by Ruth Morse
Jack leaned on the edge of the sofa, his shoulders swaying. His right hand wiped his face with a handkerchief while his left hand clung to the table. Max helped him sit down.
“Hi, Jack,” he said.
“H-hey Max.” Mr. Olsen beckoned the waiter over.
“I’ll have… the s-same,” he said, slurring his words when the waiter approached him.
“The same as your friends?” the waiter clarified.
Jack shook his head. “The same I had be-fore,” he demanded.
The waiter stared at him, blinking rapidly. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his lips stretching in a confused smile. Jack glanced at him and snorted. “Double w-whiskey. Please,” he said, flashing the waiter a grin.
The waiter hurried to leave.
“Jack,” Max called quietly.
Jack didn’t look at him. He waved his hand in a negligent gesture. “My baby… is with her m-mom now, right? So why the fuck did I get left here?” he said, his hand falling to the table with a dull thud.
“Jack, I know how difficult it is—”
“Carried her as a baby right in these… h-hands.” Jack moved his elbows, knocking a pepper shaker off the table. “M-madeline was even jealous, just a bit, y-you see. But God, I swear, I loved them both. Did you know Lily wanted to be an a-actress?” He finally lifted his head and stared at Max.
“Jack—”
“I think she’d be a great actress,” Jack continued. “Like those women from the real movies. Like… like Meryl Streep! Or Vivien… God, I forgot. Such a short surname. Starred in Gone with the Wind. Madeline loved that movie. Hell, I’ve never seen it…”
“Vivian Leigh,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper.
Jack’s lips broke into a wide, cheerful smile. “Exactly! Thank you, Lana!”
“Jack, please…” Max was going to say something else, but I groped for his hand under the table and squeezed it.
I remembered my dad. The first thing he did in the morning after the accident, he drank all the alcohol he could find. Then he went to the store and drank more and more until he couldn’t even get off the sofa for another bottle. He stayed in that oblivion for ten days. It didn’t bring Jaxen back. It didn’t lessen the pain. But it gave him some peace. It was his hideout, a place without memories, without consciousness, a place where he could stay until he would be able to meet reality. Otherwise it threatened to drive him to madness.
Jack was going through the same thing. We were the only ones who could help him.
Jack spoke enthusiastically, talking with passion about everything that came to his mind, lulled by alcoholic illusions. He was talking about his past. We listened to him, not interrupting, not trying to stop him. All the things that he recalled would eventually become the anchors that would hold him afloat even through the most terrifying storms in the ocean of life.
Soon, Jack entered a new stage. His voice now trembled, rising up high and then slipping into a barely audible whisper. His emotions changed fast, following the chaos of what his thoughts represented. He began to cry but the next moment we saw him burst out laughing.
I glanced at Max. He was watching Jack, his body motionless and tense. What would happen next? Would the inept words of two teenagers be enough to inspire someone to live, someone who lost his purpose for living? Despite every right word we could possibly say, when we left, Jack would be truly alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Jack hung on Max’s shoulder and murmured, “Stay with me, please.”
Max’s face remained still, but I noticed the small movement of his left eyebrow, quick and sharp, like an involuntary twitch.
“What’s the apartment number?” Max asked, his hand fumbling with Jack’s keychain.
“Fifty-seven-A. Thanks, kids. I’ll redeem myself, I promise. I have candy.”
Saying that, he gave us a conspiratorial smile, trying to stifle a giggle at the same time. My heart sank from the thought that the next morning he would wake up with all his memories.
Max led Jack to the apartment, his hands holding him by the shoulders firmly. He took off Jack’s shoes, washed his face with cold water, and helped him to get to bed. The light went off. Jack fell asleep almost immediately. The lines on his face smoothed out; he finally looked tranquil. He was already asleep when we heard his calm, peaceful murmur, “I’ve been preparing for life without you for so long… I forgot one day it would become real. I love you, my princess.”
***
Not long after that, Jack disappeared. He’d still answer Max’s messages, but he wouldn’t meet us. Every time we agreed on meeting, he found a way to cancel last minute.
Max had changed. We shared memories that brought us suffering and pain, and being close to each other became suffocating. When we were together we couldn’t breathe, it was almost as if we were stealing each other’s air. I was scared to admit it, but sometimes I felt as if my whole nature was rebelling against Max. I tried to protect myself from the past which he involuntarily represented. It became easy to understand why Jack didn’t want to see us.
Nights were the most difficult. We still shared one bed, and I knew that if I tried to wrap my arm around Max, he wouldn’t shake it off nor would he turn away or say anything. But I didn’t do it and he didn’t make any attempt to get closer to me. At night we tried to busy ourselves with something that could distract us from our own closeness and justify our secret will to stay alone.
Because of his insomnia, Max never went to bed with me, staying awake long after I was asleep. But at the same time, I was waking up earlier to see his sleeping figure next to me and hear his quiet breathing.
I was glad I was waking up before him. Only then did I allow myself to get closer to him and look at his face. There wasn’t much I could discern in the dark, only the smooth lines of his brows, his cheekbones that had become even sharper through the last week or so, and the pale imprint of his lips. One night I dared to touch his lips and feeling their softness under my fingers made me want to kiss him. That blazing desire almost made me take action but then Max murmured something in his sleep, and I hurried to move my hand. This night watch became a sacred ritual for me—that’s how I reminded myself of the time when he was close to me and we were happy, and his face had the same peaceful expression that it did when he was asleep.
“We have to do something. I can’t just leave not knowing whether he’s going to make it out all right,” Max said as he paced from side to side, kicking up pebbles.
I looked up at him from Terry’s steps. I sat with my head propped up by my hands forever until Max finally spoke. It was around eight in the evening. The sun had already fallen behind the horizon.
The same lights that decorated Terry the night I first saw him were now in a tangled heap on the sofa. The bulbs shimmered faintly, spreading dim light through the dirty windows.
“We have to meet with Jack,” I said, speaking either to Max or the listless wind.
Max stopped wandering around and glanced at me. “We know where he lives. We can go to his place,” he said.
I nodded.
“Let’s go then.” Max tried Jack’s phone one more time. “His phone must be dead.” His lips tightened into a grimace.
“Shall we go right now?” I asked.
Max paused. “He might disappear again in the morning. I can go alone if you want.” He shrugged and turned away, his hands groping for his keys in the grass.
I felt a pressure in my chest like someone had punched me. I jumped to my feet. “Are you saying I went through all this with you so I can… what? Rest in the car? Because I’m no longer needed?” I said, my voice trembling and my gaze filled with bitter helplessness.
He raised his head and stared at me, his lips moving as if he was pondering something. I saw the hesitation on his face, the inner struggle hiding deep inside him. It flashed through his restless gaze, through his tightly compressed lips, through his rapid breathing. I felt a strong urge to touch hi
m. My whole body ached from the unbearable desire to feel him, to feel his closeness again. I took a small step toward him. He blinked and looked away.
In an indifferent and quiet voice, he said, “I thought you might be tired, that’s all.”
My shoulders sank. I nodded. “I am tired, but I’ll go with you,” I said, walking past him and going up Terry’s steps first.
***
We turned from well-lit streets onto one with broken streetlights. In the dark, we could barely see Jack’s building.
Max rang the doorbell, but no one answered. He pressed the button again—nothing changed.
“Maybe he’ll be back later,” I said to Max’s back as I stood a few steps behind him.
“We’ll wait,” he replied.
We moved down to the patio. My eyes searched for a place to sit. There was only one bench and some guy was stretched out on it, his face covered under his hood. On his stomach, his hands tapped an inaudible beat. I sighed and sat on the curb next to the flower bed. Mom would have a heart attack if she saw these dry, dusty flowers.
My phone rang. The guy opened his eyes, startled. He sat up on the bench, his back unnaturally straight and his hands clasped together on his knees. He ran his eyes over the patio and, noticing Max and me, jumped to his feet. He dashed off, staggering toward the exit.
Max bit his lower lip, looking somewhere in front of him. The silence deafened me so mercilessly that I wanted to scream. Trapped in my numb thoughts, I almost forgot about my phone until it rang again. Mel had called me. I looked at the screen, at Mel’s heart-shaped pink sunglasses and red lipstick kisses on her cheeks as she looked back at me. Tears came to my eyes. Mel stopped calling and her photo disappeared. The screen lit up again. She sent me a message:
You know it pisses me off when you don’t answer, right? How are you? Have you been eating well? Three times a day? Getting enough sleep? Damn, write me something, will ya?
Another text. I’m still waiting.
And another. All right then, you can ignore me, but you can’t stop me from texting you.
And another. And if you’re wondering, I’m absolutely cool and don’t think that you’ve been kidnapped or even worse… that they shaved your hair and sold it on the black market.
And one more. Okay, I’ll leave you to whatever it is you’re up to. Don’t mind me, I’ll just continue with my suffering. No big deal.
I smiled. I always envied her ability to text so fast. And why did she think they’d sell stolen hair on the black market?
Hey, sorry I didn’t answer. I’m totally fine, don’t worry. Even though I’m kinda happy you are worrying. At least someone is. But anyway, don’t suffer. I’ll be back very soon. Miss you.
Wow, look at this! You actually answered! How are you? How is Max? You guys okay?
I looked at Max’s hunched over figure as he leaned his hands on his knees, his head bowed and his eyes squeezed shut. His pose hadn’t changed from the moment he lowered himself onto the bench.
Yeah, we’re fine.
Awesome! I have something to tell you, but I want you to hear it in person. Deal?
Sure. Just don’t burst from impatience. I can feel it even from San Francisco.
You better come home quickly, then!
I took a long look at her last message and put my phone away without replying.
All I wanted to do was fall asleep. I fingered my curls idly; my hair threatened to fall on my face every time the wind blew. I lowered my head. My eyelids grew so heavy that I had to squeeze them shut three times, fighting the drowsiness. I nearly gave up and zonked out when a lone figure entered the patio. The stranger hunched over the stairs, his left hand in front of him searching for the surface to lean on. He murmured something incomprehensible. I recognized Jack’s voice. Max ran up to him, his hands clutching Jack’s shoulders, helping him to straighten up.
“Are you okay?” Max said.
Jack’s eyes narrowed and focused on Max’s face. “Oh, it’s you,” he grumbled. “What do you want?”
“We just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Max said, taking his hands off Jack’s shoulders.
Jack shifted his gaze to me then back to Max. Snorting, he rubbed his chin with his right hand. Blood glistened on his knuckles. Max’s eyes widened. “What happened to your hand?” he asked.
Jack clutched his hand into a fist and brought it to his face. He stared with curious eyes at his own blood. “Pal must have thought I was some hobo. Ha! I showed him how you should treat hobos,” he said hoarsely.
“Let’s go inside. You need to clean up.” Max said.
Jack gave him a long, heavy glare. Then he shrugged and slowly went forward.
It was dark and quiet in Jack’s place. I passed a dusty hallway and slipped into the kitchen. My hands fumbled for a light switch. It clicked but nothing happened.
“It’s out,” Mr. Olsen said, approaching me. “Here, take this.”
He rummaged in the kitchen drawer and pulled out a large package. He cut it open with scissors and handed it to me. I quirked a brow. In my hands, I held heart-shaped candles, red and pink and all covered in sparkling glitter. I picked up the biggest candle. There was a Cupid on it, holding a bow and arrows. Jack gave me a confused smile. “They only had these in the store,” he murmured.
Max opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs. He cracked three eggs in a tall glass and whisked them. The fork in his hand knocked against its insides, making a loud sound. Then he put the fork away and added salt and pepper.
“How do you know about eggs for a hangover?” Jack asked, taking the glass from Max’s hands and drinking it in one gulp.
“C’mon, I have an alcoholic father, remember?” Max snorted.
Jack patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Max shrugged. “What for?” He reached for the package with candles that I left on the countertop. “Let’s light up this place with love,” he said with a short laugh. He pulled out the first red heart candle and put it on the table.
While Jack was cleaning his knuckles and Max was arranging candles, I puttered around the living room, picking up cushions from the floor and bringing them back to the couch. When I reached for another cushion, my hand fumbled on something solid. I raised the cushion and glanced behind it. A picture frame lay on the floor, its front facing the ground.
I turned it over. It was a family photo. Jack and his wife were captured climbing the porch steps, their heads slightly tilted; they were discussing something with their eyes glued to each other and their hands huddled together tightly. Only one person noticed they were being photographed: little Lily, no more than age two, held her mother’s hand. The shot was taken when she turned to the photographer, her face laughing and her tongue sticking out at the camera.
“There’s no picture where Lily wouldn’t make faces.”
Startled, I turned around. Jack was stopped in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and his back leaning against the wall. It was hard to discern in his tired figure the same man I saw in the photo.
“It’s a beautiful photo,” I said, avoiding his eyes.
“It is indeed.” He looked at me hesitantly and cleared his throat. “I wish I didn’t become what I am now… I wish I wasn’t that horrible person you saw.”
“You’re not horrible, Jack. I promise.” I stood up and approached him. “Max and I… we believe in you. We truly do,” I said.
Jack nodded, his right hand reaching to scratch his head awkwardly. “You’re a good kid,” he said then. “You and Max, you’re good people. Always remember that, will ya?”
Max was sitting on a sofa, his eyes half-closed. I sank into an armchair. The softness and warmth I’d been dying for all these days took over my body the moment I sat down.
Jack poured some tea into three cups and handed me one. I took a small sip and closed my eyes. I was listening to Max’s voice. It soothed me like the lullabies Mom sang to me when I was little and she was happy.
The scraps of a conversation slowly drifted to my sleepy consciousness. Jack and Max were talking about Lily. Fragments of the past, comforting, like the hot berry tea I was drinking, were filling the air, healing the bleeding wounds. Jack’s voice was calm. He was happy to talk about his daughter, and Max had enough decency to join him on this journey to the past instead of drowning in his own grief. It was a conversation between someone who needed to be heard and someone who had the loving heart to listen.
I looked at Max. The flickering light of the candles reflected in his eyes. My gaze slid to his neck then to his drooping shoulders and stopped on his hands. His skin had a yellowish, warm undertone in the dim lighting.
I wanted to touch him. I wanted to be there for him, to make him understand that his pain was not a heavy burden he had to carry alone. Every fiber of my being called to him, wanting to share the pain he was hiding inside his heart. He’d helped Jack and I desperately wanted to help him, to make him feel needed. To make him feel loved.
The distance from my armchair to the sofa seemed now to be way too long, like there was an unbridgeable gap between us. I remembered the indifferent look on his face when he talked to me this morning and my heart ached. No, it wasn’t even the pain, but the sinking feeling of emptiness that dragged me down.
Max tilted his head to one side, listening to Jack and occasionally nodding with a smile. His smile seemed infinitely tired. Sadness rested in the corners of his lips. His eyes became more narrowed and somehow more adult. Was there anything left for me in his soul? How had he become so different that I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that I was doing something wrong? And if I was doing something wrong, why didn’t he tell me? I was too tired to think it over. Vague, chaotic images filled my mind, taking away my anxiety and fear. My breathing became smooth and I finally dozed off.
Jack walked us over to the road.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay for a night?” Max asked him.
