"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.

"Sunlight" (Chapter 9: Room--NANOWRIMO)

Chapter 9: Room

                The house was tall and of average size, but stood neatly upon its street with not so much a thought to monotony. As the others surrounding it, something made this house unique. While some had red shutters, and others regal columns, still others, widow’s walks or bright yellow siding. This one had a brick-paved walkway to its door, and a well-kept lawn and a bright garden, all maintained by its inhabitants. In the front yard, was one uneven patch of grass, dented strangely by a lack of something.  

                And within, nothing was out of its place. No clothes dotted the floor, nor cups sitting on coffee tables. There had been days the house had seen chaos, but now, it stood pristine. Even what was not seen was kept in perfect places.

                Picture frames and photographs and elementary school photos and old albums, birth certificates and jackets and clothes that had been kept.

                Scarves went untouched in that secret compartment.

                A few articles were distributed throughout the house. There was one photograph of four turned on its face in the room shared by the couple, and a small singular photograph in the drawer of the girl.

                There was another nice home which kept old favorite toys; the room had been well-stocked and well-worn for twelve short years. Children had frequented the room for years, even continuing to visit or play as they “grew out” of their toys’ usage. The dolls and cars and trucks were small reminders of a quick, fleeting youth which seemed mystical and endless at the time.

                All the rooms once knew laughter. The bedrooms had each been occupied at one time. The rooms had known a camera’s flash, a tearing of plastic and colored paper on holidays and days which celebrated the births of its inhabitants. The walls had known of crayon and marker and finger paint, and secret messages and thumbtacks and tape and posters and friendly drawings.

                The floors had known of the same, and of dropped sneaked snacks and of muddy shoe prints and frogs rescued from the wild. The paint in one room had not always been the same. Those walls had known custard yellow and had worn coats of dinosaur green and space-sky blue, before their deep and neutral maroon and berry shade of this moment in time.

                The beds had known many sheets of children growing, and new frames, new colored blankets, new themed comforters. The rooms had once known cribs and infant cries.

                The house had known chaos. Its yard had known more than simple grass and marvelous flowers and fruit. There had once been a tall, majestic tree inhabiting the front yard, providing shade and a place to count when children had played hide and seek. More than one would often be within and without the house.

                One room had once contained many a photograph upon its walls. One room had once had a floor of dress up clothes and glitter and pink paper and projects. It had once contained giggles and secrets and a frequent population of fours and fives.

                The halls had once contained adult footsteps at nine o’clock, peering into the rooms of the children, relieved at the sights within, or so it seemed, as their steps lightened going from these rooms to their own. The halls had also contained the tip-toeing of the children as they rushed into the living room at early hours to take kitchen chairs and bedroom blankets to make a tent to read and pretend.

                An old vehicle within the garage had once contained two small carseats, then one small carseat and a little booster seat. It had once contained small plastic toys from stores and fast-food meals on the floor. Coloring books and backpacks.

                Crayon marks had merely faded just enough to not be seen when glanced at fast enough within this vehicle. The garage in which the vehicle resided in had once contained two tricycles and two large bicycles. It had once been opened almost all the time. There once was an old projector for movies and shows, which had once shown movies on the screen that was the garage door, to which the neighborhood would flock on the occasional summer night.

                During the day, the tree had once provided shade and a place to count, and a way to challenge one’s skills to climb. The tree had once been constantly kicked and grasped and shimmied upon, by such children.

                The tree that had once stood, had once contained more than leaves and twigs in the fall. It had once contained something else, and not long after, the tree would be disposed of.

                And all those small things would be put in the room and every last thing would be put in its proper place. The clothes were put away, photographs away, tricycles away, toys away. Out of sight.

"Sunlight" (Chapter 8: Medication--NANOWRIMO)

Chapter 8: Medication

Less than three years ago…

                There were about six umbrellas of locations which Damir would visit on a daily basis. Various clinics, which could practically count as one, the bus stop, internet job locators, also practically their own location, his home, the Pax family’s single vehicle, when not transporting more than himself from one physical place to the next, the bus stop, and lastly, the bus itself. The people and surroundings had begun to blend into one sort of monochrome mixture of silvers and grays, lonely and dreary and treading through their own troubles, as if their experiences had never belonged to anybody else.

                He felt their lonely frustrations and sorrow and the motions they all went through. He was one with the bus-riders and those who populated clinic waiting rooms, and the physical therapy patients, and the ones who waited and watched their families. He was one with the desperate who sought work with a thirst, one with the men and women who never slept, one with those whose pasts haunted them awake and asleep.

                He was one with those who wondered about a single human being more than any other human being. One with the abandoned, and one with the guilty.

                It had been five weeks and three days since James’s graduation party. His short-sleeved shirts were loose, and he wore pants whatever the temperature, though it was now the middle of a blistering July. Independence Day passed, uncelebrated, other than a few brief glimpses of fireworks on television and the gunshot sounds from the rest of town. His mother had slept through it. His father had joined her, to keep watch on his wife, if not to rest himself.

                Damir had his fair share of sleep as well. Or at least attempts at it.

                The previous night had been one without much sleep; perhaps two hours at best. Still, it was time to fill prescriptions. He had schlepped out of bed in a semi-conscious state, gone through a partial morning routine, and painfully gathered their funds for this very necessary resource. There was not a doubt in his mind that the three of them, as damaged as they were, they would be far worse off without the drugs. They did not heed those who sternly warned them of their side effects. But pain was pain, and depression was, indeed, depression.

                His mother had hated drugs. He willed himself not to think of her opinion of them now.

                 Perhaps the methods used by those in power were not the ones which would benefit the Pax family the most; but Damir wouldn’t question for now. Practicality was what mattered; and if better treatment cost more than the money that they already didn’t have, this would have to suit them for now.

                A tidal wave of desperation flooded him as the bus arrived at the pharmacy. It would not be long before none of this would be possible, if they did not receive steady income soon. There was more he could do. It did him little good to attempt not to see… the possibilities. Exaggerated cardboard signs, all the pitying eyes, but little provided for them. He nearly shuddered with the thought. He understood that most in those circumstances could not have helped where they’d ended up.

                He pressed against cold glass and entered the pharmacy; it was as though he’d entered a large, well-maintained freezer. Here, he blended into the aggregate known as pharmacy line-standers. He suppressed a yawn, and attempted not to acknowledge his shivering. He hoped it was merely due to the temperature change.

                The line moved along as slow as the warmth outdoors. There were about four people ahead of him. Every person looked utterly familiar, and unfamiliar all the same.

                Save for the young woman who stood with her mother. Her father left the line; he gave the other two away.

                Amira.

                “Amira?” he said, almost without the intention of saying so.

                The way she suddenly stiffened into an ice sculpture in white capris gave her away entirely.

                She stepped out of line, and permitted the person behind her to go ahead.

                “I’m going to go find your father,” her mother said; something about the way the Senela’s interacted had changed since he had last seen them. A lot could happen in nearly a month; he’d seen it numerous times now. Different developments. Discoveries. Improvements.

Setbacks.

Amira turned to face him now; it always seemed her parents left her when he was present. But their leaving likely had absolutely nothing to do with Damir’s actual presence.

“Hi,” he began.

“Hi.”

There was something different about Amira as well.

“Um… I’m sorry. About um… last time we met.”

She looked away from him.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, barely audible. The others continued to gather their prescriptions.

“Should we… do you… um…”

“Some other time?” she continued for him.

“Sure. Yes. Talk… some other time?”

She nodded.

Damir noticed that he had somehow arrived at the counter.

He refilled his parents’ and his own medications. The monotony had been broken. Gray and silver had shifted into yellow and white and blue. He glanced over his shoulder, once the necessities had been retrieved; Amira’s parents had not yet returned.

“Can I um… can we exchange phone… numbers? Maybe?”

She glanced behind her as well, and nodded once more, quickly. Somehow, one of them produced a pen and scrawled each other’s significant seven digits, exchanging them with surprising dexterity.

Damir left, feeling as though he had taken a battering ram to the door of his mind, and that Amira had offered the same to him. The thought was terrifying, yet full of potential.

Grey and silver had turned to yellow, white, and blue, he’d noted, as he stared upward at the bus stop. His gaze wandered next, to the sunflower across the street, who lifted her chin to her mother in the sky.

***

For a long time, the young man had filled out application after application. He filled out about one application for every day of the week, for at least three weeks, if that was possible. Perhaps he’d filled out more than one for the same place, even for the same job… but he was not counting.

A week after seeing Amira at the pharmacy, Damir secured his first job since… at least two years prior to that July. Dangerously mopping up restaurant floors and wiping down tables. He was capable now, and it wouldn’t matter if he wasn’t. No, he was. He had to be. The pay was not very high, but he kept his options open; it was part-time work. He would seek out another part-time, and another, if that was what it would take to keep his family sustained.

The cleaning became a nightly work after another few weeks; during the day, he had the time to shuttle his parents as he had to, and on other days, he assumed a few hours of filing at an unsuccessful office. A few more hours a week, he stocked shelves at a grocery store. He had barely a minute a day to anyone other than his parents. He hadn’t the time for nightmare, nor fantasy.

All time was dedicated to them. To allowing the Pax family to survive, whatever that looked like for them. He found that the busyness of it all was almost a relief, no matter how much pain he wound up in at the end of the day; it was nearly worth it. He hadn’t the time to consider his work’s value to be anything more than survival, nor consider the intricacies of purpose; this place in his life was all about the tasks at hand, about accomplishing them to the extent that was necessary, and perhaps more. The distance maintained between action and thought kept the fragile structure of this family from caving in. It did not matter that they may have kept such thoughts within; their only goal was to survive.

Regardless of distance or silence in thought, the structure remained fragile. Damir was well aware of the role that he played; the triangle was nothing but two stuck lines if the hypotenuse was removed. The lines would go on forever without an ending, if only with each other.

He understood that it all fell upon him now. He was willing to assume that role; his parents had demonstrated care, structure, responsibility, all their lives. Even their most irresponsible decisions had an altruistic component; their travels to other countries, however sudden, always improved the lives of those around them, be they strangers or fellow officers or volunteers. They were not people-pleasers, yet the benefit of others was their ideal, whether it was merely bringing a smile to their faces. Their negative feelings were put away in the face of others, so as not to burden them.

The least he could do was the same for them.

It was not to say that he didn’t struggle. The nightmares still came, never called for, but those were the good nights; a nightmare implied sleep, even if it was not entirely restful. Most nights, he simply laid awake; those were his only moments of pause. And whatever thoughts he’d managed to put to sleep while he partook of his roles, crawled out of their beds and turned on all the car headlights in his head. It was at night which he was haunted the most.

Soon, the memories would start a revolution in Damir’s mind; this was not his decision to make. They knew his weaknesses, they knew where to attack to make him collapse, to drive him to a pleading surrender.

One night, he could not keep those thoughts within him. He laid awake for many long moments, feeling the constant pulsating aches and throbs, as well as the jabbing sensations that had become his body. And the sounds of screeching, screaming, shattering, repeated themselves over and over. He drove himself deeper into bed, as the shadow of headlights from the outside pierced through his blinds. Nothing could stop it. Nothing. Shaking, he closed the blinds, attempting to block out what existed beyond the room.

All of the pain were sensations anew when he found his mind crawling back, caving in.

After what may have been hours, he wrestled with the memories, battled with them, tossing, turning, pacing, using all his strength not to scream.

When dawn had long passed, he left to help his mother out of bed. But the scenes and the thoughts did not stop. Damir did not leave the house that first day. He couldn’t even bother to call.

But as the days drew on, he forced himself back to work, but still nothing stopped. He dropped things and slipped, fell, and stared. He hurried outside to take in fresh air, as if it had the power to shift the thoughts, but the air did nothing. He shouted at somebody else as the pressure began to build, and he was sent home.

Some week later, he recalled the piece of the doorway that he’d taken from Amira… It was an early night for him, and it was summer. He could only hope that she would remain awake at this time. He could only hope he wouldn’t disturb her too greatly… he had never been one to give away his thoughts, especially those which caused such great distress. Was she capable of relieving those thoughts? Likely not. But she was a part of this foreign world of pieces which fit together and worked for a purpose. She was something, someone, somewhere, alive, and knowing, quietness powerful and meaningful, and strong.

Hers was the first call he had made since the previous week.

“H-Hello?” she stammered, her voice tearful.

“Amira?” he whispered. He should hang up, he thought.

“He’s gone, Damir… he… I… He’s gone…”

“What’s wrong, Amira?”

“He… I… I can’t… he’s not here, Damir… he’s gone…”

He should hang up.

“Who’s gone, Amira?”

“Liam,” she whispered, her voice breaking with a sudden sob. “Liam’s gone, I can’t see him… He’s not here… he… he’s gone…”

There was silence on the line, punctuated only the by the sound of saltwater rain pouring from the girls’ skylight eyes.

“I… he… he’s gone… I took the… I took the pills, Damir, they told me… and… he… he’s gone. I can’t see him anymore.”

The ice-sculpture girl in white capris, standing in the pharmacy. The playroom basement and Dan’s remarks, the school days she had missed and the way she’d run when he’d said what he had.

He simply listened for a long while.

“I’m sorry, Amira…” he whispered, though he’d hated the word in sympathy, hoping it meant something else from his lips, liquid lead encasing his body, as he laid upon his bed, this late, endless night. Endless day.

She sniffled and gasped in breath, her breathing slowly becoming even.

“Me too,” she replied.

They remained silent a long while, each with his or her thoughts, his or her own apparitions, their own considerations. A tectonic plate of privacy, of reservation, had shifted and caused a tsunami of what could not be taken back. Levees had broken; floodgates had opened. Their secrets, that ocean, washed over the lands that were once their lonely lives.

“Can I… see you sometime?” he cautiously continued.

                The girl nodded at the opposite side of the line, before slowly speaking.

                “Yes.”

                His schedule had called him to be off, the very next day.

                “Tomorrow?”

                She nodded again.

                “O-Okay.”

                Both lines fell silent at once.