed Seth excitedly, for this was exactly his sort of thing. He became from then on Brain’s personal trainer, gently closing and opening his limbs to help the young one get used to his body. Sometimes he would playfully place tissues on the baby’s arms and urge him to lift them, eliciting laughter from his mother.

  His parent’s room was suitable for a child’s afternoon game, for it was sparsely furnished and extremely well let. Floorboards, cabinets, and single dressing drawer were all a deep dark brown, creating an earthly feel and contrasting with the white walls and drapes. The two large square windows at the bed’s headboard would let in a constant breeze as well as enough sunlight to make you blink. Only one corner was painted in blues and pinks, for it was Brian’s special spot of this house, ruled completely by him. The child spent little time there, however.

  Seth spent those first sixth months of Brian’s life almost exclusively playing with the baby in the living room, brushing his hair and repeating to him Martin’s stories as their father watched over the two patiently from the kitchen. Seth cared about Brain in a way that he found inexplicable, although his parents informed him it was a normal part of having a younger sibling. However, he realized that he had less patience with the baby than his parents did, and often would hand him to Vanessa or Martin if he wasn’t able to quiet down his crying within ten minutes of cradles and lullabies. Seth loved Brain despite that. He always had.

  As time wore on, Brain’s quiet little sniffles and grunts would turn into fully blown bawling or giggling, depending on the situation. Then he began to roll over sometimes, then pull himself along the floor like a little turtle along the brown floor. Finally he started to crawl and walk.

  As Brian became firmer, Seth discovered the joy of lying on his back and then placing his little brother upon his chest. This he did mainly as in excuse to hug the baby, as well as a form of play as he bobbed this way and that. Also, it would give him a reason to look into his brothers big dark serious eyes and wonder how he could be so much like Martin. One time he mentioned another reason to his father. “It’s hard to explain how much you love him, because it’s too big for words and he can’t understand you anyway. But if he listens to my heartbeat, I think it’ll make sense to him.”

  At that, Martin hugged his elder son very close. “He’s lucky to have you as a brother,” the man said quietly yet fiercely, “and I want you to know I love you just as much.”

  In time, Seth’s interactions with the baby grew more complex as he got older, and he began to understand the “annoyed older brother” trope so popular in movies and TV shows. All of a sudden, Brian started to need far more attention than before, and just as suddenly Seth became busy with school and working out. He would of course play with his little brother as often as he could, but that never seemed enough for the little one.

  Brian would try to crawl all the way into his brother’s room, yell out “eth!” in his little voice whenever he felt lonely, and be unsatisfied with his own cot in their parent’s room. Seth tried to be a good sport, but sometimes he just needed to hand over his little brother to Vanessa or Martin after being drained of all patience. His parent’s abilities to deal with him were either a superpower, he decided, or part of that kindness you needed to be a chef.

  Brain was well into his second year by the time Seth was allowed to join a gym. Until then, his parents had been sceptical, believing weight lifting to be detrimental to a teenager’s growth. It was only when he was seventeen that Martin took his pleading seriously. He looked him deeply in the eyes and sighed, all the while bobbing Brian up and down in his lap. “Well, seems about time.” He announced with a sense of finality, and Seth whooped. He didn’t really know if it was because of his age that Martin agreed or because he had finally gotten his driver’s license, but it didn’t really matter. That same day he got his membership.

  One particular rainy day that month, Seth decided he wanted to change up his usual schedule and head on to the gym early. It probably had something to do with how he’d spent the night studying, but his body ached slightly and he felt a little out of it.

  The youth made his way out of his room, carrying a duffel bag and donning a loose T-shirt to hide his now muscular frame. Showing off wasn’t his style. Over his T-shirt he had a jacket, but it still didn’t keep all the cold out. October water droplets pattered against the house, as they had all morning. The living room already smelled like something extravagant was being made, and sure enough, both of his parents were in that semi trance they went into when they cooked together, that dance of the sun and the moon.

  “I’ll go to the gym, dad. You need anything?” The question was more a formality than anything, and the expected simple grunt came in response. Little Brain sat in the living room, watching a kid’s TV show. Seth went over to his little brother and played with him for less than a minute, pretending he wanted to block his view of the show. The child cooed a few times energetically, pointing at the screen behind Seth. Brian probably thought he was actually talking.

  Seth decided it was time to go, and he grabbed the keys to the little sedan his father drove. As he left, Vanessa called out that one of the doors needed fixing, and simultaneously Brain yelled, “Eth!”

  The youth didn’t answer either. He really needed to get a good workout and clear his head, and was sure he’d be back in a few hours to talk.

  Seth went out the front door, not bothering to close it behind him because the mesh screen had a spring mechanism and usually closed by itself within seconds. Standing beneath the awning, he looked up at the grey sky. Icy water dripped down his head as he ran the short distance to the navy blue sedan.

  The youth entered the car, already thinking about which sets he wanted to do at the gym. Turning the key, he listened to the satisfying vroom and enjoyed the small compartment’s warmth. Martin always advised to wait a bit and let the engine get hot, but Seth didn’t believe in that. The youth set up a good enough radio station, put the car in reverse impatiently and started to pull out of the driveway.

  Then he felt the bump and everything fell apart.

  Story 10

  If she had to be honest, the first time Catherine noticed him was because of his smile.

  Dazzling in a real way, his smile would cause his face to shine like a sun just awoken. It would wipe away any dirt, smudges, or even his few pimples. She sa
w it for the first time while heading back from work.

  That day was particularly grey, which made it all the more striking to see that much white in one place. His smile poked out, contrasting with the flood of trench coat wearing office workers rushing home. They each looked identical to one another, and it was only he who lacked that dark colour scheme.

  To Catherine, his smile was like a bell. It was cheerful, sincere, and welcoming. Eventually, she managed to tear her eyes off of his face and continue her stride down the street, following that drab crowd. She had finances to take care of, calculations to make. A car to buy.

  Catherine kept seeing the beggar, over and over, every time she walked back home from work. He was always ignored, probably due to his mannerisms. In her city there were only three types of homeless people. It was the only way to survive as a homeless person. Such people were pitied, but only to a certain extent.

  The first type would try to guilt you into giving money. They would prostrate themselves upon the ground, hoping for sympathy. These people were like an off key deep piano key: Unsettling and dark. The idea was that you try to equate their problems with all those other things wrong with the world, and so giving them a coin would translate to helping the world as a whole.

  The second type would come up to you and try to outright ask you for change. They’d catch your eye and cut off your path to sweet escape. Blues music would play in the background as they recount their sad tale. Sometimes one of them would plaster a smile onto his face and try to make you out to be a Good Samaritan for giving him money, even though you haven’t reached into your pockets yet. As you look about you nervously, someone in the river of people would look behind and offer you a sympathetic smile, glad it was you who were caught and not him.

  One last type of homeless people existed in this city, and it was they who sounded the most horrifying. Theirs was the sound of silence. They would ignore you about as much as you ignored them, for they not only accepted their lot but seemed to thrive in it. Hoarding bottles and cans, gathering coins, stealing quietly when no one was watching, these were their tools. Of all beggars these people were the saddest, as quiet as the bottom of a hole.

  Now this particular person, he was different. He sat to the side, smile on his face. He’d wear a multitude of overlarge jackets, claiming a particular piece of wall for his own. The same spot, under a cover. He was particular about that, no water for a few feet in front of him. Often this made him harder to reach, because that constant influx of people rushing by him would always keep to the street side as much as they could. He didn’t seem to care.

  What was even more curious was that he never spoke to this river of driven city folk. He did not go out to beg for money and he only ever chatted pleasantly with people. In fact, if you crossed eyes with him, he did not come up to you at all, but rather stayed seated. Oftentimes people would go out of the bank he camped outside. Some knew him by name, as he knew them. All this Catherine but glimpsed as she went on her commutes to and from home. Always that smile, always this strange person.

  One day she decided to give the man money. It was, as usual, a rainy day. She was going to work after a good cup of coffee and Peter had just had a wonderful third birthday just the night before. Everything was good in her life. Added to that, the man’s smile sang that day.

  She wasn’t sure why the man was happier than usual but his smile was an Ukulele played on the beach. It was simple and catchy and she found herself infected. So, she broke away from the stream. Wet hard emotionless pavement met her footwear with each step. Each step felt like a blow against her.

  Catherine let these thoughts out of her mind, and instead eyed the man, who had probably sensed her intent and thus smiled at her pleasantly. He was twenty feet away now, and for the first time she could see his features more clearly.

  It would be difficult to call this man handsome, what with his Einstein hair and oversized nose, even if he were clean and well dressed. Or not sitting cross-legged on the floor with a cardboard sign to his side, saying “Poems for sale.” Still, his demeanour caused all of that to become insignificant and the man looked... sweet, somehow.

  Catherine heard the incessant tap tap of raindrops striking against that building’s glass weather guard. Looking up, she noticed the building’s towering height. It was an impressive feat of technology, a like most things here. Much of the building’s surface was glass, and it was so tall it almost curved around and she had to crane her neck to see the sky behind. She couldn’t tell which seemed more depressing.

  When Catherine reached him, she noticed a multitude of folded pieces of paper lying next to the beggar, each about the size of a finger or a fortune from Chinese restaurants. They were arranged in a simple pattern. Two vertical lines, side by side, with a half moon on its back beneath them. A smiley face.

  Before the man with the shining smile was a cap, holding very few coins, but ones of high value. There were even a few note. Catherine was only slightly surprised. Of course he only got a little bit of money, because he never pushed for things, he didn’t use people like the other beggars. Maybe those notes were because people were pitying him, or thinking him a nice guy. Then again, maybe he removed coins periodically, to make himself seem like he’d gotten less than he did. This Catherine had heard of. She’d even heard that when they start for the day, these people would put a few coins in themselves, to set a precedent for the unwitting.

  As she neared him, the man nodded at Catherine. “Good morning, Ma’am. Not the best weather today, but at least it’s not too cold. I hope you have a good day.” She smiled politely and perhaps a little uncomfortably at this homeless man, but elected not to respond. She didn’t feel the need to. She was just here to put a coin in his cap. The sign she ignored completely, of course.

  She felt the eyes of people watching her. Passersby here and there would allow their gazes to gravitate towards her, and their judgement sounded harsh, a powerful chord heard by an unpractised ear. She was going to be late for work.

  Catherine bent down hurriedly, fishing coins out of her purse by touch. She found a few pieces of loose change and laid them inside the man’s upturned hat. The deed gave her mixed feelings. On the one hand she felt good about herself, but on the other hand the usually smart office lady hoped that she wasn’t being duped. Catherine turned to go, being careful not to meet the beggar’s eyes, just in case he asked for more money or started showering her with thanks.

  She’d barely gotten a few steps away before the man’s soft and heavily accented voice called out. “Ma’am!” he said, and his tone caused something in her to stir. She turned involuntarily, in dread, and she found him frowning. Thunder roared.

  Catherine assumed the man was going to either thank her or ask for more, and she was halfway through an excuse, but what he said surprised her.

  “You forgot to take a poem with you.”

  He sounded like he came from the south. His voice was loud and confidant. A couple of figures from the river of people looked their way curiously and Catherine realized she was attracting attention.

  “I..” she started, not understanding. Then she saw he was pointing at the piles of papers next to him. “I don’t need a piece of paper!” she announced, nose almost already starting to point upwards.

  Didn’t this man understand that she was doing him a favour? Nobody would pay for cookie fortunes anyways. The nerve he had, wasting people’s time. She decided that she was never going to give him anything again, and she reconfirmed her distaste for his kinds. He and his smile could both rot for all she cared. She wondered what he was going to say to her, for she expected an apology from the man.

  The beggar’s response was completely outside Catherine’s expectations, for he simply bent over in his seat, pulled her exact coins out from the hat, and stretched his hand out towards her. “Then I need to give you your money back, Ma’am. With all due respect, I can’t take a costumer’s money without giving anything back. It’s not prope
r.” Silently, Catherine walked over to the man and took a piece of paper. Ignoring his polite “Thank you for understanding.” She walked onwards in the direction of her workplace stiffly. The second she was back in the open weather, the brunette threw the folded piece of paper onto the pavement in disgust, willing it destroyed by rain sooner rather than later. She hoped the man saw.

  Catherine went to work. She didn’t talk to anyone about what had happened between her and the beggar, but her secretary could already tell that there was something wrong with her mood.

  “Is it about the birthday?” she asked from her desk, taking advantage of a moment where none could hear. There was no consultancy scheduled for half an hour from now. “I told you Mark should have been there.” Mark was Catherine’s husband and indeed, he had not been present on Peter’s birthday. In fact, that was the only muffler on the whole festivities.

  “No,” replied the tax consultant kindly, if perhaps a little upset still. “He had work to do, and he was covering for a friend. I know museum work is meant to be stable, but it was a onetime thing. Besides, he was in charge of coordinating the whole event.” It was true. Mark was a serious man, if a bit sly if he needed to be. The offer had come on the phone from a close college friend of his, and he had at first declined it outright.

  It was only after a lot of pleading and extra prodding from Catherine that the decision to help out had come, and then only in sighing tones. Knowing him, Catherine was sure her dark skinned husband had managed to secure a number of favours by now, all ready to be cashed in at a moment’s notice. The thought of such a man coming back to their apartment tomorrow managed to bring her a smile.

  Seeing the beggar still on the street was a sight that could wipe a smile right off. There he grinned, exactly where she had left him, and Catherine thought that he looked happy, even when his smile curdled a bit at her sight. She supposed that it didn’t matter to him anyway. He’d gotten money out of her, what more did he really want? After all, the man pretended to sell fortune cookies for a living. She wondered where he got them. The paper she’d thrown away had looked and felt clean.

  Catherine went back home, making the way through that same busy river of souls. Opening their home’s front door, the first thing that crossed her eyesight was Peter, playing with his babysitter. The brunette decided to forget about the beggar, and promptly she did.

  Less than a week later, Catherine decided to tell Mark about it. He swung a golf club experimentally to test its weight as she did, but paused when he noticed how indignant his wife sounded about her story.

  Mark’s silence as he listened carried its own tone, perhaps one of a blowing wind. When she was done, it was already her turn to play, and she had an epiphany. No one should be playing golf in this kind of weather. It was far too grey. Still, this was the best you could get living here, so it had to do.

  She took careful aim, trying to align herself with that flag looking thing in the distance, tightened her hip, and swung. With an unsatisfied hand over her eyes, she watched the ball soar less than half the intended distance and off to the side. Neither she nor Mark claimed to be a good player, but the quiet helped was enjoyable. “What did the paper say?” inquired her husband suddenly, scratching at his well groomed beard. He looked good with a beard, she thought. A bit prickly at times, but she felt a mature look fit his nature well.

  “What? Oh.” She had almost forgotten what they were talking about, and while she scooted over all those thoughts came back to Catherine. How was that piece of paper what Mark got from her entire story? “I don’t know, I didn’t look.”

  “Huh.” Her husband went silent for a few seconds, and she could tell that he didn’t approve.

  Catherine herself felt slightly guilty for her response to the man, but a part of her had acted on impulse. It had offended her that the beggar hadn’t taken her kindness, and now she felt bad for treating someone beneath her in that manner.

  All this she felt, and Mark still kept quiet, focusing on his turn to send the ball into the sky. Surprisingly, his swing sent the thing flying true, straight into the hole. Hole in one. “Then maybe you wasted some change.” He remarked calmly. No other words on the matter were exchanged.

  The next day, Catherine went over to the man after work. There he was, off to the side of that wide river. Styx, her husband called this main walkway.

  The man noticed her coming up to him and, to his credit, he smiled in a second or two. “Good evening, Ma’am.” He said, not nearly as enthusiastic as he once was, yet just with as much friendliness. His smile today only chimed once, where it usually tolled long and true. “How was your day? I hope it was good.” His clothes, Catherine saw, were similar to what he’d worn a few days ago, but not quite the same.

  “I wanted to apologize for throwing your piece of paper in the rain like that,” she stated with as much grace as she could muster. “It was inconsiderate of me.”

  For a second, the man looked slightly hurt, and he looked off to his pile. Still in that pattern. Of course, Catherine thought, he has so many, what difference does one make?

  She had not apologized because of the paper, however, but for her intended blow to the beggar through it. In her anger, she had wanted to get him back for daring to try and return her coins, and that was simply not fair. The man diverted his eyes to her again and to her surprise he was jovial again.

  “It’s all right, ma’am. When someone hurt us, we don’t want to hurt them back. What we want is for them to treat us differently than they did, and an apology is perfect, if it’s from the heart. It gives us dignity back, and shows us that the other person cared. Sometimes that’s more than enough.”

  Catherine felt horrible. She hadn’t meant at all to hurt the man, or to steal any of his dignity from him. Then she noticed how she had always thought of him, the words she had used in her own head. Added to that, his words were truly wise and kind. Now they waited quietly, her struggling with herself and he smiling pleasantly. Only the dripping drops upon glass above them said anything, yet it spoke volumes. At length Catherine asked, “What did it say?”

  He laughed for a second at that, and then said, “I’m not sure, I didn’t notice which one you took. Each one is different, you see.” Little could have stopped the surprise upon Catherine’s face from showing, at that. Dumbfounded, she looked from the piles to this man’s smiling face.

  “Each one?” she asked, incredulous, and he nodded silently. There were so many! The man took another piece from the pile and placed it in her hand firmly, without looking at it. “This one is on the house,” he announced, then turned around to deal with an old lady who had been waiting patiently for the two to finish talking. “Ah, Mrs Stevenson! It’s been a long time!”

  Catherine could hardly hear the woman’s response, for she was busy staring at words on a small piece of paper. It was a poem, short and sweet. Catherine read poetry sometimes, for she’d taken a class on it in college and the interest had stuck. As a tax consultant, she was hardly an expert and only read a few each month from a couple of books, but even then she could tell the good stuff. While the man was busy with Mrs Stevenson, the brunette reached into her bag and put a coin into his hat. She then turned around, resolute in her wish to have a talk with Mark. He had a friend.

  Mark’s friend, a literary agent specialising in poetry, was more than willing to read some of the man’s work. It hardly took any time at all for his poems to go from small pieces of paper to magazines to his very own poetry book. In time he grew to become a little well known. More importantly, he moved in the same neighbourhood Catherine’s family lived in.

  Mark was happy to have him over for dinner more often than not, for he’d grown up in an orphanage, and so in a way each of the two missed an aspect of family. Bertrand’s smile would send choruses in the apartment as usual, and he would give Peter writing lesson, becoming something like a wizened old uncle to the child. Peter in time would learn to grin like him, and through Bertrand’s writings C
atherine learned to appreciate the city a little bit more.

  Drab it was, but beautiful in its own way. Almost for the first time, she noticed gardens and water fountains. Skyscrapers, it came to her attention, were remarkable if you looked at them in the right light. Even the daily river of people, grey as it was, held splashes of colour here and there beneath the jackets. It promised unity and hard work. All in all, their little family had gained an extra member and a great deal of happiness.

  To think it was all because of a smile!

  Story 11

  There are many things that the girl remembers about the boy.

  It all comes in fits and spurts. Sometimes she remembers the shirt he had on the first time they’d met. It had been a horrid affair, splattered with ice cream that his girlfriend dropped on him, by accident apparently.

  They hadn’t talked that day, but she’d noticed him brush his blonde straight hair from his eyes, hand over his own strawberry scoop to the girlfriend and go buy himself another one after an apologetic smile.

  Some other days the splatter of pink on pale blue is forgotten, and her only recollection was the scene of the flaming haired girl in her perfect clothes and perfect little makeup smirking at the boy walking away and saying, “Yeah, you’d better.”

  The Image of that teenager taking abuse with a kind face and a bitter smile had made her feel bad. It was not her business, she’d said to herself as she left the ice cream place. However, the memory of the boy had stayed with her.

  She remembers seeing the boy again. It was a year later in a park. He’d sat under a tree, bathing in the sunlight and reading a book, ignoring people playing around him with Frisbees and balls. Their screams and joy couldn’t break through the bubble of serenity around him. Every so often a finger would be wet and a page would be turned, in reflex more than anything else.

  Still, the boy had no disdain for the noise around him, and would instead look every so often and give the summer a sunny smile. One of those looks brought her to his attention, and this time his eyes locked with hers. Then the reader caught himself and turned his attention back to his book, ignoring her and the boy walking next to her, who was talking about how his football team would win some championship or the other.

  Still, the girl had seen the reading boy’s smile and committed it to memory, in a filing cabinet reserved for a crush.

  A special place in that filing cabinet was reserved for the day that he finally gathered his courage and spoke to her. This time they were in a mall and she was shopping for clothes along with her sister. She’d dropped a dress while talking about which ones to try on. She hadn’t noticed the boy, and so had the breath pulled out of her when she turned and saw him looking at her, the dress in his hand.

  “um,” he’d said, then, “Hey, you’re-“ Suddenly he cut himself off, perhaps realizing how strange it would seem to remember someone you’ve only seen in a park a couple of months ago.

  She responded with “Yes, I am...You aren’t with that ice cream girl anymore.” He looked a little surprised at that, but explained readily enough that his ex-girlfriend hadn’t needed him to care about her, she was perfectly capable of caring about herself.

  “Good for you,” She’d answered. The girl forgets the ex’s name even on the best of days, because there were so many things to remember that there was little space for anything else. That was the first time she’d felt that the world could revolve around more than one person, if everything went just right.

  She remembers that he’d had a white sweater on, which she didn’t like generally. Then again, perhaps she could make an exception if it was him wearing the white sweater, she’d thought. He had asked about the boy who was with her that day in the park, and upon finding out that it was her brother a look of relief had crossed his face for a brief moment.

  Then his phone had rang, and he said, “Well, that’s my mom. See you around then!” and walked away, turning every so often with a perfect smile, as if to check if she was still there. She had been rooted to the spot until he disappeared into the crowd, then gasped for air and tried to keep her heart from galloping into the distance.

  All the while her sister had made comforting cooing noises while patting her back, and only remarked once, “Oh, he’s a nice one, isn’t he?”

  The girl remembers their first date vividly. It had been a confusing time, due to the fact that they had been unofficially meeting in certain places to talk about many things: Hobbies, interests, problems that could be solved and those that were far beyond both of their reaches combined.

  That day she had told him about how her mother and father were going to get a divorce. He had stayed quiet and listened next to her on the bench with a heartbroken look on his face.

  She remembers the expression, and remembers that at the time she hadn’t understood why he made it. It was only later that she found out that a part of love was to feel another person’s pain. He’d asked her out to a movie.

  She remembers how they’d looked out at the river. She remembers forgetting any bitter thoughts towards her father, it had been all replaced by a pull on her heart faster than she could say, “Butterflies”. She remembers saying yes, then meeting the boy in the cinema later that day.

  They were the only seventeen year olds among so many lovers, and she remembers how self conscious she had been about how she’d looked. But then he’d told her that she looked pretty, and when a woman in a red dress walked ahead of them his eyes didn’t leave her face for an instant. The look of wonder in his eyes had been as much of a compliment as she could have wished for.

  She can’t remember where they’d sat in the gallery, but she remembers not getting any soda for fear of her stomach making noises. The movie was called Phoenix and Griffin, and the showing hall was filled to the brim with couples.

  She remembers starting to cry within minutes of the movie’s beginning. He had held his hand out to her, despite this being a first date and them not knowing each other. She remembers wondering why he wanted to hold her hands in the movie instead of when she’d told him about the divorce.

  Now it’s clear, though: He was always trying to comfort her. With the divorce, he’d thought the date would make her feel better. In the movie his comfort was within grasp. She hadn’t wanted to hold his hands because she had used her palm to wipe her tears away and she didn’t want to hold hands with disgusting teary wet fingers.

  She remembers seeing the glistening on his hand, then taking it in hers. They cried together through the rest of the movie, despite smiling the whole time. She remembers thinking that love was a beautiful thing, no matter how it ended.

  Their first argument was a thing best forgotten, for it had been a silly affair. Still she remembers how angry she’d been, despite the actual topic of the fight being a mystery. She remembers crying to herself at night, vowing to apologize to him in the morning, before hearing a knock on her second story window. She’d been fearful, but then she’d seen the perfect blond hair and the pointy nose.

  She remembers rushing to the window, worried that he was going to fall to his doom. However, the second that the shutter was opened, he gave her an embarrassed smile and whispered, “I’m sorry, it was all my fault. Please don’t be sad. I love you. Making you cry is awful.”

  After that, he’d climbed his way back down sheepishly before she could say anything. She remembers wanting to call out to him, for his house was far away and it was late. The words couldn’t make their way past her constricting throat, however. Her vocal cords had been paralyzed.

  Perhaps the girl remembers this so well because of the way the boy carefully made his way back without turning to look behind him. Perhaps it was because that was the first time he told her that he loved her.

  She remembers a special day. They had been at the beach, spending a hot summer day eating popsicles, cooling themselves off. All of a sudden he’d dropped his glasses in the snow and asked her to help him look for them. As she’d fumbled around, worried beca
use his eyesight was so weak and he’d need the apparel, she’d heard him exclaim “found it!”

  Turning around, she’d found him on one knee, holding a red velvet box of a size that could be cupped in a fist. Stunned, she had weakly said, “That’s... That’s not your glasses, silly.” In spite of that, he hadn’t broken the sincere smile on his face as he blinked in the sunlight, taking in the sight of her.

  She remembers him saying “I don’t need them anymore, all I want to see is right here in front of me.” She remembers not even glancing at the ring as she gasped yes ten times over, making him laugh.

  She remembers her first child, the one that never got a name. She remembers being unable to enter the baby room with its blue paint, blue cot, blue hanging toys waiting for a hand to cradle them. She remembers waking at night to the sound of crying, only to realize the sound came not from a baby, but from a fully grown woman.

  She remembers clamping her hands on her mouth to stop the sobs, only to hear, “It’s okay sweetheart. You can cry.” His hands would go around her, giving her a world of warmth in which to weep in.

  She remembers her shame as he removed the decorations in the room, because she was unable to do anything to help except ignore the shaking of his shoulders when he turned his back to her. To her surprise, he hadn’t thrown anything away. Instead he’d stored everything in boxes then locked the room. He had hugged her and a single tear fell on her shoulders as he said, voice shaking, “He’ll never be replaced, but our happiness is not gone yet. And even if we have no other and these boxes rot, I have you, and it’s enough.”

  The girl remembers the boy’s thoughtfulness paying off, the boxes being unpacked a couple of years later to welcome Thomas, then Tifanny. Later their apartment would get too small and they would have to move.

  She remembers her parents coming to visit, one by one on separate days. Only her parents; his had never cared.

  The girl remembers her children going to school, each of their first days were clear and bright. She remembers him finally saving enough to open his own bookstore, then spending time with that.

  The girl remembers happier times and sadder times, all tinged with a taste reminiscent of love. She remembers Thomas getting a job as an architect, Tiffany as a doctor. She remembers ten thousand meals and ten thousand jokes, countless kisses and hugs, smiles and tears and happiness of the type that can only be remembered after it’s been lived.

  She remembers Thomas’s wedding, and Tiffany moving out. She remembers the boy’s shoulders getting slumped with age and looking down at books. She remembers...a grave stone with a name on it, seen through a blur... no... it can’t be... she’s still only a girl...

  Her eyes snap awake, and her outstretched hand is unlike how she remembers it: withered, tired, frail. She panics, calling for him, and Thomas and Tiffany come to her bedside. They look older than she herself is, or at least how she remembers herself being.

  She weeps like a child when Tiffany introduces a shy little girl to her: Bless her, she has his eyes.

  She awakens later at night, and curses her longevity. She whispers his name, and looks to the right. She sees the beeping machine, and wishes it would stop making sounds. Its lines flatten, and she smiles slowly. Her eyes close, and she goes back to remembering.

  Forever.

  Story 12

  It rained, but Stewart was never one to mind getting dirty or wet.

  Big fat drops of (probably) toxin infected water fell upon his shorn scalp and the twenty five year old lifted his face to the sky, enjoying the cold downpour as he walked. There was a part of him that wanted to pretend that was in a gritty fifties mobster setting and pull his trenchoat closer about himself, but instead he just chuckled and put his hands in his pockets, keeping them warm.

  Somehow, despite often feeling too warm and wanting something to cool him, Stewart owned permanently cold hands, and was even told so upon occasion. In the fifities world, it would probably because he was dark or something, and had blood on his hands. More likely, it was because he was tall and long limbed.

  Stewart Williams could be described as a sneaky man. It wouldn’t be wrong, although he thought of himself as simply cautious. It was important to build up your weapons arsenal, just in case someone showed up you needed to blow out of this world. Bad people existed, and being nice to them isn’t going to make problems go away.

  Interestingly, people also called Stewart cynical, which was just not fair. Then again, only those who knew him best said these things. Being naturally manipulative was useful when you wanted to get along with people, and so most people didn’t see these parts of him.

  By now, the rain was getting Stewart almost too wet for company, but at that moment he saw his goal just a bit further. He walked into the diner’s warm white interior and shook droplets off him, then took off his coat and hung it.

  Soft music played in the background, but Stewart could hardly tell who sang. Probably a nice enough young man that he’d never heard of. He sighed at his own lack of musical interest, because he knew he’d have to catch up eventually. Too many people cared, and he had to be able to have a proper conversation, even if it was all good enough for his unsophisticated ears. He chuckled at the thought. If his father could hear him now, he’d probably groan in his grave.

  The lighting in Pete’s diner was nice, and Stewart liked red, so was pleased at the seating style here: Opposite the counter to the left, there were grey oval tables set into the wall in front of him, encircled by that red armless sofa thing, the type which forced you to argue with your friends about which side of the table you wanted to sit on and got you sliding along the whole thing. Stewart loved it. He thought these and sofa chairs were the only seats worth having.

  The place wasn’t by any means crowded, but neither was it caught in an empty lull. A pleasant balance had been reached, and there were enough people around to make you feel good about choosing Pete’s without it being loud enough that you needed to raise your voice to talk. A constant quiet murmur caming from around fifteen people in this place. He waved at the owner as he went in, and received a nod in return.

  Suddenly a palm shot out from the third table in Stewart’s view, and he half grinned at the playful manner it swung to and fro, also registering the long scar snaking along that forearm. Then another pair of hands leapt up and lowered that palm, and Stewart was slightly surprised. He’d thought it was just him and Luke today, but was apparently mistaken.

  Luke was dressed in a T shirt that was loose enough not to show off his physique, yet Stewart knew that the long haired one (as he often called Luke in his mind, in contrast to himself) always wore T shirts to show off his scar.

  When they were young, Luke had caused Stewart to flip over in his bike. Despite having broken his arm, the younger sibling had carried his brother, who was injured far worse, back home where help could be called. Luke then started getting into fitness, just so he could intervene if something happened in front of him again. Now this wonderful individual stood just as tall as his brother in order to embrace him, although he was much more muscular.

  Sitting at the table still was the person who’d pulled Luke’s arm down, a pretty girl. Her face was all made up, and she had green eyes and almost reddish hair, working well with her tight fitting dress.

  Luke introduced her as his girlfriend, and Juliette Wilson raised her eyebrow, as well as a hand up whilst remaining seated. She had the back of her hand raised, yet Stewart took her hand and shook it normally, giving it a casual half flip as he did. “Luke told me a lot about you,” she said, “I thought you’d look a little more like him.”

  Stewart sat down. “Interesting. He must be proud of you, because he kept you as a surprise up until now. So, what’s up, little bro?” Both of them sat then. Stewart could tell that under the table she was touching his knee. She was also a second too late in hiding her irritation at Stewart changing the subject.

  “Nothing much,” answered Luke with barely containe
d excitement. “Just finally got the loan!”

  Luke was a nutritionist, and was actually quite successful despite not being well known. Stewart actually hadn’t known much about the scientific side of things until Luke took over a consultation office, called, “Healthy thoughts”.

  The young man, even so young, had caught a lucky break by being able to start working with a mentor figure even before starting college. Just last year the old man had retired, and had allowed Luke to shift into his position and manage his things.

  Stewart laughed in disbelief but said, “I knew you could do it! So now you’re going to have to juggle a consultation office and a gym, huh? Doesn’t sound too hard!”

  Luke’s girlfriend interjected then. She clung to Luke’s arm and exclaimed, “Yeah, we’re both proud of Luke! I and he met a few months back... Why don’t you tell him the story, sweetie?”

  “Sure thing, honey, just let me go and order us something. What do yo-“

  Her beautiful face seemed to scrunch up a little, as if she was pouting. “Why do you have to go? Somebody like a waiter shouldn’t push you around.” At that Luke’s eyes widened slightly, and Stewart sighed inwardly. You shouldn’t disrespect people around Luke.

  Apparently realizing her mistake, the girl changed track and added, “Besides, I thought you said we were going somewhere special...” Stewart observed the girl as Luke tried to make her feel better. He said nothing as the two went back and forth and she kept up her pouty attitude until Luke promised to take her somewhere fancy in the future.

  “-But we’re here, so I think we should stay. Pete runs a great place and if it wasn’t for his old man I would never have gotten what I have today,” Luke concluded, and Stewart could practically see Juliet think about whether it was good enough for her.

  In the end she accepted his apologies with only the slightest bit of guilting, and she flashed him a bright smile. For the rest of that evening they talked mostly about her, and how much she and Luke were in love with each other, and how she deserved a better position at the magazine she worked in. At that Stewart perked up, because an acquaintance of his was a magazine photographer, but he kept quiet. Girls like Juliet loved hearing the sound of their own voice, and especially loved scandals.

  Stewart listened politely while Luke shot him glances of embarrassment, realizing that his girlfriend wasn’t making the best of impressions. Still, once or twice he’d managed to get her talking about politics, and Stewart realized the girl was proficient as an analyst. She knew a lot about many underlying currents in times of inelastic inflation, but apparently preferred to keep her mind blank and thinking about shoes.

  The evening was peaceful enough, and the day after Stewart dropped by Luke’s office, wanting to help with the gym’s relocation. He knew a guy who did good work with empty flats and such, and thought it would be good to offer his brother a good service for a slightly reduced price.

  Luke drove Stewart to show him the proposed place. It was big enough for someone’s start, thought the older brother, despite the walls that needed to be taken down. Luckily there was little plumbing to be reworked, although Stewart wasn’t an expert either way. He was just a corporate spokesperson, after all. “So,” asked Luke inevitably if hesitantly, “What did you think of Juliette?”

  Stewart looked at him sideways. “You met her,” he remarked quietly, “During consultation, where she dragged an overweight friend because she wanted her to be ‘better’. She said that, in those words.” Luke squirmed a little, and Stewart continued, “She thinks she deserves everything good in the world, and that others should suffer so she could get what’s coming to her. I don’t think I like Juliette very much, Luke.”

  “Being healthier is a sign of improvement and hard work,” retorted the younger sibling, although even he sounded unconvinced. He didn’t mention the rest of it.

  “That’s not what she meant, and we both know it. Do you really want my opinion?” Luke paused at that, and Stewart gave him time to consider. This question was only asked when Stewart was sure that something unpleasant was going to come out of his mouth.

  Finally the more muscular of their duo nodded, holding the door open for Stewart. “I think she’s shallow,” started Stewart, “and I think you were overeager in accepting the advances of a flirt. Now, I understand,” he added when Luke looked as if he was going to object, “that you like people, and feel like you’re in love with her. I’m just telling you what I think of the girl. I’ll treat her well out of respect for you, and I hope you’re happy together.” Of course, he didn’t mention that he thought Luke was inexperienced with women, nor that his younger sibling was making a terrible mistake by extending his belief in people to a shallow snobby temptress willing to play with his feelings and use him. He didn’t tell him that he thought his brother suspended his sense of justice when it came to her.

  Luke hadn’t made a mistake by juggling work and university, contrary to Stewart’s apprehension at the time. Perhaps the ambitious younger sibling would be in the right again. Besides, Sometimes you need to let people do what they feel is right, even if you know better.

  Life has a way of teasing people with happiness just before trying its best to crush them. In a span of half a year things went from great to horrible for Luke. Loans on his gym were trying to catch up to him faster than he thought they would, less members of his nutrition consultancy were willing to add proper exercise to their daily prescriptions, and in turn his finances suffered.

  Naturally, Juliette disappeared. She made up some excuse or the other for leaving, but Stewart knew better. There was a type of person who valued being pampered above all else, and that kind of person could hear the sound of burning money with the dread of a child being called for a hot bath. Stewart comforted his brother as best as he could. “Relax, stay single for a while,” he’d told him, “When you’re not looking for self validation, a girl will show up who’ll be perfect for you, brother. I’ll even set you up with a buddy of mine, but only when you show that you’re fine without someone to puff you up. I don’t want you hurting anyone in turn in the meantime, you hear?”

  “She’s... she just left, bro. Said she needed time to focus on work... I want to earn her back.” Luke had a mug of coffee cupped in both hands like it was a beer, and had on a white hoodie that had drawings of dumbbells on it, held by a muscular unicorn. It was quite amusing, and had been bought for him by a mutual friend of theirs.

  Stewart clapped his brother on the shoulder and told him to focus on work too. If Juliette felt they should stay together, she knew how to find him.

  And that she did. It didn’t take much more than Luke’s first few costumers giving amazing reviews for his gym. “Strongheart” did well, and so not only encouraged people who were already costumers of “Healthy thoughts” to join, but allowed the opposite to happen as well. When you have two interdependent businesses in a branch needing physical proximity, thought Stewart, you could really get them to work well together. Pete’s dad got more in profit than he’d ever made before, and that success was passed on to Luke in turn, for he owned most of “Strongheart” and was slowly buying into the original company.

  It didn’t make Luke happy to be with Juliette again. In fact, it had made him quite miserable. “Maybe she’s changed, but I don’t know if I can trust her again,” he’d told Stewart. Luke wasn’t stupid, knew Stewart. However, he understood that his brother would make a stupid choice if it meant believing in the good in people. He didn’t really understand it himself, but then again, not everybody could be like him.

  That same week, the clean shaven man went to see Juliette at her workplace, for she’d texted him, telling him that she wanted to talk. He went into their large shared office space, and she stood up to greet him as if she owned the whole thing.

  “Hello, Stewart! I’ve missed you so much!” she said in that slightly teasing manner, “You didn’t even call. Please, step over here.” For all intents and purposes, she ignored everyone e
lse in her workplace, even though a couple of people had nodded to him. Stewart said hi in return. Stewart noticed the gazes the two went to where people had their coffee, a small kitchen like place.

  She offered him a mug, and Stewart declined, knowing that he wasn’t going to stay long. Juliette explained to him how confused she’d been, how stress drove her to hurt his brother, and how sorry she was. She expressed real warmth in her explanation, and knew Stewart wanted the best for his brother.

  “You know what kind of woman I am,” she concluded, “I only want to make him happy, and I might need you to help me reach that.” In a way, she seemed suggestive, and Stewart’s attention was drawn to how nice she looked in her work outfit and her makeup. She stood in a way that drew attention almost flawlessly.

  Not for the first time that day, the man ran his palm over his shaved scalp. It was a habit he’d gotten into, and it mostly meant that he was thinking about something conceptual. After delaying for a bit, he was sure that he had an answer.

  “How about you stay away from my brother, and you can get to keep your job?” His counter offer was proffered with a gentle smile, for he truly didn’t wish to appear threatening. Her jaw fell.

  “What are you-“ she began, but Stewart really didn’t have time to waste with her.

  “Half of your so-called secret contacts that you use for anonymous quotes are made up. I know this, and you know it, and you want to know how I know. Well I’m not talking, unless it’s with your boss.” Her beautiful eyes sparkled, as if she was debating on whether to cry or to call him out on what she thought a lucky bluff. So he told her about how she cheated on her last boyfriend three times and then left him when he ran out of money for jewellery.

  “People like you aren’t worth being anywhere near people like Luke. You only wanted to talk because you realized he was close to figuring you out, and needed me to convince him otherwise. So, call him –don’t even visit- and tell him that you’re a cheater and a liar and won’t stay with him. Don’t pretend that you’re going to change.”

  “But I-“

  “Won’t. You won’t. You don’t care enough and never will. It ought to be very sad, but I don’t care because I don’t have anything to do with Luke’s ex. Look,” he added, and he tried to be gentle. Maybe this was going to teach her something, at least how to be more careful with who she messed with. “You can lose a boyfriend, or you can lose a boyfriend and a job. Pretty people with no jobs or hearts turn to gold digging full time. Do you want that?”

  She shook her head, and he took that as a good sign. “I hope you have a nice life, Juliette Wilson. Maybe you’ll even learn to think about more important things once in a while, if you’re lucky. Or fix that rotten heart of yours, I don’t care. Just make sure I don’t see you.” She nodded.

  As Stewart exited the kitchen, he left her slack jawed and buttoned the trench coat. He hadn’t even bothered taking it off. As he left the shared office, he caught the eye of a lazy looking but bright eyed employee and they shared a wink. By the time he was halfway down the building, the tall wiry man couldn’t remember what he’d wanted to have for dinner.

  When he left the building he was more concerned with the slow falling rain drops than about Juliette. Then again, Stewart didn’t mind rain, and thought more about how he was going to comfort Luke for getting dumped by the same girl twice. His brother was going to be angry and sad, but time will heal grief and he would meet a worthy woman at some point. He lifted his face to meet raindrops now pouring in earnest.

  For the right reasons, Stewart Wilson didn’t mind getting his face wet or his hands dirty.

  Story 13

  The first time John drank alcohol, he thought of it as the first of many merry times.

  They were young enough that it was illegal, but old enough not to get into serious trouble if they were caught. It was him, Peter Smith, Allen Jackson, and Andy. Good old Andy was the life of their gatherings, and always had been.

  That day he had gotten them a few beers, which were slightly warm and tasted bitter as they drank them somewhere far away from civilization along a long dusty road. Still, John drank along with them, and after a few started to feel a buzz. It felt good, and made him free. After a while that sweet, slightly light headed feeling went away, but they’d run out of beer and couldn’t get any more that day.

  The kids didn’t do it often, and when they did they didn’t go straight home. This was because most of their parents except for Andy’s were straight laced and wouldn’t have their kids drinking beer that young. When John went home the fourth time they did it, he even went upstairs first to brush his teeth, then headed outside to watch the stars on his telescope. Brushing helped a little with the smell of cheap beer, but John still avoided hugging his parents. Not that he needed to do it often.

  Then Andy’s dad got sent back to jail and their party maker turned into someone who cared about studying more than anything else. They went to see him one day, and the blonde boy was hunched over his algebra, trying to work it out seriously for perhaps the first time.

  “It’s not the same without you,” Peter had said, although John caught his smirk. Peter’s parents were rich, so he sometimes saw things in a different light. “No need to keep studying man, you can probably pass algebra anyway, Wacky isn’t that strict about cheating.” For a couple of seconds Andy said nothing, eyeing a complicated equation scribbled in horrible handwriting. Well, complicated for him, anyway.

  Peter was about to repeat his statement with a slightly annoyed look on his face when Andy turned to him. The blonde looked more solemn than John had ever seen him.

  “What do you live for, Peter?” he asked, taking everyone in the room aback. His eyes were big and serious, and John thought he might have lost a little bit of weight.

  Silence stretched like a taut chord until Peter tried to cut it with a laugh. “Doing what we want. Having fun, man,”

  “See, that’s the difference.”

  “...What?” Peter looked slightly angry. He hated people saying that they were better than him. Everyone did, but the rich boy especially went far to notice things that people implied.

  “I thought the same thing, man,” Andy stated, “But now my old man is in prison an-“

  “What, you got spooked into the right path? This ain’t a TV show.” At that, Allen stirred from where he’d lain on Andy’s bed with a magazine. Allen was mostly quiet, yet he was big enough that you didn’t want him angry. Peter immediately shut up, but Andy waved away his comment, calming their large friend.

  “Nah, Pete. It’s just, like...” he seemed to contemplate for a bit, “Responsibility is the iron in a man’s bones. Or woman’s, or whatever.” All four of them chuckled at the way he said it. Their friend still had it. “Mom’s alone and I’ve got brothers. I wanna do good by all of them instead of pops, you know?” John looked at Peter, and was surprised to see him deflated.

  “Yeah...” he sighed. “So, now what? At least get married first before ditching us.” There was a smile in his voice, but it was bitter.

  “No, not at all!” Andy exclaimed in haste. “I’ll just be really busy, but we’ll always be friends! You guys can come by any time, when I’m here. My goals right now are to study as hard as I can while working part time in construction. They say I’m a little flabby but they’ll take a good pig over a goose.” At that, they all laughed, especially Allen. When they were done, Andy said, “Study and work, get into a university I can graduate fast from, and get to supporting my family.” John couldn’t imagine the dedication present in the set of Andy’s jaw, for he hadn’t even thought of what subjects he wanted to take next year, let alone in uni.

  Andy also told them not to come over when he was at work, because he hadn’t told his mom about the job yet. She wanted him to have a normal life and would think his absence a sign that he was hanging out with them. “I’ll need to either tell her soon, or find a way to pay for things without her knowing, but there’s no way this boy is l
azing his ass while his mom works two jobs. Gotta be a bigger man, you know?” He smacked at his own belly.

  At that point, Peter apologized. To John’s astonishment as well as a proud smile from Allen, he embraced Andy. “Hey man, sorry about making light of your dad getting locked up.... I... I just didn’t know how to react. I could never understand what you’re going through.” Peter patted his back a couple of times, and John realized that because Andy was the oldest of his siblings, he wouldn’t have gotten that kind of hug in a long time.

  “I hope you never do.” Whispered Andy. If there were any tears shed that day, they went unnoticed.

  From then on, Andy never went drinking with them, nor got the beers. Still, things were fun enough at his house, and they went often to hang out with good old Andy.

  Almost as if in a blink, John’s high school life was over and he found himself in a university studying chemistry. He didn’t exactly know how it happened, but there it was, decision made and bags packed. He went to a good enough university, and went to his first proper party. He tried vodka and rum and beer, although he was never given too much of any of these.

  In his first party, which was hosted by a guy that a friend of his friend knew, John realized that he wasn’t as outgoing as he thought he was. It didn’t matter though, for alcohol made things easier, and he became more interesting, funnier, and more charming than ever before. Most of all, holding a cup in your hands made it much easier to talk to someone.

  “Out here alone?” he asked a girl with a smile, and it was easy as that. They had a talk about where they were from and what they were doing in Leon. She was pretty and had strawberry blonde hair, but eventually proved too drunk to talk to.

  “I’m looking forrrr Jesssssica!” she exclaimed eventually, and John told her that he didn’t know who Jessica was, let alone where she was. That made the girl upset and he comforted her while she cried. A muscular looking guy in a buzzcut stood across the room, watching. He gave John a thumbs up sign and nodded at the girl, making the tall newcomer feel disgusted with him. There was no way he was going to take advantage of a drunk girl.

  John was tall but thin, and couldn’t think of a way to carry the girl or muscle her around as the room buzzed slowly in his head. Instead he took her gently by the shoulder and steered her around the crowd.

  Eventually they found a girl called Julie, who was not only upset with her friend, but also happened to be one of the most beautiful people John had ever seen. He pushed that aside, for Julie started yelling at the two of them for a good half minute. He wasn’t drunk, but John wasn’t sober enough to immediately understand how he’d looked, dragging Sonia around like a “sack of potatoes”.

  By then John was starting to get a little angry too, and he told Julie that if he’d wanted something with her friend, he would have taken her upstairs rather than walk around the party for half an hour. When things were cleared up the wavy haired angel thanked him and apologized.

  “Not accepted,” he stated with a nervous grin, “unless I get a date.” She eyed him, and told him that Sonia was in no shape to say yes to any prospective dates, no matter what kind of privilege he claimed.

  “Not with her.”

  Her almond shaped eyes widened, and John honestly thought she said yes out of sheer shock. Then she surprised him by stating calmly that a guy who would do what he did was probably safe enough to go on a date with. She gave him a phone number, pulled Sonia along in a no nonsense manner, and went home.

  John tried not to memorize what direction they’d gone in, but it was a futile attempt. His next beer were filled with thoughts of her, and he gulped it hungrily. Somehow, despite having finished his cup, the brown haired youth felt strangely thirsty, and his mind pointed him towards alcohol. He wanted to expand his freedom, feel better, get more interesting.

  The room began to spin pleasantly, and it was a new feeling for John. Then he ran into Allen and they chatted for a while. Or rather, John talked about Julie and his mountain of a friend listened with a twinkle in his eyes. “Love at first sight, huh...” he reminisced when John was done with his tale, and he seemed even older somehow.

  “Well, yeah I guess... I wouldn’t say love though.”

  Allen laughed then, deep and true like he did when Andy did something especially funny. It was just them now, for Peter had gone to a private university and their party’s life had earned himself a scholarship in a nearby town. Somehow the raging party around them seemed lonely without those two. John hoped the people here would stop trashing the place. “You always think with your heart. I know that, but we never knew what your heart says. What does it say?”

  John was truly stumped for a bit, then eventually said, “It says life is short, I might as well live it. Let things pass by, maybe. It’s not like it matters.” Allen seemed disappointed with John’s answer, but let that matter slide. Instead he told him that if this girl, who he was attracted to for no real reason, turned out to be good, then he shouldn’t let her go.

  “A girl who wants you as happy as herself, that’s all we really want,” Andy stated flatly. John asked him if he’d ever been in love, but his friend said no.

  Julie proved to be John’s match when it came to intellect. That first date they talked for hours about what they studied, and she seemed interested in Chemistry just much as her own major. She told him that she planned to get a law degree eventually, but worried about not having any time to draw if she did that.

  “I guess I’ll just have to decide whether art or law is more interesting,” she concluded, “Well, or learn to juggle. I mean, logically the two won’t go together in one job, but maybe...” They exhausted many subjects that evening, and had eventually needed to go to another student party. This time she let a bit of her wild side go, which John enjoyed immensely. He was good looking, he knew, but most of the glances today were because of her.

  Eventually, John and Allen and Julie went out together, and even Sonia went along. She was actually a pretty shy girl, and had been horrified at the inconvenience she’d presented John with.

  Thus a four man group of friends was born again, if with a different crew. Allen and Sonia fit together well, for it seemed that Allen preferred silence and mostly spoke when he had something to say. This caused Sonia to not fear interruptions, and she slowly opened up to John’s friend.

  Then came John’s twenty first birthday. It began with a relaxed enough evening, his girlfriend and friends getting together to buy him a new Celestron telescope. It was amazing to John, and he had to rush home to get it safe. He’d needed a crane to get him off the thing, but once they got to the bar he forgot all about it.

  All his parties thus far had been in dorms and party houses, and so the tall wiry young man was amazed by this strange new atmosphere. They drank shots mostly, causing John felt that same old freedom, like he was in space. “I like space!” shouted he in Julie’s ears, and she nodded as they danced. The lights were multicoloured and cast her almost like a blue skinned mermaid due to her dress’s style. He approached again, yelling. “I should study astronomy!” Her eyes widened at that, for he was already supposed to be well into his studies (he hadn’t told her that he’d failed a couple of semesters.) Still, after a few seconds she hugged him and said that she’d be happy as long as he was happy, and that he should do it.

  “But not because of shots,” she added, “We talk about it tomorrow!”

  That was the first time John got properly drunk. The feeling was sweet, the room’s spinning happy, the confusion in his actions unnoticed. He was more confident than ever before, and people laughed at his jokes long and hard. At some point Allen and Sonia left, then he lost Julie. She’ll be fine, he thought. She couldn’t hold her liquor, so didn’t partake as much. This actually made her safer, and gave John more leeway to cut loose. Thus he stayed with a bunch of friends who were more about parties than anything else.

  It was a lot of fun, and a girl kept eyeing John the whole time, making him feel
even better about himself, but he didn’t feel right flirting with a girl while he was in a relationship, and thus mumbled an apology. After hours of partying, he ended up crashing at one of their apartments. The next day he woke up feeling fine and fresh, despite everything he’d put in his body. Then he saw the number of missed calls from Julie and his heart lurched.

  She was furious with fear, and told him that getting blasted alone with people you don’t know extremely well was a stupid thing to do. You could be taken advantage of, tricked, or you could make choices that you never wanted to make in the first place.

  John apologized and told her that he loved her, told her about the girl who tried to flirt with him to no avail. That seemed to calm her down a bit. Then they started talking about him changing his major, and Julie told him that she’d support whatever he chose, if he really wanted it. She reminded him that astronomy could be quite prestigious, and that it was an important science. John felt blessed to have such a girl in his life, and it made him feel all the more guilty about losing her the night before.

  John would learn to feel quite guilty throughout his student life. Whilst in parties he would sometimes lose Julie or ignore her advice about drinking too much, and once he told her to go away and let him have his fun. She couldn’t hold her liquor after all, and so didn’t understand the need to drink more just to be able to reach that same level of tipsiness that earlier would be a beer away.

  Furthermore, she didn’t understand that usually, even though he’d slur his words or lose a thought in the middle of a sentence, he wouldn’t really be drunk.

  Then she finished her degree and went back to her hometown. She was only a few hours away then, but it was still a devastating blow to the two of them. It meant that they couldn’t stay together all the time, and that his lovely would spend nights worrying about him not having anyone to take care of him when he decided to cut loose. Allen was too busy to do it, and when Peter visited he was the opposite of help.

  John went into a polarized state of mind, for he would work rather hard on his new major, in order to reunite with her, but he would also get stressed and need to go wild on weekends.

  One night he and Peter and Mark and the others were out in a dorm party, and a girl in a tank top came up to John. “Wanna buy me a beer?” she asked with an expectant look. She had lightly dusted skin and big brown eyes as well as a cute nose. In fact, most of her was cute, and she barely came up to his neck.

  “Hello to you too,” he’d said with a laugh. He’d had a few drinks already that night, and that pleasant sense of freedom was upon him. He missed Julie, felt like he needed to talk to someone about her. Since he could do anything in the world, he could just talk to this girl about his girlfriend. “Not yet,” he added, “but maybe if you play your cards right...” he left the sentence trailing and one of her eyebrows shot up.

  They talked for a really long time about myriad of matters, and then they danced. John explained to her how he thought stars were made out of people who were in love and told her that he and Julie were binary stars, bright yet unable to be with each other. She complimented his looks and his height and how he was so romantic and quirky. She smiled at him and tried to comfort him, perhaps in the only way she knew how to.

  The next day John drove all the way to Julie’s town in order to confess to Julie personally and beg her for forgiveness. She’d cried as he gave her flowers and chocolates and told her that it would never happen again.

  “You’re a star, baby, and I need to be spinning around you or I’d go insane,” he’d whispered, trying to hug her as she wept on a bench. She told him to give her time to think.

  Eventually, she took him back because she said it wasn’t really his fault. It was the drink. Then it happened again, to his horror, with another girl. He blacked out and couldn’t remember a thing, it didn’t really count. The third time, she told him that was it and if it happened again she’d leave him. John was so shocked that he didn’t drink for three months, the longest he’d ever gone without liquor since he’d started in university. Still, uni was a place for enjoyment, exploration and friends. He got dragged to another party and it happened again, that time with a girl of african descent. He didn’t tell Julie that time, for he didn’t want her to leave him. He hated himself, but he needed his star no matter what.

  At some point, John learned to control himself better. He would get drunk, but stopped blacking out due to sheer intoxication. Days went by and he finished university with a degree in astronomy. By then she was doing great work in many art galleries.

  Immediately John moved close to Julie, with his parent’s blessings. He and her would go at times to her parents’ and they would enjoy themselves. Her dad liked wine, and John would try to pace himelf with the old man, just in case. Once, he and her went out together and she looked at him very seriously. “Honey,” she said.

  “Yeah?”

  She looked at him, sighed, then delved right in. “I’m proud of you for getting work as a researcher. I think you’ve come a long way professionally. But, well...”

  John didn’t like where this was going and said, “Well?” with trepidation. She sighed.

  “I guess there’s no way around this. I want you to slow down with the partying. I know you’re doing great, but I think we’re heading deeper in our relationship, and we both need to start becoming more responsible people. If we don’t then we can’t succeed as a couple.” From there the conversation went towards what exactly was expected of each of them, and how they could prepare for the future and become more mature.

  Work went well, and within a few years John and Julie were married. On the wedding night he got slightly more tipsy than usual at the open bar, and there it was.

  “What are you talking about?” asked the waiter.

  John chuckled at him. “The sense of freedom, the dizziness, all of it. I’m getting married, so I need this kind of thing.” The man looked at him to Julie, who blushed slightly, and then he politely informed John that his drink was going to take a bit of time. It never came. The groom heard the man talking to another waiter later about an alcoholic in the party, and John wondered who it was.

  John succeeded at being a responsible husband and father at first. Then came the second child, Stephanie, and the stress got to be a bit much. He would sneak out of work sometimes with a research buddy and they’d have a couple of drinks. They would talk about space and stars and how the universe reflected human relationships.

  “We’re all just planets and stars and moons hurtling through space,” said John once, “at an unbelievable speed. It’s scary, and that’s why we need to do things like these and hope that the universe is ordered enough to keep us alive.” They cheered to the universe, and John drained his glass of whiskey. Whiskey was a man’s drink, he thought often. It made him feel more grizzled than he actually was.

  Before John went home he would take time to sober up, shower, and then brush his teeth. Occasionally Julie would find out, and even when she didn’t, his tardiness would cause her to stay home alone with the kids. Still, John saw no way around it, because she stopped letting him drink at home when Andy turned one. She would beg him to stop, cry, and John would apologize. Then he would stay away from his drinking buddy from work for a week, at best. “I can’t raise the kids and you, baby...” she’d whispered once, and John said some harsh words in turn.

  The tipping point came when Simon got relocated for another project. John lost not just a drinking buddy, but a regulator. Until then, he had never sat and drank alone, beyond a few beers. Now he would hide a couple of bottles at work. First each month, then every two weeks, and eventually each week. Things didn’t interfere with work, because he could function well enough with alcohol. Besides, it helped him calm down, leave the chaos inside his head and sink into that wonderful empty freedom, where thoughts didn’t chase one another around so much.

  Sometimes when he got too drunk, he would just sleep it off there and keep working in the
morning, leaving his wife and kids to their devices. His lovely was reliable, she could handle it.

  She did. One day, John came back to find her and the kids gone. There was a letter on the kitchen counter, explaining how much he’d hurt her, and how she needed to be responsible and take care of the kids, with or without him. Only a few drops marred the letter’s surface, showing grim resolve. Next to the letter were divorce papers awaiting signature.

  John was devastated. He went out all evening and then tried calling her all night. Then he found a girl to bury his sorrows in. After all, he still wasn’t too old, still tall and handsome. Girls still liked him, and he liked them back. He just didn’t love them like he loved Julie.

  John eventually signed the papers, giving Julie full custody.

  Work was still going well, but other than his research, John found himself to be alone and empty. His only release lay in the bottom of a bottle. He would often think about the universe as he worked, and how it related to people.

  They were all hurtling through space. Right now, he wished to collide with Andy or Allen, or even Peter or Mark. He’d lost contact with all of them by now. The last time Allen had talked to him, he’d tried to “help” with some suggestions for a centre for alcoholics. Same with Andy.

  One night, John drank two bottles by sunset then went to a bar. He drank quietly, reminiscing about where he’d let himself turn into a person he hated. He thought about finding a girl drunk enough to just take home without needing to talk much. The room spun as if he were a planet.

  Goddamit, he thought, It’s still a nice feeling. Just gotta live and let things pass by. He felt like he needed to explain things, and as he ordered another glass of whiskey he gestured to the bartender. It was relatively quiet, so the burly man leaned on the counter to listen.

  “I’m an astronomer,” he told him.

  “A scientist, huh? Rare here!” answered the man in a friendly manner. John thought he’d like him, another day. Instead he kept his eyes glued to his glass, which hung from his fingers. The oily liquid inside beckoned him.

  Suddenly John asked, “Do you know what stars are made of?”

  “Uh, gases and stuff. Look, man, I’m just a b-“

  “They’re made of love,” the astronomer cut him off. This drunk, everything oscillated like an old computer screen. At the edge of his vision, John saw the bartender raise an eyebrow. “Love, when it’s pure and true, burns. It burns so hot because two solitary molecules found one another and fused, making light and heat. True love is what stars are made of.” The bartender smiled at that.

  “That’s beautiful, man. Oughta write it down somewhere.”

  The man looked sincere, but John wasn’t finished. “What are black holes made from, then?” he inquired, and the man said that he didn’t know. “Black holes are left when one of them dies. You don’t meet your loved ones after death. Instead, you get trapped, crying and alone. People cry and try to pull everything around them in, hoping to get something back. But they never do. Eventually they forget why they’re sad, why they burned in the first place, and only the heartbreak remains. Black holes are made up of sad dead people, wishing they’d never loved at all.” A moment of silence passed, then two.

  “Jesus Christ, guy... Are you okay?” The man looked truly worried, and scratched at his beard.

  John didn’t answer, and eventually the man shuffled away, leaving him to his glass. Alone, he murmured, “The worst thing is becoming a black hole while you’re still alive...”

  Maybe he should quit drinking, if he even could. Tomorrow, perhaps. John decided that this drink was going to be his last, so he should enjoy it.

  He could think of it as the last of many merry times.

  Story 14

  Paul had always worked in the factory.

  It was simple as that. Most children grew up to work in the factory. Their little town had other things to offer, but Mr Willem’s factory was the largest employer by far. Every morning Paul would come early, about an hour before birds rubbed the sleep off their eyes and stretched their wings. He would meet up with friends and their group of co-workers would have a manly breakfast together. Salina, god bless her, would make him sandwiches just before going to bed each night. He woke up too early to have breakfast with his wife and regretted it deeply. Still, friends were the next best thing.

  This day, when Mark and Peter (who happened to be simultaneously the most talkative and slowest eaters of their particular team) were done with their meals, the six men went to their stations and started work promptly. They were supposed to take up iron and shape it using grinders. It was monotone work and allowed the men to get absorbed in their own thoughts for a while.

  “Do anything special without me?” asked Nate about fifteen minutes into it, and Paul smiled. Of course, Nate was talking about their after work activities. Thursdays were for guy’s nights, and last time Nate, a burly man, had gone straight home due to a sore throat.

  “Nothing much,” Paul retorted for the sake of politeness, and then proceeded to tell his still hoarse sounding friend about the particulars of their evening. This he did while working enthusiastically, because they all worked in Mr Willem’s factory.

  Mr Willem was a man who put his employees before optimization. Production schemes were ordered in a wheel which rotated every hour or so, just to keep the job from getting too monotone for his workers. Worksmen would spend an hour, for example, screwing on a particular leg, and then be switched onto another piece entirely for the next hour. Interestingly, production never really fell because interest stayed high for most of the day as workmen, crafts oriented creatures by all accounts, tried to wrap their heads around new and interesting designs. These varied heavily, because Mr Willem’s factory was one that produced metal tables, and some pieces got quite ornate whilst others were standard.

  This particular design, thought Paul, was quite fascinating. The way the metal legs curved meant that it should be rather rare for the tabletop to be straight, but due to the sheer number of parts a balance was achieved. There would always be more than three pieces of curved circular metal to place things upon. In a way, it was like an ordered mesh. He wondered what Salina would think of it.

  At that moment a high pitched horn rang, signalling lunch time. Workers here and there cheered, yet kept working on whatever they had on their hands, just so they don’t need to leave anything unfinished, forget where they were, and become confused after the break.

  Conveyer belts stuttered to a halt, and the group of six went to what they all affectionately called the killing field. As they went Phil, a natural born comedian, did that trick of his where he made his stomach growl on command. Phil was funny in part due to the contrast between his sad face and between his jovial demeanour.

  At the act the group laughed and Phil’s constant companion, whom everyone dubbed Noisy, smiled with appreciation. No one really knew if Noisy was capable of speech or not, but he was good enough company despite his lack of words.

  The mess hall was as merry as usual, Paul noted when they went in. This place was called the killing field for three reasons, he had been told when he had first come here. “First, the food is to die for,” Grant Mathews had said to a twenty years younger Paul, raising a solitary finger to command attention. “Second, we kill the food. Third, we eat so much that we wish we were dead. As long as these three rules apply, you’re going to have a good time in the killing field, kid.” Grant had occupied Paul’s own position once, but was now long and happily retired. Paul still saw him sometimes at monthly fairs and town hall meetings.

  With lunch decimated and the last of his mashed potatoes safely pocketed in his belly, Paul felt at once motivated to work and yet willing to have the longest nap of his life. Sadly, there were still a few hours to go and so he got his team rustled and back to their stations just before their calling horn sounded. The rest of the day went largely uneventfully, mostly with co-workers from other teams coming over between short breaks
to say hi and have chats. Some had news to share, others had questions about how to get something particularly tricky done. These questions Paul answered as helpfully as he could.

  Compared to some others, he was considered an old timer, and it was also well known that Paul Peters was also naturally good with crafts. In fact, he was so good with his hands that he worked in his garage as a hobby, making small time accessories and simple pieces of furniture, among other things.

  “Hey Mark,” rang a beautiful voice out from behind them, and the two turned over almost simultaneously to greet Grant’s son, Seth. The man was almost able to move the gruff blue collar workers to tears whenever he sang on karaoke night at the Pit or employee events. The black haired young man and Mark had developed a closer relationship, for the two were of similar age and had worked their first few months together.

  The three chatted for a bit about nothing, before Mark and Paul shared a look at the barely concealed giddiness in the third’s face.

  “Spit it out,” Paul chuckled.

  Seth grinned happily, before announcing “Mary’s pregnant!”

  There were a few whoops and hugs and jokes shared about how in a few months the twenty six year old was never going to sleep again before the man admitted his nervousness and willingness to learn as much as he could in order to help out.

  It had gotten easy enough for Paul to hold a proper conversation while working along the years, but not for Mark, for he’d not been in the company anywhere near as long. Paul watched him struggle it in amusement for a while, then urged him to take a short break and speak to Seth properly. Gladly, the Mark and Seth went to the break room, which was slightly odd.

  The two talked in what amounted to a smoking room with a glass panel. A long time ago, when smoking here was legal, inspectors would work from that same room, writing in their little clipboards things that could decide a man’s future

  Paul kept his focus on the piece of art unfolding before his eyes. He was a perfectionist at heart, and in a certain way he felt that every single piece that passed through his hands was owed a debt

  “Paul?” he heard, and was surprised to see that he had gotten drawn into his work a bit too much and had missed the return of his friends. “I’d like to talk to you for a bit...” Seth hesitantly said, and the older man followed him to that same room. Seth locked the aluminium door behind them with a click.

  Paul was bewildered. It was strange to think that there’d be something Seth felt uncomfortable talking to him about in front of the others. Suddenly, the place felt a little bit like an interrogation room due to the glass panel and a table in the middle of the room with two earnest chairs facing each other. All were made of simple dependable metal, of course, and were probably fashioned here as well. Upon the table sat an ashtray with a solitary cigarette perched dangerously on its rim, belching pitiful fits of smoke. Paul didn’t partake himself but didn’t mind the smell.

  “I, uh. Look here, Paul,” started Seth whilst playing with his overall’s buttons nervously. The older man thought things must not be good at all, if his co-worker was this nervous. Was something wrong with his marriage already? Paul knew that Salina and Seth’s wife were extremely close. In fact, Salina had once went so far as to say that it finally felt like she had a little sister. He hoped everything was okay, especially with a baby coming. “I just want to provide for my wife as best as I can... I, I want to know more about the company’s retirement rules.”

  The words fell like a hammer, and it must have showed on Paul’s face, for Seth quickly added. “I know it’s sudden, but... You know I like to sing, and I just got an offer. It’s the real deal. This is what I’ve always wanted to do, man. A man’s gotta try and climb higher, and this is going to make me happy as well as Mary and the baby.” Paul felt stupefied, but he could understand a person wanting to be able to provide for his family better. He was glad at this moment for the fact that they were alone in the room. Paul went to the table and took a seat, trying to order his thought. Nobody had quit the factory in years.

  “Is this thing going to be in town?” he asked, then “Why didn’t you say anything?” Seth looked chastised.

  “It’s just that with the baby and the offer coming all at once, I needed to clear my head a bit. And yes, we will still stay here, it’s not too far and I don’t want to move where neither I nor Mary know anyone.” That, too, Paul could understand. Besides, Seth truly had a wondrous voice. He would surely do well in this new career. If it made him happy, who was anyone to complain?

  “Ahh, it’s all so sudden...” Paul sighed. “Alright, the first thing you need to know is...”