A Compendium For The Broken Hearted

by Meredith Miller

  *

  “Where are you going?” asked Eve sharply, her head poking out from the kitchen’s doorway. A shortish fifteen year old let out a frustrated sigh before turning around and looking at her, eyes already mid roll.

  “Movies, mom!” she said in apparent annoyance.

  That was close, the girl had actually been close to sneaking out of the house successfully. Her daughter was getting far too rebellious for her own good, Eve understood.

  She needed to be put in her place in this safe environment, lest something far worse happen to her down the line. Having been a lawyer for close to sixteen years now, the single mother had learned well enough how to think fast on her feet. She did so now, stirring pasta sauce all the while as she asked, “Who are you going to the movies with? What are you going to see?” A pause, then for good measure, “When is it?”

  Kathy sighed, knowing that something unpleasant was going to happen, yet not sure what. The girl skulked off in her brown sweater to a nearby couch, facing away from both the door and her mother.

  She rattled off the names and one made Eve frown. Was her little girl still friends with that one, after coming home crying one day because of her? The by now almost forty year old tried to think up a reason why her daughter couldn’t go. It took her a second, but then she said, “No, you can’t go.”

  Naturally, Kathy was outraged and wanted to make a fight out of it. Eve could tell how strongly the girl wanted to go out this day. They argued back and forth from different rooms, her in her kitchen smelling mainly of ready bought sauces and beans, Kathy from the living room with its simple furnishing.

  Both woman and girl allowed their voices to grow steadily louder until they were a few words away from bellowing at each other. At the end of it, Kathy complained that her mother never let her do anything. She felt more like a bird than a human being, she explained.

  In retort, Eve exclaimed suddenly, “No! I said you can’t go! I’ve spoken to your teachers, and ever since you started to befriend these girls your grades have been falling! Don’t you want to be successful? And that one called Sarah, isn’t she the one whose birthday you went to and came back crying from?”

  Kathy went silent, the wind taken out of her sails. She sat back down and in turn Eve went to her from the kitchen, ignoring her now slightly burning sauce. This beautiful tweeting bird, shoulders looking small and frail with pent up anger coiled about glass shards of hurt, was the most precious thing that had ever existed. She could not allow her to be hurt or abused as she herself had been. Thus, she needed to be clear with her, and dinner be damned.

  Eve took her daughter’s warm cheeks in her hands and kissed her forehead, then hugged her tight. “Sweetheart,” she whispered softly. She had rarely known her advice to come this tenderly. “My poor poor girl, you are the sweetest person in the world. You are kind and sure and deserve the best...” for a second the scene before her changed and Kathy disappeared. If only the best existed. Eve’s voice went hard. “There are very few people like you in this world, my sweet bird. You will fly free soon enough, once you’re ready. You’ll go far and wide and you’ll see-“ that I’m the only one who will care about you.

  “These girls, especially Sarah, they’re only inviting you this late because they want something from you. She refused your gift at that party because she knew what I do for a living. Aren’t you always buying the popcorn and things for them when you go out together? You said it once. One extra big bowl for all of you.”

  Kathy began to protest weakly. “Yeah, but that was-“

  “Inexcusable. They just want your money, sweetheart. If it wasn’t for that, they wouldn’t have invited you.” At that, her daughter looked as if she had been slapped. “You don’t believe me? Call and say you can go, but that you don’t have any cash. Or you can go to your room. It’s your choice.”

  Meekly, defeated completely, Kathy went to her room. She almost bumped into the corridor wall as she turned left on her way back. These arguments happened quite often and almost always ended with the younger one’s defeat.

  Eve felt sad for her little one, being so unable to face the truth. She wondered how she could cheer her up. Perhaps a little surprise dessert would do the trick. That needed a trip to the supermarket. Eve wondered if they had any of Kathy’s favourite cherry pie today.

  Suddenly, her phone rang. It was her boss, informing her she was in charge of choosing somebody out for an important case. She sighed after hanging up. This was the hard part of her job, trying to sift through all those people wanting to get closer to her just for things like these. It was one of the headaches she only learned of after leaving that environmental nonsense and joining a proper law firm.

  The next day at work was anything but pleasant. Apparently word had gotten out early that she was the one in charge of choosing someone for the case, and Eve could feel the heavy weight of expectation attached to each person she spoke to. It was a thread of pure steel woven into their words.

  Paul thought he deserved the job due to his long years of service. If it were about seniority, he whispered, he earned it. Perhaps he could let go of some particularly good jobs he was currently working on just to leave space on his plate for this.

  Jane whispered over coffee, eyes moist, that her relationship with her husband wasn’t going so well. Perhaps the move would do both of them good.

  One overeager yet promising intern even went so far as to brag that his grandmother came from that particular rural town, and hinted that such things could sometimes make a big difference in earning a client’s trust.

  It was all a headache to deal with, and Eve was already almost certain of who she was going to choose for the job. It didn’t particularly matter that Sam hadn’t applied for it, he was the most qualified. So she filed the paperwork from her spacious and well-furnished office late the next week. Here, comfort was key: even her office chair was designed to allow long hours of sitting without causing any back pain at all.

  Eve practically called this office her second home, and it was primarily what afforded her the opportunity to give Kathy the best life she could. There was not a thing the girl went without if Eve could help it.

  Financially successful women could be recognized from a hundred meters away, apparently. It was ridiculous, the lengths to which beggars went to grovel at her feet. In disgust, Eve pulled her trench coat tighter around her to better repel the rain and made her way around them, ignoring each one.

  She hardly even looked at them now. They were probably going to meet up later, each street with its gang of beggars drinking the night away, laughing about how many people they’d fooled out of their hard earned cash. Well, she was no fool.

  Eve went home as usual and had another argument with Kathy, this time about a boy who was supposed to come over and study. Eve completely forbade it unless she was present in the house and they studied in the living room. The only reason she’d agreed at all was because this particular paired study system was something one of Kathy’s teachers had told her about. To top it all off, her daughter said in quiet tones, “Sarah and the others aren’t talking to me anymore.”

  “Good, best to cut the bad fruit away.”

  A week after that, Eve received a call at her office. Sam was reluctant to take the job, despite better pay and all the other added benefits. Whoever it was on the other end of the line was halfway through explaining Sam’s reasoning when Eve started yelling.

  She explained reasonably, if in a heated manner, that Sam was her choice for multiple reasons and that in this company, people needed to be able to take risks if they wanted to make it. Then she hung up after being told that yes, of course Mister Shou was going to take the job and no, she wouldn’t need to be bothered again on his behalf. She got off the phone, rubbed her throbbing temple absentmindedly, and for the first time in forever thought about how long it had been since the last time she drew anything.

  There were pens and papers everywhere, but Eve doubted she could do
it anymore. Besides, there was hardly anything worth drawing. Luckily she had a treadmill in her office, and so could take care of stress in no time. That day the sun shined, although beggars prowled through street after street relentlessly.

  Next week, on a Tuesday, Eve came back home far later than usual, takeout in hand. Their large apartment door was locked, of course, but she was surprised to find a dark living room.

  “Kathy?” she called softly into the unlit space, searching about for the light switch. After a bit of searching she found it, for she was rarely home and Kathy turned the light on here every evening. Yet she did not reply to her mother’s call this time. Maybe she’s already asleep.

  Eve went to her daughter’s room right away and found it empty. The room was neat, the only thing on her desk was a small inconsequential notebook, which turned out to be a diary. I didn’t know she kept one, thought Eve absentmindedly. She was more preoccupied with her daughter’s whereabouts than anything else. She tried calling her a few times but nobody picked up. The school administration answered, but the secretary said that they really didn’t keep tabs on where children went after leaving school.

  Not an hour passed before she called the police. A useless man with a fat sounding name picked up. Jim’s voice was all nose, and his attempts to calm her down hardly worked at all. In the end, he firmly toll her that you can’t say your kid is missing an HOUR after not finding them at home. It was a waste of resources. “Teenagers were like that,” he said. He was sure “Catie” would be back in no time.

  At first the buffoon had thought she had been talking about a cat, so breathless with fright she was. What kind of person calls the police over a cat anyways?

  She had hung up and spent her time worrying, devising punishments for when Kathy came back. Then she worried some more, her mind conjuring the most horrible situations for her innocent little tweety bird to get caught up in.

  The city streets were no place for a teenager, especially not at this time. And her daughter had never done anything like this. What if she had been kidnapped, or worse? Eve slept in Kathy’s room.

  The next day, having slept a total of five minutes and tried her daughter’s phone (which by now was dead) at least a dozen times more, Eve called the police again.

  This time they thankfully took her crying complaints far more seriously, and had people over within the hour, although they were still there mostly for a statement and to calm her down. Then when the school had confirmed that Kathy hadn’t shown up, more police officers came.

  A detective looking person took charge and asked her many questions. She told him all she knew, gave him pictures, tried her best to piece together memories. It all seemed in vain somehow.

  While she waited (and the police did their job looking) Eve did her own little bit of searching around. The city was too big and too full of people for her to be successful, but the mother still hoped that a glimpse would come to her rescue. A glimpse was all she needed, born of destiny or mother’s instinct or anything at all.

  When she had looked until she’d become exhausted her two police companions took her home. There she went to her room and found that notebook again. She must have been so flustered she’d taken it with her in there, as she was pacing. There it lay on her bed, pink and with a golden lock, left sprung open. She took to it.

  The lines were neat and smartly written. Each entry was titled, “Dear little birdy”, and detailed Kathy’s days rather well. On some pages cages were drawn. Those pages were the ones where Kathy spoke of her arguments with Eve, and although they were mostly about little nothings every single sentence Eve had said was quoted.

  Reading them, the mother could hardly believe that she’d uttered such horrible things. It was shocking. It was always about keeping her safe from everybody else in the world, wasn’t it? When had she herself turned into her daughter’s enemy? I always thought she would understand in time. It was the best for her. The words were never meant to hurt...

  Eve turned to the last page. “Dear little birdy,” it stated simply, “Today I’m going to break free. She’ll never find me.”

  There, that was it. The simple and harsh truth of it.

  At that instant, her phone rang. It was work. She answered, feeling quite numb. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Ma’am.” The person checked that he had the right number first. “I’m calling from HQ. You weren’t in your office today so... We’re with employee satisfaction. It seems a mister... Sam Shou. Yeah that’s it.”

  “Yes?” It really wasn’t time for this, but she sensed a certain gravity from the voice.

  “He, well. Apparently you pushed him into taking on a job, threatened to fire him if he didn’t move for it, despite his family issues. His frail mother apparently fell down the stairs yesterday. Broke her neck, the poor thing. He just quit, says he’s going to sue...” The rest of it was left in the air like a cloud of poison. As she felt now, Eve thought it might as well have been.

  “That... I didn’t know,” she said, the words sounding hollow. She hadn’t asked. Her breath almost caught. “Well, look, my daughter is missing so this really isn’t the best time for this. I need to be with the police right now.”

  It was a man on the other side of the line, one with a deep southern accent. His calm businesslike manner disappeared for an instant, but he got it back together. “Jesus, I, uh, I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am. Nobody at your department told me, or one of your closer friends at work.”

  “I don’t have any.” Even to herself, her voice sounded hurt and alone.

  Eve wondered if she was cursed or something.

  Story 20:

  Mark Sinek hated animals above all else.

  Actually, that might be a bit much. It was much more apt to say that Mark, who was pushing thirty, was a grumpy man in general. This grumpiness reached its upper limits when he saw animals, and he often wished that people would just stop it with the “cute animal” thing. It wasn’t fair to treat some creatures better just because of how they looked, and it infuriated him to see activists write something like “Animals are better than people.”

  He told this to Jessica, as they sat together for lunch. Jessica had skin thick enough to make armour out of, and thus chuckled.

  “I’m serious. There’s no future for a planet full of idiots preoccupied with things being cute,” He exclaimed in disgust. Jessica, who was dressed in clothes ritzy enough to warrant attention but professional in that a second glance was enough, pulled her phone back a bit towards her on the table. Her reddish hair was up in a bun, and Mark wondered if she actually needed glasses or just wore them to appear like less like an object of attention.

  Some people craved attention, but not her. It was one of the things that made her his friend. She feigned a confused look, but Mark knew that deep in her heart, her eyes were rolling fit to impress a mud wrestler.

  “Is that, um-”

  “What?”

  “- a no on seeing another picture of Prince Maximilian The Second?”

  “Jessica...”

  “Yes, my dearest and most true friend in the whole wide world?”

  A sigh escaped him, and she looked at him with puppy eyes, which annoyed him even more. “...Show me the damn dog,” he relented, and she whooped, knowing full well he hated that as well. Whooping was the female equivalent to wolf whistling, as far as he was concerned.

  Instantly Jessica’s phone was up again and an image looked him right in the face.

  The dog was black, big, and mean looking. It was also dressed in a pink tutu, and looked as if it was itching to get out of it. PMTS was, in Mark’s eyes, better served being called something like the undertaker, or Grog. Still, he nodded along as Jessica told him some trivia about the dog, because at the end of the day she was his friend and knew exactly what he thought without needing him to hammer the point in.

  In a few minutes, the conversation went to other topics, and they eventually had an extremely interesting discussion abou
t the particulars of equalizing pay between genders. Of course, no real solutions were reached, because neither Jessica nor her slightly pot bellied friend were in a position to change anything at all.

  Still, it was a nice lunch, and Mark told Jessica for perhaps the umpteenth time to stop ordering chicken salads every day. She laughed.

  “Sure thing, pops,” she teased him as they went their separate ways.

  Mark lived close to the river, and so he would walk along it to go home. As he went that day, a jogger gave him a smile, which he returned politely. When he noticed her looking more intently, however, the admittedly quite handsome man steeled his gaze and cast it straight ahead. Flirting wasn’t really his thing, but to each his own. There have to be people who found someone truly special through flirting.

  The thought didn’t stay on his mind for long, and his attention returned to the river and trees. It was summer, which admittedly wasn’t that warm in his city, but sunshine had a way of making nature seem even more beautiful than usual.

  A big breath of pure relaxation escaped him as he took in sights and smells and sounds. If he just let his mind drift for a bit, Mark felt he could just walk out of the city and into the surrounding forest, where he often hiked with friends.

  As he neared his apartment, the man turned left, leaving the flowing river behind. Mark Sinek would have liked to sit on a bench and relax, for he was somehow done with work early and the hotel wasn’t going to need him today.

  Still, there were times to reflect on nature, and then there were times to relax at home and do absolutely nothing. Mark was an accountant and enjoyed his job immensely, but he thought now was one of those times.

  As he neared the renovated building, Mark wished for nothing more than a solid few hours of sleep, followed by a few hours of a series. Maybe he would even work out for once, and get rid of that budding belly of his. Then he glimpsed something small and grey by the doorway and stopped dead in his tracks.

  It was small and frail, and tried its best to get up that single step to the door. It turned around to look at him, and they eyed each other for a bit.

  “Nyan,” it stated in expectation. Mark could have sworn its eyes grew bigger.

  His face went sour, and his mind ran through the possibilities. Tiny cats, he was told, must not be touched, lest they be abandoned by their parents. He might not like the animal, but there was no reason to doom it.

  The idiot would probably brush by his feet as he tried to get in, and that was enough for his scent to stick. He looked down at his work pants, complete with brown shoes. Were they fresh, or had he worn them earlier that week?

  “Cats don’t nyan, they meow,” he told the thing. Would his smell stick if he kicked it across the street? The image made him chuckle.

  “Meow,” replied the cat. Smartass.

  Mark scratched at his neatly trimmed beard. “Gotta do better than that. Try saying woof.”

  “...Nyan?”

  Mark laughed before he could catch himself. “See? I knew you didn’t have it in you. Now shoo.” He pointed towards a nearby trash bin. The kitten followed his finger with its gaze, but stayed firmly in place, blocking his way to sweet sleep.

  The accountant tried his best to get the damned thing to move, first with goading, then using threats, but to no avail. This is why it annoyed him when people said cats were smart, this one could probably try and fight a can of tuna just because of the fish on the label.

  That gave him an idea, and Mark pulled his pen out. With a cooing noise, he tossed the pen unto the floor next to the step. The kitten looked at it, then moved. It got up and after a few confused attempts, managed to get down the step. It padded in what Mark was sure it thought was a majestic manner, in order to inspect this strange new inky opponent.

  Taking the chance, the accountant scrambled towards the door, got inside, then shut it behind him before his stalker could get at him. There he stood, with his back against the door, panting. Fifteen minutes, it had taken him. He mumbled angrily all the way up the elevator to the eighth floor, where his apartment sat waiting for him like an old friend at the train station.

  Mark had a nice place, boasting many comfortable sofas set around a TV (Sofas were the only type of chair he acknowledged), a nice kitchen in the living room with one of those table cupboard things (or were they counters?) built right into the pale brown wooden flooring, as well as a precarious spiral set of stairs in the middle, curling around a pillar and taking him to his bedroom. Why a single man needed all that, Mark didn’t know. He did, however, know that he was glad to be living here.

  Everything was wood, and it gave him a sense of relaxation at being this close to something natural. He imagined that if one of his ancient ancestors saw this place, he’d be horrified at what was done to the trees. People back then saw nature differently.

  Just as expected, Mark didn’t sleep. Instead, he watched so many episodes of a series that it made him feel guilty. I should work out, he thought to himself. Somehow, he actually got motivated as he reflected on how much of an imprint he’d made on the white sofa, and did a few sit ups and push ups. When that was done, he decided to go for a jog by the river.

  It was getting dark, but that would give him more peace to think. Besides, it would be a full moon. Just a couple of kilometres, he thought as the main character on TV said something cheery. He didn’t like her, but the other characters were pretty fun.

  Thus Mark dressed in his jogging clothes, which had not seen much use and were slightly tight against his stomach. Strange how you could gain weight in one spot, he reflected. The rest of him was still thin, but that belly had to go.

  Mark made his way down in a grey sweater and pants, matching his shoes of course. He often liked to mismatch socks on purpose, mainly for shock value, and today he had on a red sock on the right foot and a blue on the other.

  As he went down the stairs instead of the elevator (and almost regretted it by the third floor) he hummed to himself. Completely innocently, he opened the front door, took a breath of crisp night air, strode forward- and tripped on something small and fluffy.

  “Oh blagh!” he exclaimed as he rolled on the pavement.

  “Nyan!” replied the kitten, and Mark rose slowly to his feet. He cursed at it, and it meowed again. Then he thought about whether it was injured. It didn’t look like it was hurt, but it sure looked hungry.

  “Why don’t you just go home, dumb cat?” he demanded of it, and the small grey thing eyed him. Its head turned sideways, as if in thought. Then it licked its paw. Good enough. “It’s your fault, you know,” he added. It shouldn’t have stood there at the doorway. What if poor Mrs Wallstein from apartment seventeen had tripped on it instead of him? It was a miracle that lady was still alive as is, he thought crossly as he went back upstairs and got a bowl of milk for the cat as an apology. “If you see Mrs Wallstein, stay away, you hear?” he told it. He needed to invite the lady over again sometime for dinner, and a death due to tripping over cats would ruin that.

  “Meow,” it replied, and Mark left it there and went for his jog. Of course, he couldn’t concentrate on anything at all, for it occurred to him that since he’d tripped on the cat, it probably couldn’t go to its mother anymore. It was chilly, for summer. What if the thing had to sleep alone in the cold because it smelled like him? Another thought came then. What if it was already all alone?

  Had it been older, Mark wouldn’t have cared. Wild things need to live wild, it could fend for itself, catch rats or something. But this kitten was obviously a baby. It wouldn’t be right...

  When he rode the elevator upstairs, Mark had the grey cat in his arms. He placed it in a corner with some milk and water, upon a few old blankets he didn’t use anymore. “Look,” he told it, “You need to get out tomorrow okay? You can’t get me with cuteness, I’m no idiot. This isn’t going to be a long term thing. No freeloading or dirtying my house, and stay here, on the blanket.” The kitten mewled in agreement, and thin accountant headed
off to bed.

  Next morning, Mark was awakened by the feeling of something spongy and wet touching his nose and eyes multiple times. Bleary eyes saw a cat licking his face. He glared at it, but it looked unconcerned with his ire.

  “That’s it, get out,” he stated suddenly.

  “Meow?” the cat asked in alarm, but Mark Sinek ignored it. The tall man took the cat down the stairs and across his living room, placed it gingerly outside his apartment door, and then shut it behind him. “Meow?” It inquired again, then exclaimed, “Nyan!” in what could have been a pleading tone. The man ignored it, and steeled his will, still leaning against the door. Somebody else was going to pick it up, if he just stayed strong. A cat wasn’t going to take advantage of him. Just stay strong.

  Mark hardly lasted a minute before putting the cat back inside. After work, he got a few extra things for it, such as a litter box and specialized food. The week after that, he finally caved in and gave it a name. Apollo, because of how much he wanted to launch it into outer space.

  The kitten would follow him around at times, then disappear suddenly for a long time. Once he actually thought it had left for good, and after his initial glee he felt as if his apartment was missing something. Then Apollo reappeared, and after hugging it for a bit he told it to stay gone next time.

  Mark grumbled a lot, but having a cat was good for grumbling. He could just blame it for things like the milk going bad, or the neighbours being loud, or the spaghetti getting burnt. It would always look indignant when its owner did that, as if it actually understood and was refuting his every word. At times, it would sit on his lap as he watched TV, or come out to greet him when he came back from work, and he would feel at peace.

  Then one day, his doorbell rang. It was a Sunday, and he was feeling still lazy in his Pyjamas despite it being eleven already. “Yeah?” he asked, a yawn filling his mouth as he tried to speak into the intercom.

  “Open up, it’s Jess!” came a cheery voice. Oh no. Oh god no. Mark’s heart sank like a boat with five holes in it.

  “Just give me a second to tidy up!”

  She laughed, “We’re too close for that, open up!”

  She was right. He buzzed her in. Eight floors. Jessica wouldn’t let him hear the end of it if she caught him with a pet, not after all he’d ever said on the topic.

  Immediately he sprang into action, He hid all the cat things in his room upstairs, then stuffed Apollo (comfortably) into his sock drawer. “Do not make a sound, you hear? I’ll sell you,” he said. He’d gotten better at making the cat listen to him, and it nodded. Mark closed the drawer, leaving a crack for his new flatmate to not panic.

  In seconds Jessica knocked on his door, and he opened as naturally as he could. She had brought a cake with her. “Steven’s out of town for work, and I thought you’d like the company.” She said.

  “Yeah, thanks,” he answered, trying to keep his calm. Was this what his life had devolved into? Hypocrisy?

  They talked for a while, shared some cake, and joked around. She told him how much she missed Steven, and Mark assured her that he’d be back in no time at all. He knew how much she cared for her husband. “I know...” she said miserably, “But I just feel useless without-“

  “Meow.” Stunned silence took over for an instant, and both friends went very still.

  “Mark, what was that?” mouthed Jessica slowly. He could see the shock in her face, and tried feigning ignorance.

  “What was w-“

  “Nyan?”

  “That. What was that, Mark.” Her expression held such an amazed smile that Mark chuckled nervously. It was like Christmas had come early for her. He waited long enough for a cat to purr again. Nothing.

  “I don’t kno-“

  “Nyan!” insisted Apollo.

  “God dammit!” he exclaimed. Jessica went into full investigator mode faster than you could say, “I don’t have a cat”. She listened quietly, heard, then moved a few steps closer to her quarry as Mark trudged along in horror.

  Eventually, she reached the drawer, and opened it. She picked up Apollo and turned, full of glee. “Mark? What’s this?”

  There was no way around it, because just then the cat mewled again.

  Within a month, Mark added another cat to his apartment, because Jessica was worried PMTS would do something to it. That one he called Vacuum, because it sucked. He raised these two cats, and they found a new home with him. More than anything, Mark tolerated them, because he was not one to go all gooey eyed over cute animals. He reminded himself of that every time they licked his face or sat on his lap peacefully as lazy sunlight broke against the window, shattering in a thousand directions. With all the wood and the animals in his apartment, sometimes it felt like he was in a forest.

  It was at those times that Mark had to remind himself that he, in fact, hated animals.

  ###

  Thank you for reading my book! It’s a great honour that you took the time to do so. I hope that you were entertained, and perhaps even felt something. That would be more than I could have ever dreamed of.

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