The Contradiction of Solitude

by A. Meredith Walters

  She wanted me to love.

  And love I did. I loved an illusion. I loved a nightmare.

  I’m Here. Always.

  The text had come just as it did every night before. And I felt the comfort in her consistency. The reassurance in her affection.

  But now I was faced with another day. Another lie.

  “Isn’t this the weekend of your brother’s anniversary party?” George’s question came out of nowhere.

  I was working. At least I think that’s what I was doing. I looked down at the wood in my hand and saw nothing. No shape. No idea of the instrument I was supposed to create.

  “What?” I asked, barely hearing him.

  I had come into the shop as I always did. But I talked to no one. I couldn’t. The every day life I had painstakingly created for myself was quickly becoming not enough.

  Not when my head was elsewhere.

  “Don’t leave, Amelia. Don’t go with him,” I begged, trying to reach for her. I could see the star on his arm. It burned brighter than the sun.

  I knew that when she left, she’d never come home again.

  That this time was different.

  George frowned. “Your brother. His ten-year wedding anniversary. You put in for the time months ago. Did the plans change? Are you not going anymore?”

  Plans I had made months ago were completely insignificant now. It seemed ridiculous to continue to live this life of no substance.

  What was the point?

  What was the purpose?

  It wasn’t real. No matter how easily I played the part. Who cared if people thought I had a brother? And happily married parents? And a childhood spent delivering newspapers and playing high school football?

  Who was Elian Beyer?

  He was nobody.

  “Uh. I’m not sure.” I was fumbling. I was hesitant. My stories couldn’t keep up with the fallacy.

  I got to my feet, grabbing my almost empty pack of cigarettes. “I need a smoke.” George’s frown deepened. Tate was watching but pretending like he wasn’t. I stared him down, letting him know that I saw. Stan and Nathan stayed busy, heads down.

  Margie never bothered to look my way anymore.

  It was just as well.

  Their opinion was no longer something I cared about.

  I didn’t care.

  “Well, just let me know by the end of the day. If you’re not going away, I could use you in the shop,” George said but I had already started walking away. Outside. Away.

  No one followed. No one joined me.

  I was alone.

  I lit my cigarette and walked down the narrow alleyway towards the front of the building. I stood on the sidewalk, staring across the street toward The Lion and the Rose Bookshop. I knew she was inside. Somewhere.

  I knew her schedule. Had it memorized. Her whereabouts weren’t a mystery.

  But everything else was.

  I had spent years looking for that indescribable thing that would make all the pain worth it. I had thought living my version of a normal life was it.

  It really wasn’t.

  Was it Layna?

  I knew the answer deep inside.

  Of course it was.

  I thought I had been trying to forget. Perhaps I was only trying to remember. Being with Layna made it easy to recall the things I had shoved deep, deep down. Into the darkest recesses. Into the shadows.

  “Hold my hands, Elian. I’m going to spin you around,” Amelia laughed, linking fingers. Pulling me to my feet.

  I was just a boy but I knew what love felt like.

  It was this.

  My sister.

  “Ring around the rosy. A pocket full of posies.”

  “Ashes. Ashes. We all fall…”

  “Down!” Amelia cried, yanking on my hands. We crashed. We toppled. We fell.

  Into a heap on the ground. Laughing. Singing.

  Together.

  “Elian, dude, can I talk to you for a minute?” Tate walked down the alleyway towards me and pulled a cigar out of his front pocket.

  I turned back to look across the street. Towards Layna. Towards the monster that called to me.

  “Again, Amelia! Again!” I squealed. My tired, seven year old arms held out for her to take.

  “Ring around the rosy. A pocket full of posies…”

  Sun. Cloudless skies. Young and true.

  I smiled. Full of honesty.

  Simple memories making me shine.

  “We’re worried about you, man,” Tate said, sucking on his cigar. The brown tobacco leaves wet with his saliva.

  “You’re worried,” I said dully, pulling on the cigarette. Smoking to the filter.

  “Yeah, you’ve been completely AWOL for weeks. You never come by anymore. When you’re here, you don’t talk to anyone. What’s up? I know I can be a bit of a dickhead, but you can talk to me, man. We’re friends.”

  Friends.

  Lies.

  “Sure,” I muttered, the cigarette still smoldered but the smoke was gone.

  “Is it Layna? Are you two having problems?” Tate asked.

  Problems?

  All we had were problems.

  “I’m going away, Elian. I’m leaving and never coming back.”

  I stared at my sister and saw a stranger. I didn’t know this girl with her angry face and hateful words.

  I had lost her a long time ago.

  “Then leave, Amelia. Just stop making everyone miserable,” I yelled. Not caring. I didn’t care at all. I was twelve. Time together was infinite. Ending wasn’t possible.

  Amelia looked shocked. Her eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away. Smearing them on her fingertips. Crushing them dead.

  “Fine, I will! He’s promised me a new life! A better one! He’s going to make me a star!” she screeched, and I just wanted her to stop.

  Ring around a rosy…

  We weren’t children anymore. Our pockets weren’t full of posies.

  “Don’t talk about her,” I warned. Meaning it. I hated the sound of Layna’s name on his lips.

  “That’s what I’m saying, dude. You’re—weird—about her. I’ve never seen you like this before. And I’ve known you for a long time.”

  No he hadn’t. He hadn’t known me nearly long enough.

  “You don’t know me at all, Tate,” I said, being the most honest I had ever been with him.

  Tate looked stricken. Like he didn’t know what to say. I should feel bad. I should feel horrible. And I knew the guilt would come.

  It always did. I felt it for a thousand different things. Some more deserving than others.

  And I didn’t want to hurt the people I had called friends.

  “I’m his daughter. He’s my father. We are one and the same.” Layna’s eyes, sad and resigned.

  Father. Daughter. The same.

  They weren’t. I knew that. I could see how much she didn’t want that to be true.

  The star. Burning in my mind. The last time that I saw Amelia.

  The first time that I saw Layna.

  “Elian? Are you listening?”

  “Huh?” I blinked. Back to the present. Back to the now.

  “I asked if you wanted to come over to watch the game tonight. Just the gang. I think it would be good for you,” Tate dropped the cigar on the ground. It smoked and charred.

  “He’s my father, Elian.”

  “You don’t know what the hell is good for me. Don’t pretend to,” I snarled. Suddenly angry.

  I couldn’t deal.

  I couldn’t handle any of this.

  I needed to run.

  To her.

  Tate held his hands up. Backing off instantly. I knew in that moment that our friendship was over. This was his last entreaty. His last effort made.

  I felt the pinch of regret. Small. But there all the same.

  My head hummed, and my heart was full.

  Of other things.

  I walked away.

  Away from Elian Beyer.
/>   Towards Elian James.

  “Her name was Amelia. Amelia James.”

  “James?” I asked. I wondered.

  I already knew.

  “That’s her last name. My last name.”

  Elian worked at his bottom lip with his teeth. They were cracked open. Painful. Stretched too thin.

  He was a wreck. An emotional catastrophe. The laid back, easygoing man I met at Denny’s was gone.

  His mask had finally broken.

  Slivers and jagged edges.

  He was only the truth.

  The bitter, bitter truth.

  It was good to see.

  Inside I sang.

  “Your last name isn’t Beyer,” I stated. I didn’t ask. I didn’t have to.

  I knew.

  Elian had his hand wrapped around my wrist. He didn’t pull me closer. He didn’t kiss or cuddle. But his iron grip never weakened. He held me as though I were going to run.

  Or he was.

  As if I’d let him.

  Being at Elian’s house by the quarry had become something akin to sanctuary. The solitude was at times unbearable.

  At others it was euphoric.

  The contradiction.

  The sun was setting and night had begun its descent. Elian didn’t turn on any lights. We sat on his couch in the gloom. The silent, silent world holding its breath and waiting.

  Waiting.

  “My name was never Elian Beyer. He was an invention. One I created because I couldn’t stomach the person tied to a past. I was trying really hard to forget him.” His confession was expected.

  “You trust me with your name.” I was quiet. Oh so quiet.

  Elian, his green eyes no longer dancing, but hooded and dark, stared at me with the burning of a man half gone.

  “I’m not sure I should,” he said, breathlessly. Honestly.

  “I’m not sure you should either.” Just as breathlessly. Just as honestly.

  Elian’s finger dug into my skin. Clawing. Restraining. “I want to trust you, Layna. I want you to take everything. But what will you do when I give it to you?” He looked confused. Crazed. Almost out of control. His light brown hair stuck out on all sides as though he had been running his fingers through it mercilessly.

  He hadn’t been sleeping. I knew this for fact.

  Since our talk that night I had smashed the window, we had been sharing a bed. We fell asleep together. We woke up together. Hands holding, locked tight. Never letting go.

  Trapping each other in our confining arms.

  And he tossed and turned. Often sitting up until the early hours of the morning. He chased his ghosts while I slept soundly, peacefully embracing mine.

  I closed the space between us. I brought my wrist, trapped between his fingers, to my chest so that I cradled both of our hands. “I’ll take what you give me and I’ll tuck it in here. Inside. I promise, Elian.”

  My promises meant nothing. They were only words. Words easily cracked.

  Elian let go of my arm and wrapped himself around me. Touching. Always touching. As though he couldn’t stand the air having more contact with my skin than he did.

  He embraced. He enveloped. I was squeezed and contained.

  His.

  His.

  “Amelia and Elian James,” he whispered into my hair and I smelled him. I drank him in. His pain. His misery. His open vulnerability.

  “Amelia and Elian James,” I murmured, my cheek pressed against his chest. His heart thudding beneath my ear.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  “I saw him, you know.”

  I pulled back and looked up at my anguished man. My brows knitted together in question.

  “You saw who?”

  I knew.

  I knew.

  “Your father. My sister’s killer.”

  I couldn’t inhale. Exhale. My stomach cramped and I felt ill. “You saw him?”

  Elian dug his hands into my hair and tugged as he dragged them through the long, long strands. I winced. The sharp bite of hair pulled from scalp making my eyes water.

  “She ran from the house. She was so angry all the time. She fought with my parents constantly. She stopped being nice to me. I thought she was just being a bitch. I told her to leave. To never come back.” He choked and heaved. He shuddered and sobbed.

  I held him. I took his tears for my own.

  “I chased after her. I wanted to make it right. I wanted to tell her that I was sorry. I didn’t want her to leave. I had a bad feeling…”

  His body shook and I felt the wetness in my hair. I couldn’t look at him. His story was mine. We were linked in a way too horrible. A perfect, beautiful bond that would never be broken.

  Because of my father.

  Because of him.

  He had given me so much.

  He had taken almost everything.

  “I’m sorry,” I rasped, my throat felt tight. Hard to breathe.

  “Don’t apologize for him! Don’t you ever, ever apologize for that monster!”

  Slit throats. Severed hands. Blood. Blood. Everywhere.

  The buzzing. Filling my ears.

  Buzz…

  “And then they found her,” I finished for him.

  “And then they found her,” Elian said.

  No words. Just breathing. Just beating hearts. Empty. Fully. Thump. Thump. Thud.

  Amelia James.

  I let Elian hold me as close as he wanted to. As close as he needed to. Pulling me in. Keeping me safe. Away from the monster.

  The monster was already here.

  I slowly, ever so slowly, tiptoed fingers up the back of his shirt. Touching skin. Branding flesh. Pushing hard. Piercing low. Up and over the star.

  The colorful, despicable star that we shared.

  He shivered beneath my touch. Flinching. Recoiling. Then leaning closer. Not close enough.

  “They brought her home to Pennsylvania. My father had to go to the morgue to identify her body. He didn’t recognize her face. The animals had gotten to her. He only knew it was Amelia by the bracelet she wore. A piece of guitar string with a silver pick engraved with her name. I had given it to her just the year before.”

  He stopped. Then he started. Sentences. Words. Flowing free.

  “I didn’t leave home right away. I felt like I was stuck in purgatory for years. But then my dad died, and I just couldn’t—”

  He stopped. Teetering. Windmill arms. Trying to stay upright.

  He shook. He was falling. Head over feet. Not in love. But in hate. With the blood that ran through my veins.

  “I have a new story to tell you. Do you want to hear it?” He ran his fingers through my hair and I closed my eyes. Daddy had been gone a really long time. Almost three weeks.

  He came home after Matty and I had gone to bed, but I heard Mommy yelling. She never yelled at him. But she was this time. Shrill. Loud. Not even trying to be quiet.

  I got up and crept to the top of the stairs and listened. I wanted to scream at her to stop. She had no right to yell at Daddy! I hated her!

  She was crying. Wanting to know where he had been. Why he hadn’t called. She thought something had happened to him.

  Then there was a loud crack, and I gasped, covering my mouth. A small squeak and I was heard.

  “Layna, what are you doing up?” And there he was. My father. His cheek was red, the shape of a handprint, but he smiled.

  His secret, wonderful smile that was just for me.

  Only for me.

  Not for Mommy. Or Matty.

  For Layna and Daddy.

  Our smiles.

  Our secrets.

  Our stories.

  “Yes, Daddy. I want to hear it,” I said softly, feeling myself sinking into sleep. Daddy was home. I was glad.

  “There was a special young girl. She had love in her heart and dreams in her eyes. She had a family that cared but not enough. Not enough to keep her safe. They were more concerned with their own dreams. There own lives. They didn’t see her
slowly fading away.”

  “That’s so sad, Daddy.” My bottom lip quivered.

  My dad kissed the top of my head and chuckled into my hair. “Is it, Layna? Do you really think that’s sad? Don’t you think it’s wonderful that because her family ignored her, she was able to find something better? Something greater? She became a star, Layna. And that’s the greatest thing a girl like her could be.”

  “Can I be a star one day, Daddy?”

  My father stilled, his hand falling away from my hair.

  “Never, Layna. You will never be a star.” He sounded angry. Furious even. I started to cry. Why was he being so mean? Why had he stopped hugging me? Why couldn’t I be one of his stars? Was I not special like Jessica? Or Stella? Or Elizabeth? Did he love them more?

  He saw me crying and he kissed my forehead, pulling me tight. Holding me close.

  “You’re better than a star, Lay. You’re like me. You make the stories. Those stars will one day belong to you.”

  I smiled, feeling better.

  “Now let me tell you about Amelia…”

  “I spent three years half alive. Half dead. Living in that house where nobody spoke and just silently waited to end it all. My dad was the one who got away first. A heart attack the doctors said. I didn’t believe them. I knew better. He just couldn’t live in a world where Amelia was gone, but the man who took her away was still alive…”

  Elian’s voice carried off into the dark.

  The man who took her away was still alive.

  Still alive.

  I pulled back and looked up at Elian. Sweet, foolish Elian, who loved me irrationally. I ran my fingers along his neck. Over raised, rigid skin.

  “What happened?” I asked. No need to explain.

  Elian dropped his hands. He let me go.

  “Tell me,” I begged. Tell me.

  “I did it to myself,” he said quickly. Hurriedly. Spitting the words out before they could shred him.

  “Tell me,” I repeated. Encouraging. Trying to placate and soothe.

  Elian stood up and walked to the window. His back to me, his eyes searching, searching. Out into the night. Scratches at the window. We weren’t alone. Memories became tangible things seeking us out.

  “I hadn’t been away from home long. I had just turned sixteen and was living in New York City. Sleeping on a park bench, stealing food out of trashcans. All I could think about was Amelia. It had been almost four years but she was still everywhere.” He sounded agitated. Wild.