‘Oh well, the director is calling me,’ more background chatter interfered between her mother’s answers, announcing a goodbye, ‘I’ll call you more often when I finish this project.’
‘Of course, go now,’ in Sol’s throat a lump started forming, the same one gets while being on the verge of crying, ‘oh mom,’
‘Yes, dear?’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too, always will.’
After finishing the call, Sol felt her build tears start gently flowing over the phone handle, still pressed against her cheek. Being utterly still, a series of questions arose inside of her.
Why couldn't I just tell the truth?
She felt embarrassed at herself for lying about grandmother’s will, and the unexpected girl that came along with it. There was also a terrifying story about her wound she got a couple of nights ago, and about her pretentious high school friendships. And if these secrets weren’t big enough to spill out, she could at least tell her mother about the burdensome gift she possessed, which now felt more like a curse. However as soon as she recalled her terrible events she was pushed into by Haven and everything that has happened in the past or didn't, she was somehow glad she stayed quiet instead.
What am I running away from?
It didn't matter how fast she ran away, or how strong her heart beat in order to not remember, she knew that the past she so expertly left there, in the past, was very much alive. It was still living within her, and she got this far only because every time her mind faded to twisted memories she never wanted to create, a sleep would come and sunk her in ignorance she yearned for consciously.
What am I afraid of?
And with this last question and answer came – myself.
Astound by a deep revelation, she abruptly shook her head and harshly whipped the tears away that would somehow work as a magic pill to make her forget every bad memory, while in reality acted only as another form of denial.
She nevertheless put her pair of Chelsea boots on, the beige lapel wool coat, much ticker than the grey one, and a pair of black leather gloves that in actuality worked as a shield to her bandaged wound and not to protect her from the cold weather.
Strolling down the street for as much as five minutes, she arrived at the flower shop, just like she promised Min over a sudden text message the previous night. It was the day they deliberately closed the store for moderate renovation to prepare for upcoming season – winter.
A sight of Min made Sol heart skip a beat, however it also put a glimpse of joy on her otherwise blank expression.
The girl was wearing an all black outfit; pair of jeans, turtleneck sweater, short leather jacket and combat boots with disturbing little detail, metal caps that were severely covered in various shapes of scratches, worn out to death. This time her long, charcoal black locks fallen freely over her shoulders, making them dance at the mercy of wind across her intimidating face.
Unease hit Sol all the way trough the soles of her feet, unconsciously stiffening up. Was the girl really a daredevil on the streets, taking each treat as a challenge to prove the other party their wrongdoings, or was this outfit only her fashion expression, she couldn't tell. But the danger was written all over her and Sol knew very well to not mess with this girl.
‘What are you doing standing there,’ said Min as she was putting on a pair of dark grey working gloves her grandmother used to wear, ‘we don't have all day.’
Bending down to move one of the eight rustic looking pots of moon-fire dahlias that bloomed far into the harsh weather, when the majority of other flowers withered away. It was needless to say that the pots were extremely heavy and awkward to drag across the small stone made mosaic in front of the entrance, and even more frustrating to lift, especially by two slim girls.
They tried very best to squeeze out every ounce of strength, refusing the help from the neighboring vintage store clothing. And even when the owner, a well build man in his early forties, proposed the offer a couple of times in a row – with each time painfully watching their weak hands suffer compared to his strong ones – both of the girls in unity politely refused. Inside of them resided a resilience of a grass that only bent but never broke completely.
If grandmother could do this for many years alone, we can do it as well. We must do it, thought Sol clinging onto dignity and respect her late relative sustained trough out her entire life – at least in business.
Afternoon came when they finally sat down on the low-rise staircase at the entrance, stretching their limbs out in order to relax and take a proper breath. Sun rays were steadily lowered in intensity but the light still managed to beam down on their faces making them glow due to thin layer of sweat. Store was finally remodeled or better, freshened up and ready for a new round of season. Because of the rapidly approaching winter the storefront was decorated with many more light bulbs but never Christmas lights, as her grandmother, the same as Sol, hated the holiday all together. There were however, many potted plants in deep green color as well as bundles of flowers all in different shades of red and violet. The only thing that remaining outside trough out the entire year since the opening was the bronze statue of a young boy, smelling a gerbera. Hence also the big metal sign at the very top, above the small roof that read Smiling Gerbera.
The bronze boy was placed at the lowest step, catching every passing pedestrian or potential costumer. Curiously wanting to know the reason behind this statue, Sol begged her parents on many occasions to tell her the story, but each time they would answer with, ‘there is nothing to tell. The statue was the cheapest at the time and it happened to be the right size to put on this type of staircase.’ She however never bought it, and one day in the middle of raging summer heat when both her and grandmother sat in the shade behind her house drinking iced barley tea, she started telling the reason why.
The bronze boy sure was cheap, but grandmother chose him over the rest of them because he resembled her son the most. Sol found out that her father contained enormous love for plants, specially the ones that bloom, since he was a little boy, however was severely bullied for it in school. The kids made foolish nicknames for this apparently feminine trait he possessed, so in order to blend in he started to live out his fantasies in books of mythology, eventually becoming a history professor. Sol didn't knew if the love for nature died in her father back then, but she certainly knew that her cold grandmother loved her only child very much and maybe sometimes she loved Sol as well.
‘I’ll go get us something to drink and eat,’ announced Sol, yawning, ‘what do you want?’
‘A bottle of whiskey please,’ jokingly teased Min, ‘but seriously a beer would be nice.’
‘Noted. What about food? Any snack, like chocolate, chips or-’
‘No, no junk food’ said Min with her waving hand, ‘you can buy me an apple though.’
‘An apple and a beer, well that sure is unusual.’
‘Well, I am different. Remember?’ retort Min while looking pass her like she was insignificant as the air no one is able to perceive.
Sol didn't know how to continue this conversation but in all honestly there was no need for it, as all was already made perfectly clear.
‘She sure knows her way with words,’ she muttered to herself, being extremely cautious the voice didn't become audible enough.
The convenience store was right at the corner at the end of the street. It was a ridiculously small space, cramped, with what is seemed like the food from the whole world. There was hardly any space for one person at the time, which on the other hand probably helped tremendously with shoplifters. Any suspicious looking individual was constantly on the watch, not only by the camera but also by the tough looking clerk.
Perhaps she was influenced by Min, or by the unfulfilled desire since the last week, but Sol also decided to drink a can of beer. Thankfully her id was in the inner pocket of her tick coat, as there was no way she could get past this huge wary guy with nothing but a faint smile. He certai
nly wasn't the type to buy into the exact same story he heard countless of times before.
Two cans of beer, an apple and a small vegetarian sandwich, were the sole contents Sol carried in a white plastic bag that had a green recycling logo on it. This little unimportant detail made her eyes roll, reminding her once more of the ignoble mindset this supposed awareness runs on. This was in no way implied to her hatred towards the movement of saving the earth, and switching to a healthier perception in humanity that stood so surely on the verge of doom. It was not even for the reason that this system virtually gave multiple options to choose from, but if one were to trace down their path it would lead to one conclusion: manipulation. The logo made her cringe precisely for one thing only, it was yet another rule to follow.
There seemed to be nothing in this world devoid of human made rules, and even when one got tired by the end of the day from their underpaid job, wanting to drink that beer, or eat a greasy meal without guilt hanging over their throat, he will surely be faced with a rule: be sure to recycle and god help you if you don't. Perhaps even a crueler version waited ahead, keep in mind you are going to die of heart attack or liver failure if you continue to live like this. It may not be in a year or two, but be sure it will happen to you.
Whichever way Sol turned, she could only see rules stacked upon rules, none of which she personally made. So it was no wonder how many horrible things the average folk were capable of doing, if they were daily pushed to the limits of their sanity. With all space in brain filled with nothing but rules – not a hint of spontaneity, essence or character – a human soul was surely to be taken away.
Sun transitioned into its setting phase, when she came back to the stairs Min leisurely sat on. It was highly likely she just lit her cigarette, as it was perfectly preserved, not even half an inch gone. Sol wasn't surprised at the fact this girl was a smoker, because in a way it suited her – to be a little reckless with lungs full of nicotine.
Sharing the contents from the plastic bag, Sol started to open her can of beer, trying so very hard while looking rather foolish.
Min voiced out a loud laugh, ‘it’ll be quite hard with those gloves on.’
Sol diligently continuing her opening procedure until a pop was heard, ‘See, not hard at all.’
‘Whatever works for you,’ said Min, giving a little shrug, ‘but still thought, why don't you take those off, I don't think it’s cold anymore, at least for us.’
‘My hands are always cold,’ Sol lied.
‘Maybe you need a guy to warm them up, huh?’ joked Min while bumping her knee with hers.
‘I don't need love in my life,’ Sol paused, looking at beer tightly placed between her palms, ‘certainly not romantic type.’
‘And why is that?’ asked Min genuinely curious about her reason, but then quickly shifted her thought direction, ‘did someone broke your heart into million pieces?’ her lopsided smile making a comeback.
‘No, there was no one ever, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.’
A few feet away, five or six kids from middle school, located in this neighborhood, passed them by while passionately commenting on an action movie they apparently saw on the television the night before. Their outbursts of cheers, screams and disagreements filled the heavy silence falling between the two girls.
‘I don't want to be that person who tells you-’
‘Then don't be’, Sol sharply cut her trough, even surprising herself.
‘You are right,’ Min took a couple of sips of her almost half empty beer can, ‘but you are also wrong. Things like that can never be decided. They just happen.’
‘Maybe to some, but not to people like me,’ said Sol looking at the setting sun, trying her hardest to not share eye contact with the persistent girl.
‘Especially to people like you. Trust me, you will meet someone soon,’ Min emptied her can in one shot, uttering her words with such impact that for a split second a large dose of fear imprinted onto Sol, making her hands tremble, ‘very soon.’
CHAPTER FOUR
THE BOY
Winter came knocking mercilessly on the door, every morning being difficult to get out in the freezing weather. Sol didn't liked winter at all, and it didn't matter that she had her birthday right in the heart of it. Some people like a certain season only because their celebrated day is in it, but for Sol, such petty reason could never wash away the hateful feeling she cherished specifically for wintertime.
Everything about it was wrong. The cold, the shortage of daylight, the hype about Christmas, and other made up important holidays one must absolutely celebrate, or one may as well be seen as an ultimately insane human being. Then there was also her birthday, right on the 25th of December, which unsurprisingly she never celebrated since she begun living with her grandmother.
According to Sol, it was better to be born on 1st of April because then at least people deliberately joke and put on personas to confuse others. Everyone pretends to be the ultimate trickster, not getting offended by the pranks, while on the 25th everyone feigns kindness, seeming to forget their true nature of hypocrisy. But as soon as the day vanishes, they go back to their old pathetic selves.
Maybe this was another positive quality about the old lady, as neither of them celebrated their birthdays, or any other celebration day everyone thoughtlessly leap into. The fact that her grandmother was an avid atheist, so she never participated in other festive events, also played a certain role in her decision, but it was also an eccentric part to her otherwise simple personality. For this, Sol was immensely grateful.
A week prior to winter break, her class schedule got another additional hour each day dedicated to their high school counseling. Mrs. Bee, as classmates would call – her due to enormous enthusiasm of never stopping to discuss about problems youths face – had introduced herself to another set of students. Being in her early thirties made her one of two youngest teachers in their school, aside from Mr. N. Oddly enough, both of them were extremely understanding of their students – perhaps because of their relatively young age in comparison to their veterans, who all fell into stereotypical old and grumpy category.
Mrs. Bee was rather tall and athletic in build and when she opened her crimson red glasses case, put the silver frame on her nose bridge, she eerily resembled Sol’s friend, the bookworm girl. Maybe in fifteen years her future self will eventually become someone similar.
The sole reason for this unusual characteristic of counseling classes their school provided for years, was to prepare students for the future. To support them in accomplishing their own dreams and plans, and if they lacked any – which was more desirable considering, it was just another system in predetermined society – their teachers would marked a way on the map for them to follow.
Just like a bee, which keeps buzzing and moving, their counselor quickly distributed each of the students a form of anonymous survey. The questions consisted from what is your ideal career, all the way to the last one of a much more personal nature, do you feel happy where you are now, and if not, what would they want to do to change that.
After twenty minutes she collected their answers and they discussed them together. The goal was to create a bond of trust between students and her as well as letting them become more open and compassionate among each other.
Mrs. Bee skillfully glanced over all surveys to see if there was a rebel in disguise, who would slip a blank paper to avoid today’s topic all together. To her relief no one went for the second option, at least not openly enough.
Everyone passionately engaged in a group conversation with counselor, when suddenly Sol’s phone vibrated in her bag. It was a short kind of frequency pattern and she knew it was a text message. Nevertheless, she let it pass by. But in less then a minute another set of sounds was heard, and then another with a slight pause in between. Irritated, she took her phone out of the bag, placing it onto her lap, all the while observing if Mrs. Bee was secretly watching over her. Display showed three unread messages f
rom Min.
‘Something urgent happened and I need your help,’
‘I also know I haven’t finished my promise yet, but you have to repay me the favor.’
‘Right now.’
She reread the messages, completely dumbfounded as to what exactly was going on. There was no greeting, a simple hi or something, no question proposed – only demands. Looking at the right now text, Sol’s empty stomach compressed even lower towards the inside, so much it hurt.
‘I don't understand what you are saying. What is going on?’ she hurriedly typed, waiting for answer to arrive.
‘All you need to know is I need you to come home as soon as possible,’ a new message read, Sol’s eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher a code apparently hidden only to her.
‘Ok. I’ll be home in two hours.’
She put her phone on halt, while entire class was wrapped in oblivion over Sol’s brain activity of figuring out the ambiguous messages. Mrs. Bee picked another random survey and went over answers, until she stopped by the last question reading it aloud.
‘Do you feel happy where you are right now, hmm no answer,’ she looked at the class under her brow, ‘well, that is a first.’
Sol stopped with juggling between possibilities and raised her eyes towards the counselor. She couldn't tell whose paper was it, however she could tell there was an extremely high chance of this being hers. After all it was a question she couldn't answer. And even if she contemplated a little longer and harder, it would still be the same, I was never happy. This however, was something she couldn't write in a high school survey. Other classmates might tell lies – the same as she did, pretending to fit in just to get over trough year without fuss – but when two things collided, anonymity and happiness, Sol would always answer truthfully. In this case, the truth was invisible to the naked eye, but still very much present.
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