by Matthew Fish
Novels related to the World of Memories:
‘A Window in the Earth’
‘A Window in the Darkness’
‘A Window in the Earth Revisited’
‘Fireflies in Winter’
Novels related to The Abyss or the world created by Caesar, Damara and Cernunnos:
‘Softland’
‘Softland 2’
Novels related to the world of Children of the Pomme:
‘Dreaming of a Lost Life’
‘Buried in Sunshine’
Children of Damara
By Matthew Fish
Copyright 2010
All Rights Reserved
He sits at the edge of his bed. The morning light barely peeks past the dark curtains meant to keep it at bay. The old clock, an antique given to him by his grandmother, audibly clicks away the seconds like an echoing metronome, breaking the otherwise unsettling and constant silence. He has not slept all night. His thoughts are indistinct, hazy like a blurred photograph. He cannot remember if this is due to lack of sleep or depression. The depression has come at the realization that he has been waiting years for a moment that he now fears will never come. In a way we are all waiting for something: love, happiness, a chance to feel like a normal person once more, some abstract opportunity that will give us comfort and security, moments of clarity and—finally and absolutely—Hope.
He waits for an ending, whether it will be cruel or fair. However, in his twenty-six years of life he has experienced, it seems to be the former much more than the latter. He had convinced himself that this would pass, like night to day. That the unjust and insurmountable pain he felt would simply sweeten the reward of a gentle, beautiful life. As he sat against the bed, his tired light-brown eyes showing the weight of sleep’s absence, he began to think once more of a girl. It is this thought, this being, which brings him such pain—a beautiful girl of the age of twenty-two named Anna Meyon, with a kind face and an air of one who is untroubled, although this face is false, a mask, for she also suffers the cold grip of depression’s cruel hand.
He reaches down to his jeans pocket and pulls out a blue flip cell phone. He checks the tiny screen for a message but finds his inbox devoid of anything other than a few saved messages from the day before. He tosses the phone to the floor indifferently. He runs his hands through his short black hair and allows himself to fall back onto the bed. He is exhausted, but still he is waiting for something important.
“Some good will come today,” he whispers as he attempts to cheer himself from his desperately forlorn mood. He fixates upon the deep-red wall by his bedside table where there was once a picture, the wall’s paint worn away, revealing a patch of gray. In a fit of frustration he rolls over and pulls open the drawer to the bedside table and retrieves the silver-framed photo of the girl—her brown hair curled around her neck, her green eyes staring back at him. He remembers the familiar smile, the one that seems to exude such warmth that he could easily forget his own problems. The sight of her once more brings him back to a deepening depression.
“How did things get to this point?” he asks the photo.
He looks to the nail-head in the wall and thinks of placing the photo back to its proper place, hiding away the rubbed-away red paint and the gray beneath. He thinks differently, the sight of it only seeming to be dragging him further down into the abyss. He looks away as he lays it back into the wooden drawer, sliding it shut and placing both hands on the table to steady himself against the void of negative thoughts.
He withdraws the curtains to his apartment, the view of the fall-leaf-covered oak standing just outside of his third story window obstructing his view of the outside world beyond. Through tiny spaces in the branches he can barely make out the surrounding buildings and the street below. Briefly he catches a glimpse of a girl with brown curly hair and green eyes wearing a red dress and thinks that it might be her. He watches, waiting for some kind of confirmation that never comes.
Back in bed, the only logical place he can find himself at this point, he begins to think back to the past. It seems to be the major preoccupation of his time these days. He allows himself to drift away into that hazy realm of memory, wherein he replays a memory of a first love.
“Yes, I will need about forty frogs,” Mrs. Deluca said over the phone as she placed her unusual order.
“I hope that’s for science class,” a girl seated upon the school office bench said, overhearing the frog request.
“It’s for tomorrow’s lunch,” he said jokingly, although he did not find it particularly amusing. It just popped into his mind and felt it needed to be released.
He sat against the same bench, merely inches away from a very beautiful girl, who much to his surprise, laughed. Authentically laughed.... The situation made him feel very awkward and he was surprised that he was so easily able to joke with her. She had green eyes and long, although slightly messy, blond hair. She wore a tan, hooded jacket that covered a low-cut blue shirt underneath, and a tight-fitting pair of blue jeans. She had a face that was remarkably cute.
“Emily,” the girl said as she extended a hand, “Emily Jones.”
“Andrew,” he replied as he took her hand. The warmth of her skin against his gave him a pins and needles feeling throughout his body. “So what are you in for?”
“Oh,” Emily replied with a laugh, “I didn’t do anything. I’m just here to try and get a class changed on my schedule. I’m supposed to be in AP English, but they stuck me in regular…. And you?”
“I duct-taped a classroom door shut,” Andrew said as he bit his lip as though to stifle his own laughter.
Emily began to laugh loudly, covering her mouth as she shook her head.
“Why did you do that?”
“I skipped my math class and I thought it would be funny,” Andrew added.
“So it was your own class, the one you had skipped.”
“Yeah, that’s how they had such an easy time figuring it was me—that and someone saw me do it.”
“Emily,” Vice Principal Thompson said as he called her into his office.
“Don’t get into too much trouble,” Emily whispered as she smiled, attempting to hid her continued laughter. “I’ll see you later.”
“Thanks,” Andrew simply replied.
The events that transpired between him and Emily were so amazing that he scarcely cared that he had gotten a Saturday detention. He had dated before, when he was fifteen last year, with a fourteen-year-old over the summer vacation. The relationship was short-lived and of little consequence and the eventual divide left his self-esteem quite low as she had left him for someone he had disliked. Well, not completely disliked; it was more of an overall indifference; the complete disliking came afterwards, along with the injured ego. This new encounter with someone so remarkably beautiful was in a completely different league to Andrew—he found that there seemed to almost be some kind of instant connection, like he had no difficulty or awkwardness with speaking to her, as though all his walls came down—she even found his immature humor amusing. Still, he figured he was over-thinking it, as was often his way. She probably thought him nothing more than some fool who got himself in trouble in an act of blatant senseless inanity. Despite this possibility, however, it did not stop him from thinking about her for the rest of the day and into the early reaches of night.
The next day Andrew went about his normal school day. He was late for his first class, as was the par for the course. He sketched in his lined notebook throughout most of his other classes such as general math, biology, and history, and when art class came he visited and talked with his friends rather than worked on art. He was more into doing what he wanted, and not really caring what the teachers expected or asked of him—more into acting foolish for the amusement of others than caring for his own personal grades and well-being.
As Andrew was gathering his backpack and beginning to head out to catch his bus, a familiar voice came from behind him.
“Hey, i
t’s you—duct-tape any classroom doors today?” Emily asked as she laughed.
“Hey!” Andrew quickly responded as he turned, taken by surprise. “I’ve not…not today.”
“I heard that you were the one that changed the school sign from ‘The Wizard of Oz Play Saturday and Sunday’ to ‘Whizz off roof for distance win our shit’.”
“I had help, and yes I’m kind of retarded,” Andrew said as he shook his head. It was one of those late-night things that he and a friend had thought up. They had written down all the letters and went out to their secret meeting spot (an Arby’s) to plot out their mischievous plan. “We’ve been changing the signs, well up until they finally decided to lock them up under glass after about the sixth time.”
“I saw it before they got a chance to take it down.” Emily laughed. “Are you driving home?”
“I took the bus,” Andrew replied, slightly embarrassed. He did have a car; his parents would just not allow him to drive it to school at the moment—his parents had said something about bad grades and a sensed lack of responsibility.
“Would you like a ride home?” Emily asked, her face still smiling happily.
“Yeah,” Andrew answered, attempting to hide the gratuitous amount of disbelief running through his head like a hamster in one of those spinning wheels. “I would…thank you.”
Andrew followed Emily to her small compact yellow Ford. She unlocked the doors and Andrew sat in the passenger seat, reaching behind and putting his backpack in the backseat. He then helped Emily with hers.
“Thank you,” Emily said as she turned the key in the ignition.
“For what?”
“Helping me with my backpack,” Emily answered as she smiled.
“Oh…thank you for the ride home,” Andrew said as he shook his head without exactly knowing why. “The bus in the summertime, it usually smells pretty badly. Lots of body odor and old-food smells, like riding in a fart bus hoping that the wind from the windows will keep you alive long enough to survive the trip…and I don’t know why I am talking about this.”
Emily laughed in reply. “It’s the lack of air conditioning. It’s very nearly criminal.”
“It is,” Andrew agreed, “Yet they keep the school so cold that you have to wear winter clothing to get through the day.”
“It’s so we girls don’t wear skimpy outfits and get the boys all excited,” Emily replied as she pulled the car from its spot and took a place in the long line to leave the school. “It’s true, you know?”
Andrew chuckled, “I never thought about it that way. “We still get excited; we’re an easily excited bunch, us men-boys.”
“Did you just refer to yourself as a man-boy?”
“I…I, well—you know that filter that people have that tells them they shouldn’t say something, so they don’t,” Andrew said, feeling slightly flustered at the admission.
“You don’t have one?” Emily asks.
“I probably do, it just malfunctions,” Andrew added. “People tend to find it annoying.”
“I think it’s a nice quality to have. Lets people know how you feel, right?”
“Oh, give it a few days, you’ll probably be annoyed,” Andrew said as he thought back. It seemed like everyone in his life, his parents, teachers, ex-girlfriends; they all expected him to just suddenly act grown up—like there was some magic switch that would stop him from finding immature pranks and idiotic pursuits so goddamned appealing.
“Is that a challenge?” Emily asked as she looked away from the road for a moment and smiled.
“How do you mean?”
“Spend the day with me tomorrow, like on a date?” she answered in the form of another question.
“Seriously, aren’t you a senior? I’m just a junior—isn’t that like instant angry social herpes or something?” Andrew asked as he attempted compose his scatterbrained mind. Was she really asking him out? He’d think to pinch himself and wake himself from this dream if he did not fear for a moment that it if it were, he would rather keep dreaming.
“Are you turning me down? You’ll hurt my feelings…,” Emily added as she feigned a frown.
“Of course not,” Andrew swiftly added. “I have detention…but yeah, that can fuck right off. I will gladly spend the day with you tomorrow.”
“What do they do if you miss a Saturday detention?”
“They stack on another one.”
“You’re okay with that?”
“For you, they can stack them on to my life until I’m in a retirement home somewhere eating Jell-o and sitting in my own rolling fart chair in Sat. detention with all the kids, all the while yelling at them to stay off my lawn.”
“Thank you,” Emily said as she nodded and smiled at the absurdity of the comment.
“No, really…thank you.”
That night Andrew lay in bed, the warm, gentle breeze wafting into his open window and causing his shades to lightly tap against the window sill with each passing breath of summer air. He felt a strange anxiousness deep in the pit of his stomach that kept him from sleep—a sleep that he wished for so the hours may pass more hastily and that he may welcome the new day with its new promise of a chance to be with someone intriguing. The more he thought about Emily Jones, the more solicitous he felt himself growing. A strange sense of anxiety that he had never quite acknowledged before started to prevail within him, and the questions of his unworthiness deluged his mind. What if she did find him annoying—and not funny? What if she was out his league? She was very beautiful, after all. Images of her face flashed in his mind’s eye; the way she pushed away the golden strands of hair as they whipped in the wind gusting from the car window, her large, striking green eyes with flecks of chartreuse. The way her soft, pink lips curled into a smile that hung so well against her delicate features—to compare her beauty to anything such as a flower or sunset would be fruitless, for the way her look seemed to carry a constant air of happiness and contentment was beyond any assessment.
Andrew played out many scenarios in his mind of how things might go. He wondered how they would spend the day, what he would say. Things that would come in time, and when sleep finally did come he welcomed it as his slowing mind drifted away to fragmented thoughts of her.
It was coming up on three in the afternoon as Andrew sat at the kitchen awaiting Emily’s arrival. She did say she would be there, but she did not exactly specify a time. Every car that passed by the open kitchen window gave him a false sense of momentary excitement. Every noise gave his heart a jump. Andrew was beginning to worry that she was not coming after all. The waiting was almost inhumanely tortuous. Then, like a ringing bell from an angel come to save him from his hours waiting in purgatory, the doorbell chimed.
Andrew jumped up to his feet, nearly knocking over the wooden chair as he rushed to the door, grabbing his sketchbook as he left the room and headed for the door. He greeted Emily Jones, who was dressed in a short blue dress with a low-cut front that displayed a silver heart-shaped necklace, her long hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was wearing long socks and white running shoes.
“You are an easily excited bunch.” Emily laughed as she placed a hand on the door.
“I am so sorry,” Andrew said as he shook his head and closed his eyes in a shamed manner. “I really did not…I did do it. I just…you’re very beautiful.”
“You think so?” Emily asked. “You can just say that, just like that?”
“Apparently…yes,” Andrew answered. “To both questions.”
“You’re cute,” Emily said as she spun her keys playfully on her ring finger. “Would you like to go?”
“Am I?” Andrew asked rather awkwardly. “And yes.”
“You are, don’t sell yourself short. I thought you’d have more confidence in that regard,” Emily said with a smile.
“I have no confidence in that regard at all,” Andrew said as he followed her out to the familiar yellow compact. “It’s the humor; I think it’s an attempt to make up for it.”<
br />
“Do you start all your dates by trying to convince them you’re not attractive when you really are? Or is this just a special case today?”
“Oh, no,” Andrew jokingly replied, “I just like to warn people in case they come to the realization later—when it’s too late. Like when we have kids, and the house and the whole family thing—the two dogs.”
“I had a dog when I was younger—it was a pretty big dog, don’t remember the breed. It used to knock me down in its furious attempt to hump my legs so my parents had to keep it outside,” Emily related as she got into the car.
“So the two-dog thing is out,” Andrew added as he got into the passenger seat.
“I don’t know. I’ve got much better balance and I think I could handle it,” Emily said as she snickered at the idea.
“That is both disturbing and strangely erotic at the same time,” Andrew whispered.
“You better not be imagining that—“
“How could I not?”
“Do you like to swing?” Emily asked, changing the subject but still giggling.
Andrew noticed that she always seemed to be either laughing or smiling. It made him feel good to be the cause of either in some small way. He was used to making people laugh with his random acts of stupidity and humor, but there was something different—something lacking in previous relationships: she made him laugh and smile as well.
“I suspect that my parents do it,” Andrew finally answered after an unexpected pause of reflection came over him. “I’ve never had the opportunity myself. I mean, it’s a little sudden.”
“That’s it,” Emily said as she put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway, “You’ve lost your voting privileges, we’re going to the park.”
“Oh, that kind of swinging,” Andrew said as he nodded. “I haven’t in a while but I think that sounds like fun.”
They drove for a while until they reached a small wooded park just out of town with small gravel roads and gentle rolling hills. The dust from the road beneath them danced about the car as sunlight broke through the tops of the trees in glimmering patches all around them. There was something magical about the moment, although ordinary in its basic sense—something that would happen any given sunny day; however, this moment felt more real to Andrew than many would for a long time to come.
