by Matt Moss
Another meditation. Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth.
Now that, Mr. Aurelius, we can agree on.
The man’s words tug at something deep inside of me. I ponder fate and existence in light of my first conversations with Mr. Whyte. To question the fates, let alone one’s own existence, is kind of mind-blowing. I mean… who am I and why would the universe give a shit about me? I am nothing. But still there’s a voice that calls ever so faint, wanting me to become more. Yearning for me to know the truth.
I feel it calling in the wind, in the green grass on the ground, and in the smell of a pine. As the sun sets and the moon rises, so does the invisible force move. It’s in the ground, in the sky. In the barn, the house, in my friends and in the farmhands.
It’s in me.
For the first time, I’m quiet enough to hear its call.
This isn’t just a self-induced chemical hangover or a moment full of emotion. My mind is clear.
No. It’s deeper than that. For the first time in my life, I feel a purpose. Though I may not know what that purpose is, it calls to me and grips my soul. I was meant to live for so much more. A knowing resolve sets over me — not one that’s made of fear, but one that’s made of certainty. I must find my purpose.
Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them.
I read the last page and the feeling of finishing my first book is amazing. I walk deep in thought on the words of Marcus Aurelius and apply his thoughts to my own. In a way, the world suddenly makes sense. It’s hard to explain, but I need to share my thoughts. I need to talk to Mr. Whyte.
Urgency strikes me while my mind’s sparking ideas, and I begin to run. For the first time in my life, I run free. The wind is flying through my hair and I can barely keep my feet in front of me. It’s my first time running without reason and I feel as happy as a child. I’m loving it. I’m energy in motion.
Surely Mr. Whyte has read the book, too, and wants to discuss the contents with me. We’ll talk like stoics and argue man’s existence, then come to terms that it really doesn’t matter, that our existence is just a fragment in time and passes in the blink of an eye.
The void will always remain and time will always reign.
I fly past the barn.
“Cole, what are you…”
I can’t hear Larry because I’m already gone. Gibbs, Abram, and Donald are on the front porch talking as I jump up the steps.
“Hey, Cole…”
I don’t hear them because I blow through the front door. “Mr. Whyte, we need to talk.” I look beyond the foyer and into the halls, into the living room in search of him. He doesn’t answer my call. I dash into the dining room to find Benji and the girls working in the kitchen.
“Good morning, Cole,” Jane says approaching me, drying a dish with a towel.
“Hi, Jane. Have you seen Mr. Whyte?”
“He’s in the smoking room, last I saw.”
“Thanks.” I sprint away to find Whyte, but my thoughts instantly turn to her. I admit, she has a hold on me. Her smell, her shape, the way she laughs and brushes a lock of hair from her face while cocking her head ever so slightly. I crave everything about her.
Something is off about the hall as I run towards the smoking room. The primeval weapons have been ripped down and removed—holes in the plaster where they once hung. The wall ahead is barren, and a broken vase lie at the end of the hall. I slow to a walk and hesitate before entering the room. “Mr. Whyte?”
He comes into view as I ease around the corner. The room is in shambles; the gun case is shattered and liquor bottles are strewn across the floor. Couches and chairs are turned over, the maps on the walls are ripped and torn.
Mr. Whyte sits on the floor among the wreckage, leaning on one arm, head cast down. Wood burns in the fireplace even though it’s mid-summer, and he faces it, staring into the flames.
“Mr. Whyte.”
“The age of man is over,” he replies without moving and I can’t tell if he’s speaking to the flames or to me.
“I’m sorry about last night, Mr. Whyte. About everything.”
“What a fool I was for believing in something destined for destruction.”
Maybe Gibbs was right. Maybe he is going crazy. I dodge the rubble and make my way into the room. “I read the book. Just like you told me to.”
“The eternal spark extinguished on the hopes of an old man,” he says and laughs madly.
“Are you alright, Mr. Whyte?”
He stands up and turns to me. “Never better,” he says with a smile and twists the cap off a bottle. The half that’s left goes down his throat and he tosses the bottle, dashing it upon the wall, scattering shards of glass. Again he laughs from a seated position and nearly falls over.
I grab hold to steady him. “You’re drunk. Here, let me help you to a chair.”
He flops back and his eyes roll before locking onto mine. “You read the book. Congratulations!” He spits to the side in sarcasm and laughs again.
“Yeah, I read the book.”
“The whole thing?”
“Finished it not long ago.”
His glazed-over eyes narrow, taking me in. “And?”
“Why’d you want me to read it so bad?”
“Because I see something in you that you don’t see in yourself.”
The conviction in his words and the craziness of everything that’s happened… I don’t know how to reply to that. He stumbles and flops back into a chair and continues. “And if you are ready—truly ready—I can reveal things to you that would blow your mind.” His face is flushed and sweating, his hair a mess. Maybe Gibbs was right and he is going crazy.
I see a pistol lying on the ground and put it back on the wall with the others, where it belongs. “I think I’m ready, Mr. Whyte. Though, I don’t know what you see in me.” I just want some damn answers. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I turn to him in earnest. “You can trust me.”
He smiles in assurance. “I know I can.”
Does he even know of the missing guns? Does he know that I have one?
He stands, wobbly. “But I cannot tell you the secrets of the universe in my current state. Come see me tonight when I’ve regained control of my senses.”
“Alright. Is there anything I can get you? Water?”
He waves. “I’ll be fine. Go on about your day.”
I leave him among the wreckage and in his drunken state. But I wonder what secrets he holds and how much he’s willing to reveal. Either way, this is what I’ve been searching for since I’ve been here, and I need some time alone to process everything.
To be honest, I don’t feel like seeing anyone. Not even Jane.
Especially Jane.
I slip out the front door and leave the sounds of her cleaning the dining room while having a conversation with Eve behind.
The guys are still on the front porch. I’d like to slip by them and keep going, but I know that they’ll try to stop me.
“Cole, what’s up?” Donald asks as soon as I’m out the door.
“Yeah, man. What’s gotten into you? Too good to stop and speak to anyone?” Abram says.
I ignore them and put one foot in front of the other.
“He just had a little too much fun last night is all,” Gibbs states. “Hangovers are a bitch. Best leave him alone until he’s back to normal.”
Eat shit, Gibbs.
I feel their cold stares upon my back as I tread across the yard. Inside the barn, Larry’s already gone doing whatever it is Larry does. I think about re-reading some of the book but don’t want to risk the others walking in on me. With no work, and not wanting to see anyone, I go for a walk. After thirty minutes or so, I begin to feel better and the world makes a little more sense.
It’s said that walking is one of the best things someone can do. Some of the greatest minds have attributed their success to the simple act of walking and claim th
at it does wonders for the body and mind. I don’t know if there’s any proof to their claims, but I do know one thing; nature is therapeutic.
It is man’s commune with it, maybe even more so in solitude than being distracted by others, that some sort of healing takes place. Breathing regulates, blood flows, the mind becomes clear and rash emotions are put aside. The surrounding world is alive and at peace with the order of things and, in turn, so am I.
Suppose that’s why Larry takes walks everyday. I can see why he does and think I’ll make it a habit myself. Maybe wake up early and seize the day.
A couple hours go by and the day grows hot—the hottest yet. After finding some shade under a group of pines, I lie down on the cool grass and close my eyes, thankful for an easy, constant breeze. I drift off to sleep with ease and wake up sometime later feeling refreshed. My mind instantly goes to last night and the promise of another night of partying. But for some reason, I don’t feel like partying tonight. I just want a clear head and to spend some time talking with Mr. Whyte. Maybe he’ll be clear-headed as well.
My stomach rumbles. It does that more since I’ve been in the house and have grown accustomed to eating all the time. Larry’s still not in the barn and the guys aren’t on the porch. For a moment, it feels weird not knowing where anyone is, even though I know they must be in the house. Well, all except for Larry.
I open the front door of the house, expecting to find someone inside. But I don’t. The foyer is empty, and I look to the left to find the smoking room boarded up with planks of wood. Did Mr. Whyte board it up because he doesn’t want anyone in there? It would make sense with all the guns free for the taking now that the glass is broken. But he was hardly able to stand last I saw, let alone use a hammer and nail.
“Benji,” I call, entering the empty dining room. The kitchen’s empty, too, and exceptionally clean. It’s the first time I’ve seen it, and it’s not nearly as impressive as I thought it would be, with outdated appliances and limited cabinet space. I’ll say one thing for this house, even in the twenty-first century, Mr. Whyte has kept the original feel to the place, not upgrading the home at all. He doesn’t even have a dishwasher.
The last place I know to check is the living room. Nobody in sight. “Mr. Whyte? Are you in here?”
Mr. Red appears from a hidden door in the back corner of the room. “Cole, it’s about time you came back.”
“Where’s everyone at?”
He steps to the side and holds the door open for me. “At the bar. They’re waiting for you.”
“I didn’t know there was a hidden door there.”
“If you knew there was a hidden door there, wouldn’t serve much purpose of being a secret, would it?” he asks with a bemused grin. “There’s a couple of turns, but just keep going. I’ll rejoin you all in a bit.”
The heavy door shuts tight behind me, a draft fighting to get in, or out, before it closes. The walls are made of red brick, the mortar in the joints cracked and faded over the years, most of it receding to leave the brick unsupported on the face of the wall. Light bulbs flicker and dim on the walls, casting an eerie feel to the hall. The air is cooler here than anywhere else in the house; much cooler. Yet, even in the solitude of the long, winding hall, I can’t shake the feeling of eyes on me, watching every move I make.
A burst of laughter comes from up ahead, causing my stride to tense. The light grows brighter the closer I get. I turn the last corner to find everyone inside, lounging, drinking and smoking. Everyone except for Mr. Whyte, who I assume is still sleeping off his drunkenness.
“Hey, Cole!” Eve greets in excitement and hops off of Donald’s lap. He joins her in greeting me. “Hey, buddy, nice of you to finally join us.”
“I just went for a walk, no biggie. So, what’s everyone up to?”
“How’d you know how to get down here?” Abram asks in a rather rude tone. I show him the sharp end of my tongue in reply. “Mr. Red let me down here. Got a problem with that?”
He shakes his head, annoyed, takes a drink of whatever’s in his cup, and turns away.
“Hey, Cole,” Jane says, leaving Abram’s side. She touches my arm and the tingling sensation comes back. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Holy cow!” Benji says from the side of the room. “It’s like he can’t miss.” Donald slaps me on the arm. “You gotta see this, come on.” We walk to find Mr. Gibbs throwing cards into his Chicago Bulls ball cap that’s placed a good twenty feet away from where he sits on a barstool. He pulls one from the deck and lets it fly with his right hand.
“Every damn time,” Donald says after the card drops into the hat. Gibbs walks over to collect the cards before they overflow.
“Cole. How’s things?” Gibbs asks after he gathers the cards.
“Good. How many did you get out of fifty-two, assuming that you’re playing with a full deck?” I ask, then realize that my comment could be taken as a slight.
He smiles, unfazed. “All of them.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Care to bet?”
Benji steps to me, nearly spilling his drink. “Cole, don’t do it. He doesn’t miss, I’m telling you,” he says, his speech mildly slurred.
“He has to miss sometime. What’s the wager?”
Gibbs orders the cards neatly in his hands and begins to shuffle them as he paces around. “You ever play truth or dare? I know what you’re thinking; it sounds like some little kid game that you play in middle school, hoping that you get to kiss the girl you like. But I never got to play that game. Figured it was a rite of passage that I missed out on.”
“You want me to play truth or dare… with you?”
He holds his hands up and meets my eye. “Yeah. Something wrong with that?”
At first, the idea is ludicrous. But then it hits me that I can get some truth out of him if he misses. If I can trust him to keep his word, that is. “How do I know you’ll tell the truth when you miss.”
“He won’t miss,” Donald states.
Gibbs takes his seat on the barstool and folds one leg over the other. “Scout’s honor,” he says and holds three fingers up. “So, what’ll it be?”
“Throw the cards.”
He turns to the hat, sets himself and pulls a card, but hesitates. “Let’s make this fair. If I hit ten in a row, it’s a point for me. If I miss anything, it’s a point for you. One point equals either a truth or a dare—that way we’re not waiting for me to throw all fifty-two to see if I miss. And it gives me a little better odds.”
Five questions are better than one. Besides, not like I got anything to hide. Or lose. And he can’t be that good. “Deal.”
Without taking his eyes off me, he smiles and throws a card. To my own disbelief, it goes in. “It went in?” Gibbs asks, seeing everyone’s reaction. He turns to the hat. “Ha! I was just bullshittin’ on that throw, didn’t think it would actually go in. But hey, that’s one!” He winks at me before turning to the hat in earnest and setting himself. Nine more cards seem to float in, effortlessly.
“I told you,” Benji says and pats me on the shoulder. I ignore him along with the smirk on Gibbs’s face.
“I see you’ve had a lot of practice,” I say to Gibbs. “Well, I’m a man of my word. What’ll it be, truth or dare?”
“Dare,” Gibbs says and walks to the long, wooden bar that looks like something you would see in a saloon. At least a dozen bar stools sit empty at the front and an assortment of liquor from brown to clear line the shelves in the back. Gibbs pulls a shot glass from the back of the bar and pours what looks like whiskey. He strides towards me, the liquid nearly overflowing the small glass. “Drink.”
“I’ll take that dare,” I say, though not really wanting to. I had my mind set on keeping a clear head for the meeting with Mr. Whyte later. But one shot won’t hurt.
“Ah, that’s good. What is it?”
“Jack Daniels.”
“My favorite,” Donald says. G
ibbs goes to the bar and pours another round for everyone in the room.
“Gibbs, no more doubles for Cole. He’ll be passed out in an hour at this rate,” Eve says, taking Donald’s arm to stand beside him.
“You can back out now if you want to, Cole. No shame in it,” Gibbs says.
Jane walks to Abram with two glasses in hand, and he leans in to whisper something in her ear. They laugh and share a drink.
“Throw the cards,” I say, and turn back to watch Gibbs. “You gotta miss sooner or later.”
“A gambler. I’m liking you better the more I get to know you,” Gibbs says with a grin. My association with truth and reality wavers with each card that falls into the hat. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it. Before I know it, he’s daring me again.
He walks between myself and Jane, contemplating, his eyes darting from me to her, back to me. “I dare you… to kiss Jane.” His words blindside everyone, but none more than Abram. “What the hell, Gibbs. You said…”
Gibbs cuts Abram off and glares at him. “I said I dared Cole to kiss Jane. Now he has to do it if he’s a man of his word like he says he is.”
I look to Jane, wanting to kiss her. She’s not Abram’s girl no more than she is mine. But she’s been all over him today. Is she trying to make me jealous? Or is she mad that I left last night without saying goodnight? Maybe she fell for his charm and good looks.
She shifts her body towards me, but doesn’t leave his side. Her eyes beckon me to kiss her. I ignore the pissed-off and largely confused look on Abram’s face, take bold steps towards her and press my lips to hers, my hands wrapping around the back of her head and pulling her kiss in tighter. Her tongue moves inside my mouth, slowly, tenderly. We’re locked in passion and I don’t realize for how long until I break away from her to a room full of silence. It doesn’t last as everyone begins to whoop and cheer. I smile and gaze into her eyes, finding them smiling back at me, then looking down in a cute, but shy sort of way. Abram mutters a curse under his breath and turns to the bar, shoving a stool out of his way.
