"Sunlight" (Chapter 10: Wane; NANOWRIMO)

                The girl had left the new warm mattress to enter her own room down the hall. The bed had been made, as she had done so before leaving for school. Her closet still held a few articles of her clothing. And now, her floor was occupied by a suitcase and a backpack, loaded with the few other belongings of hers. There were other sheets and pillows and blankets occupying a bunk in a dorm room, approximately two hours and forty-five minutes away, and those also belonged to the girl. Some other contents of drawers and a closet shared with someone else which remained in that room two hours and forty-five minutes away. She drew in a deep, trembling breath and sighed, as she sat down on her pristine bed. No dust had gathered in the room, in spite of her year’s near-constant absence. She had visited at Christmas, worn a new sweater and flannel pajamas, and slept two nights in the bed and made it once again. Life was very different those two hours and forty-five minutes away.

                She now wished to lie down and sleep away all the grief and all the guilt and all the horror and sorrow, once more. But there was no time for it.

                The young boy stared back at her as he took a seat on the empty desk across from her. His near-identical eyes and hair, always staring and thin and trapped between childhood and adolescence. His face was almost sympathetic now that she’d left the room from Damir. He never seemed to like Damir.

                Amira began to unpack what she had brought home, a once-lonely task not so under Liam’s and trapped between childhood and adolescence. His face was almost sympathetic now that she’d left the room from Damir. He never seemed to like Damir.

                Amira began to unpack what she had brought home, a once-lonely task not so under Liam’s young and watchful gaze.

                It had been a long time he’d visited her.

---

                Damir gradually opened his eyes once again, noting the emptiness of the bed, and the change in the sun’s location, just outside the room. Perhaps he would remain here, and allow the walls and the false warmth swallow him whole. Close the blinds and curtains and let darkness consume him; perhaps his tired flesh would fade away and leave his bones to turn to dust. There was only dim light from the outside now. Perhaps he could do this, as he was alone.

                Footsteps shuffled downstairs and, then across the hall. Amira knocked gently.

                “Can I come in?” she murmured. He nodded, though he knew she would not see him.

                The door shh’d open, without regard for his lack of verbal consent. He had not wished to be alone earlier, but perhaps that was how he should have been, at least for the night.

                “Would you still like to come with me tomorrow morning? I know it’s… short-notice, but… I…”

                “Sure,” he whispered, still fixated on the window, with its dim summer sun.

                “Okay,” she replied.

                She remained at the end of the bed by the window, sunlight against sunlight.  He remained lying down, tempted to try and sleep again, though it had proven to give him no peace. Nothing seemed to change its inability to relieve him of any of his memories, its ineffectiveness in giving him rest.

                “Dinner’s ready,” Amira spoke again.

He nodded, and turned toward the wall. He felt her shift, as she hesitantly took a place beside him once more. Only one day had passed, and already he knew this was all that was left for him. Everything he had ever done had been in vain. Everything he would do would be just as meaningless. He would not leave the room, as much as he wished to be far, far, far, from this place. From all places haunted with them. With him. With all that had once existed.

She took her small woman’s arms and wrapped them around him once more. He felt all his thoughts and all his memories and sorrow and grief and fear and worthlessness escape as he turned toward her; he did not want to bring her into this world, he hated himself for doing this to her.

But there was something, an angry, terrifying something, which simmered just beneath his surface. He had been left stranded in the dark dust with a man who never spoke of their reasons for being there, with a woman who only tried to make things better, occasionally acknowledging her grief, but always just taking it home. He had been kept inside of buildings, accomplishing unwanted jobs that wore him down, made him older and lonelier and provided the meager means by which he and the man had lived.

His life for a year. His life for two more, slowly losing more and more.

And now, there was nothing. Even the girl, even the sun, for all she was worth… he had lost her too.

To have her return and face loss again, it merely caused their pain to increase. He had not wished to bring her here. But he could not refuse her or her family’s kindness.

But now, he merely wished to sleep. And that sleep would do the work it was supposed to accomplish.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his new and once-despised mantra, meant with all he could mean. He tried not to acknowledge her brief glimpse behind her, then the glance to the next wall beyond him.

She looked at him with those eyes that had seen all she had seen, more than she would ever need to see in her short life.

“It isn’t your fault, Damir,” she whispered. He wondered if she believed the words herself, and despised himself for wondering. He simply remained silent, and she replied with the same. He never wished to incur the concern, the empathy, in her eyes. He had never wished for her to see him as he was, this empty shell of a person who once had a semblance of a life.

“You don’t have to come down tonight,” she said, keeping her eyes upon his; he could see right through him, and could see someone else.

He still remained silent, wishing for real rest. Whatever form that may come in.

Eventually, she left once more, likely to eat dinner with her parents. Once more, he closed his eyes, and tried to dream of elsewhere, of places he had never been, of years past, and years which had never existed.

He had once spent time at that table, in a formal sense. It had been quite the time. The conversation had been obligatory, stilted, and very, very awkward. At some point, however, Amira’s parents had determined that Damir had reason to not further his education, a weak handshake was acceptable at times, and he was not to be an ill influence upon their daughter. Or at least they gave in to her request of his stay out of a compassionate heart which had little to do with the young man himself. Or perhaps they felt that they could not reject him on principle. Regardless of their motive, he was forever indebted to them for their kindness.

He did not return to sleep, however, as the Senela’s continued their quiet lives, with their quiet conversation, seamlessly returning the objects taken out, to the specific locations in which they were supposed to reside. He did not return to sleep, as they walked their halls and watched their television screen, or read, or took a walk just outside the home. He did not return to sleep, as his sunlight went outdoors to nurture her garden, after a year in its absence. It must have been a long time for her to be away.

Sleep did not return to him, even as the sky turned dark. Even as his mind pictured flower petals falling in angry rainstorm nights, as he pictured, even at dusk, the plants faces toward the ground, before falling entirely, brown and dry, to be coated in leaves and then heavy white and blinding dust. His eyes were shut, when she returned, though sleep had not come to him once again.

“Good night,” she whispered, leaning down to place soft lips gently against his face.

“Good night,” he whispered meekly in reply, as the moonlight ghost of a girl floated through the door into the hallway. He listened for and counted her light steps, barely detectable; one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. The night was forever endless, but day or dark would occur sometime, regardless of his or anyone else’s consent.

Tomorrow and the next days would be spent with the sunlight he had lacked for an entire year. Tomorrow and the next days, he would enter a world unlike his own, even if it was merely to pack things and drive back to this very same place. Tomorrow and the next days could mean more than he could ever imagine, or absolutely nothing.

When he returned, the world could and likely would still be dark as it was, but there was yet a chance for light. So he shut his eyes and wished for sleep, whether restful or common, and anticipated the future of hours ahead.

One lonely, endless night, he opened and closed his eyes, shifting in and out of car-window night sights and sounds, the quiet whir of the wind outside and the bright reflection of headlights behind and beside and before his parents’ car, one long night of hours to drive, in order to arrive at their new home. The previous move, they had at least been driving in the day, for the most part. But things often did not wrap up as quickly as planned with his parents. They had a lot to take care of, and as had he. He had packed all his own things and lifted the case of them all into the trunk of the vehicle himself; some of the things beside him had now become his pillow and bed for the night. Occasionally, when he woke, they would be playing quiet music, or having conversation, or pulling over to switch so one could sleep. He was not sure how far from their previous home they would be; all he knew was that it would be many night hours before they were to arrive. He was now a child of seven, with great and boundless knowledge, of course. If not knowledge, he still had within him a great curiosity.

Though his greatest activity still involved his soccer ball, now well-scuffed, yellowed and greened by grass and dirt and play, and though he had spent many a summer afternoon in the backyards of fellow young neighbors, he also took the time to study. He had taken some time to read his parents’ oldest books, though they supposedly taught of subjects beyond his understanding. He knew them well enough, surprised teachers with vocabulary and comprehension. This often did not grant him the love of his peers, but they liked him well enough on the soccer field. He had known for a while, however, that this time would be temporary.

When they first arrived, his parents had told him that they would likely not be in the town for very long. But he was content then, with even a couple of weeks, so long as he could continue to take the fields. That was the entire substance of his little, young life. To run and dribble and kick and score, his life was consumed with green grass and slender white nets and jersey and the black and white globes. When school and homework and meals were done, those were all his activities.

The next time he woke, the surroundings had become something unfamiliar.

Life would begin anew.

His mother snapped a photograph of the new home in the night; the doorway and a small piece of wall were visible in the light of the flash.

But as he and his parents began to unload their vehicle into the lonely, empty home, a sudden fear grasped him as he entered his new, small room. It did not leave, not even as his mother handed him his still-packed bag from his previous school the next morning, over his new coat. He felt his own small heart racing as he took the quick steps onto a new bus, filled with unfamiliar faces who either watched him explicitly, or were occupied with their own conversations. All had their companions and he had only his mother and father, taking their day off to rest on their mattresses which had also not found their homes.

Daylight slipped in from the blinds and underneath the door. The last of the night’s thoughts and sleeping memories had been milder than he would have expected. He still saw all the gore and loss that he would on a typical night, but one of the most mundane was the memory which stuck out as he woke.

He realized that he should probably wash up before leaving for Amira’s school, had she not left without him. The vast majority of Damir’s reasoning told him there was no purpose in even leaving the room, but a small percentage of him acknowledged that life was not going to remain still, even if he were to lock himself out of it.

Slowly, he maneuvered himself out of bed, taking the bag of necessities meant for the potential hospital stay with him. He was about to ask permission of her mother in the kitchen, but she merely offered a weak assurance and told him he didn’t need to ask her to use their bathroom. He lived here now, for as long as he needed to.

Damir entered the bathroom, avoiding his reflection as he usually did, setting the bag on the counter. He pulled out toiletries and a single outfit, his toothbrush and paste, as well as a small orange and white canister, before running water for the shower. The routine went as it usually would, with the pills first and the rest coming afterward. As he took the towel to wrap around his body after showering, he did all that he could not to really see himself; he only ever looked enough to know how to make himself semi-presentable.

But before him now was a thin, weary, empty young man with long wet strands of dark brown  hair obscuring his face, in his lost brown eyes. He had forgotten his own real face, having caught fearful jigsaw pieces of himself over the past three years in the faces of the two that had been his life. He did not recall the intricate details of this person’s face, this Damir.

He saw in that mirror which did not belong to him, a glimpse of an old dying man and a neglected child all the same. From this image, he turned away, to complete his morning routine.

By the time he had finished, the girl had been waiting for a little under an hour. He had taken merely minutes to wash away the days’ freshest grief-dust, but the rest had gone quite slowly. There was such a disruption in his routine; at this time, he would have been checking on his father, getting through his medication, helping him, doing things for and with him. Waiting for Mara to arrive to help, or allowing him to sleep; he would have gotten his uniform on for his latest job, more cleaning, this time at a high school and middle school, then off to wash more, dishes this time, at a busy diner. He knew it had been getting harder to arrive at work and to return. They had known the situation, but he still hadn’t called any of them yet…

“Are you ready?” Amira murmured gently. Why was she so gentle, so patient? She hadn’t pressured him at all. She had been there for what seemed like a lifetime now. But this was not so, and he knew it.

Damir nodded.

Her mother insisted they stay to have breakfast, which they completed entirely, with little conversation to accompany it. All they could do was stare at the oddly idyllic setting of the pristine home.

“We’ll see you again soon, Amira,” her mother said, as they left, speaking for both of her parents, including her currently absent father; he would likely return in their absence, Damir knew. The girl hugged her mother, and the couple left in her now-empty vehicle.

The sky was full of blue and light. The young woman kept her radio off, as her and the young man gained their bearings in this ever-shifting environment. She merely needed a few turns to exit her neighborhood, then another, and then the highway would stretch for the rest of those hours. Both were well aware of one another’s concerns about their form of transportation. Yet there was little to say about this now, as too much of it had already been said.

Damir would have stared at the road, or the sky, or the trees, or fellow vehicles, but rather, he had fixed his gaze upon the neat grey floor of the passenger seat.

That something within him had begun to build.

He had spent the entire past day with tears and sweat and sleep and waking nightmare. But today, that furious something within had continued to build.

He had spent the entire previous year in that house or working. He had spent that year watching the man who had raised him, who had loved him, the last person who knew of all that consumed them, fade faster and faster away from him. The year before that one had been the only one of remote happiness that he had ever experienced, and she now sat beside him.

But  this past year, there had been no sun. He had lived in an eclipse of unspeakable darkness. And hardly a call or a word arrived from her. There was pain in loss and brokenness and being so far from life as it once was, but Damir realized, there was something that had pierced him deep within him, something that seemed to resonate within his vital organs.

His father in a dark old suit not worn for years.

She was the sun to him. The light. The embodiment of potential for life beyond any of this.

Amira’s own tears, her face in his chest, on a park bench as stars filled a city sky and the street lights came on…

Without sun, darkness was all that remained.

He could not coax the man out of bed those first few weeks. But he understood. She had held them together.

Brick wall softball sound was not any of such things… one head slammed against a window and it shattered…

Life became hospital rooms and questions and pain and therapy and one step at a time, two steps forward, three back, a cycle, an endless cycle. And he could not even see them for weeks.

He saw how the man stayed by her side, almost every second. Always there to comfort, guide, assist. Always with her. Always thinking of her.

New homes and thick red brushstrokes.

The man’s own illness meant little to him. He was there to comfort her, and to take her shouting matches, and to take her when her tears streamed out and didn’t stop. He was there to lie down when she wanted to just rest. They each took days to simply sleep the world away for a while…

He was still endlessly devoted even after what had happened. As was she. And they both continued to struggle.

They had cried in the hospital room together, and the weeks afterward inched by. And he couldn’t get him out of bed. He couldn’t wake him up, for all those weeks.

The silence was unbearable.

“How was the first year of college?” he finally asked, keeping all that was within him only inside.

                “Good,” Amira replied, aware of her vague response.

                It was all he needed to hear…

                “Some things were kind of hard, but it was… good, for the most part,” she proceeded.

                He almost hoped she would not go on. He could not determine exactly why, but he simply wanted those words to cease.

                “That’s… great,” he replied.

                He had not acknowledged this emotion in a very long time. Doubt and Uncertainty arrived daily to light fires in his living room. More than ever, had he befriended Isolation, grown intimately near to Loneliness. Hopelessness had taken her place beside him in his sleep, and had worn his clothes; they looked and smelled of her. Mortality and Pain had frequently met with him, smirking self-satisfied smirks with every glance in his direction.

He would wake next to old companions of Sorrow and Grief, and lived awake and asleep constantly accompanied by the Helplessness, who came with watching Death slowly pull his family into his depths; Life’s grasp going weaker, and Will swiftly diminishing.  

                He had known all these things over the past years, but he had never been so near to them until this year past.

                And now drunken and sour companions had decided to drop in without prior notice.  

               

                Long and quiet was the drive, as many others had been for him. The young man did what he did second to doing what he was supposed to: suppressed and suppressed and suppressed all that he felt, the only manner of defusing he knew to prevent a violent detonation. There were other methods, and he was aware of them, but he had never been capable of using them.

                It had either been implosion or explosion all that time before. And it had nearly always been implosion. It was only this year that he’d stood on the line between both; regardless of his silence, there was something volatile within him.

                He had caused such massive destruction. He knew it was only a matter of time before he would cause more.

               

                “Amira… why… didn’t you say anything?”

               

                She had been so fixed on driving, or anywhere, elsewhere.

                “I… we hardly spoke this year.”

                She nervously swallowed.

                The young man made no assumptions.

                The young woman questioned herself, but knew inside her reasons.

               

                “It was really busy all year,” she murmured. “I’m sorry. I still should have called more than I did…”

                Silence.

                He knew what she was up against. He knew how much she had to change. How much she’d done to reach the place that she was now. Not so long ago, she barely spoke a word to anyone else.

                But those old companions had their strong and knobby hands grasping his shoulders, and jutting him forward.

                “Almost all year, Amira. Except for maybe a few emails in the beginning. What am I supposed to think that means?”

                “I… I’m not…”

                “What I mean is, how do you think I’m supposed to feel, Amira? You knew what was happening, but you just left…”

                The logic did not exist; it was not Amira’s responsibility, what had happened to Soren Pax, nor did Damir’s experience lie solely, or perhaps even at all, on Amira.

                “You left. I was here, and you went all these hours away, and I was still there. I know I wasn’t by myself, I know it, I wasn’t alone, not really, but… I… there was nothing, Amira, nothing. Nothing but all this… this… just… I… I was alone. I had no one else to go to, Amira. You know how hard things can get, and I just… I couldn’t… do you know what was running through my head all this time?”

                Condensation happened within the vehicle and small storms brewed and rained out tears, both from passenger and driver.

               

                “I’m sorry, Damir,” she sobbed.

                It was wrong. He knew it. She knew it.

                If he proceeded with his actual thoughts, it would be a sort of emotional manipulation. If she took what he said and used it against herself, that would be exactly what occurred.

                They had spent nearly four years trying to save one another.

                “I knew it was hard for you, but… I… I just…”

                “I… I don’t want to… make this harder for you… Amira. I’m sorry, really, just… I… take ba_”

                “Don’t.”

                “I…”

                “You meant what you said. And I’m sorry I… I did… what I did… to you…”

                “But you had to… your life is…”

                “You’re right, Damir, you’re right, I shouldn’t have just…”

                “No. Just… it… it’s o-_”

                “It’s not okay.”

                The parking lot in which the young woman’s far-too compact vehicle was placed within was surrounded by other vehicles, like and unlike it. The lot was one of several among the campus in which it was a part of. The backseat was clear for now, but it would be filled.

                The air within the vehicle hung humidly like a day that caused sweat to slide down one’s face in mere minutes.

                Two simultaneous “clicks” of car locks popped and two young adults stepped out in sync and opposite of the other.