Prologue
One day as I was heading back home on the subway from my job at the Threadless company building in Boston, a young boy caught my attention. He was standing infront of me. He was no older than 17, with shaggy brown hair that hung infront of his eyes like a sheep dog's. He was sporting a band T-shirt and was wearing jeans that had well outlived their lifetime. They had holes in them, a huge one that exposed his enitre knee and a smaller one in the back pocket, making the pocket completely useless. He held an ipod firmly in his left hand and drummed to a silent beat with his right. I watched his fingures as they drummed, trying to imagine the beat that was alive only to him. He was a bass player, I could tell. His left fingers marked out the invisable fretboard while his right hand fingers continued to strum out the the cords. I watched him, memorized by his fingers. They were long and slender, but it was the speed that hypnotized me. They were so quick that they disappeared as seperate fingers and emerged into one swift blur. A minute later he got off at Hynes Station on Newbury St. I watched him as he got off. He smiled at the people he passed and looked into their faces, into their eyes, as if studying their faces. As he retreated into the mob of workers in suits and students with their messanger bags, which consumed him inwhole, I thought about him. Where was he heading? Why was here on this subway? What secrets did he hold? What was his story?
PART ONE
-----♥-----
"The city is the best place to be in when you want to be no one, where you can be anyone."
He was no one, but to anyone walking on the street or sitting across from him on the subway he was anyone. He could appear to be anyone. The feeling it gave him was exhilarating. He had been no one most of his life. He had never experienced love, and never witnessed loss. His only love was for the music that crashed in and flooded his mind. It ran through his veins and dripped out of him through his lips. His voice was sweet, clear, calming. People had told him this many times, had told him that they knew some people. He would politely smile at them and thank them, but to him music was life, a world, not money. He played the bass, and people would baffle over his talent. They would say they have a band, that they were in need of a good bass player. He would nod his head and take their numbers and their cards, but to him this was a way of living, not a way of making a living. He had had many girls fall over him, but he would only shake his head to their offers.
His green hazel eyes scanned the crowd as he walked up the stairs of the subway station to the city above. "This must be the closest thing to heaven." he thought as he looked up. The stairs were steep and graffitied by local gangs. At the top, however, the blue sky line of the city opened up to him. The light that drifted down filtered through the grit of the city air. The light was bright, but if caught at the right angle, it was bleak and murky. Small dust particles danced in the light as they fluttered down the stairway. The cool autumn air welcomed him in a large gust as he emerged from the underground.
The cool air and gusts of wind were a contrast from the dank suffocating underground station. He sighed and took in two deep breaths of the chilly air before continuing on to his destination. The air stung him and burned the back of his throat, but he didn't care. It was an improvement from the hoarse, thick air that had stuck in the back of his throat in a large choking lump. He sighed and then stared walking again. He watched the people as they passed. He smiled.
"So many stories," he thought. The wind rustled the leaves on the trees, knocking them down and carrying them away. They difted in the breeze, dancing and spinning. He smiled at the reluctant ones as they held their tight grip to their home against the unforgiving breeze. It reminded him of a toddler holding onto his mother's legs. He watched the families as they walked through the park trails off of Ipswich Street. A breeze rustled the dead leaves that littered the side walk and roads. The gust nipped through his band shirt. It was chilly but he didn't mind. The wind found its way to the holes in his jeans but he didn't notice. He smiled as Anberlin's Unwinding Cable Car came on through his headphones. He sang to it, his voice floating over the chilled air, traveling sweetly in partnership to the wind. "Perfection," he thought as he watched the leaves difted away.
emotive unstable.
your like an unwinding cable car.
listening for voices,
buts its the choices that make us who we are.
go your own way.
even season have change.
just burn those new leaves over.
so self-absorbed, you've seem to ignore,
the prayers that have already come about.
He saw a family of three walking toward him. The small girl was holding tight to her parents hands as they swung her up and down as they walked. A shreek of glee escaped her lips. He laughed with her. His voice didn't even faulter as he picked up on the chorus.
this is the correlation of salvation and love.
(dont drop your arms)
dont drop your arms.
i'll guard your heart.
with quite words i'll lead you in.
A gust of wind hit his face like a blow, whiping his hair back. He turned his head toward a couple walking hand in hand. Her head was bowed, but the boy never let his eyes leave her face. The wind whipped her hair across her face hiding it. The boy lifted her face to his and moved the hair from her eyes. He looked into her eyes before he pulled her in, holding her close, kissing the top of her head.
backing away from the problem of pain.
you never had a home.
you've been misguided.
you're hiding in shadows for so very long.
don't you belive that you've been decived?
that your no better than...
the hair in your eyes it never disguised
what your really thinking of.
this is the correlation of salvation and love.
(dont drop your arms)
dont drop your arms.
i'll guard your heart.
with quite words i'll lead you in.
Another family passed. A family of four. The parents walked behind, hand in hand, while the two children ran a head, a boy and a girl. Each had a stick that they used as swords. The swords would clank together causing one of the children to retreat. The boy was older, about 7, the girl was about 4. Her doll was now hostage, and he was taunting her by holding it over the bridge by the hair.
you're so brilliant.
dont soon forget.
your so brilliant.
grace marked your heart.
The parents were now in on it. The father joined his son, teasing his wife with words that were muffled by the music. The mother placed her hands on her hips and said something before snatching the doll and running, throwing her head back with laughter. Her daughter followed her giggling as she ran into her mother's arms and taking hold of her doll, hugging it close to her.
this is the correlation of salvation and love.
dont drop your arms.
i'll guard your heart.
with quite words i'll lead you in and out of the dark.
la la la la la la la la la la la
dont drop your arms.
la la la la la la la la la la la
this is the correlation of salvation and love.
(dont drop your arms)
dont drop your arms.
i'll guard your heart.
with quite words i'll lead you in.
----♥-----
"We all feel pain. But when we don't feel anything at all is when we know we are alive."
She began to walk faster. Her heart was racing, failing to slow down to the pace of her walk, so she decided to let herself follow the beat and pace her heart set. She tried to deepen her shallowed breathing but failed. She couldn't organize the scrambled thoughts that intruded her head. She tried once more to slow down her pace, but failed despite the things she was telling herself.
"He said he never cries, that's what he's doing right now. That's why he hasn't call yet. He's crying and he doesn't want me to know it so he's waiting til he's done crying," she thought as she entered Boston Common Garden. "He said he gets off at nine, at closing time. He's closing up tonight, but because of some late costumers he's running late. He'll call soon, when he gets back home." But she knew it was useless. She could feel the knots in her stomac. The twisting and turning. She had to sit down. She was going to hurl.
She braced herself against the nearest tree. She had to grip a branch as tightly as she could to keep herself from loosing conscience. Her breathing started to slow down and feeling slowly started to return to her limbs, but her heart and mind remained numb. She looked at her hand. A deep gash went through the center. Blood had already pooled out of the wound. She slowly lifted it up to see it better. It was a good half inch deep, and it ran from one side of her palm to the other, but she felt nothing. She wiped it off on her jeans and walked toward a bench. The wind wrestled with her hoodie. The chilled air bit through her jeans and two layers, but she felt nothing. What did it matter? Another gash to add to the collection? The wind snatched at her dyed hair. He had hated it when she had dyed her beautiful blonde hair a more plain chestnut colour. She got up and left. Nothing mattered to her any more.
-----♥-----
“Memories always stay with us in our hearts and minds, but it’s the ones that are most painful that seem to flood in and consume us.”
He picked up the two day old newspaper on the counter. “Anything else?” a waitress asked. The fabric between the buttons on her dress gapped, exposing the skin and pink lace bra underneath. Her name tag read “Kat” and there were small smilie stickers around it.
“Oh, no thank you this is fine.” he replied to the waitress as he took the cup of coffee he had ordered from her. She was nice, thin. She was dressed in her clad light blue uniform that fit too snug in the front and not enough in the back. Her apron was stained with streaks of coffee and pie fillings, from being clumsy he noticed when she tilted a mug too far while carrying it over to the customer. The coffee spilled out over the top, making a soft splatter sound as it hit the checker tiled floor.
The waitress reminded him of the girl who had changed his life, and had taken his heart. That girl had also been clumsy, yet she had been such a graceful dancer. He thought of this as he brought the mug up to his lips and took a sip. It was stale and far too sweet, a sign that they were trying to disguise the fact that the coffee was bad. She had taught me that, he thought.
“Shit!”
He looked up from the paper to see the waitress bending down near him to pick up a shattered plate that she had been taking back to the kitchen.
“Here, let me help you with that,” he told the frantic girl as he got off the bar stool.
“Fuck. I’m so sorry. Ughh. My ass is going to be fired.”
“Why don’t you get a broom for the small pieces while I pick up the bigger stuff, okay?” he offered hoping she would calm down. She smiled at him before heading off to the back. He offered a smile back as he bent down . Kat had a nice smile, nice teeth, but it wasn’t anything compared to the girl she reminded him of, it wasn’t perfect. He hated to use the word perfect, but to him that smile was the closest thing to perfection, to divinity. To him when she use to smile, it was perfect.
-----♥-----
“A military wife is the single strongest person I have known. She is stronger than the man who is out in the field with the weapons. She is strong because she fights the silent wars.”
She saw the car pull up on the side of the road. She watched as the men got out. They were in uniform.
“How much ginger do you usually put in the cookies? One teaspoon or two?” her old college roommate Lins called from the kitchen. She watched as the men made it up her drive-way. She sat down on the window box as time slowed down to a stop. The thoughts ran through her head. “They are mistaken. They are at the wrong house. This is all a terrible dream. No! NO! They are here to tell me he’s in the backseat! He’s come home early! He’s here to surprise me! No. He’s in trouble with the law, in jail! Anything but this!” but the true answers, the ones that made sense and were as clear as day, pushed aside the pity excuses. She knew the truth. She understood the cruelty of reality. She knew this was the explanation for the nightmares that had been haunting her for days. The reason for the terrible feeling that had gripped her at 3 am the night before. The reason for the miscarriage. “The other wives talk about this moment. The emotions that go through your head... But I’m NOT a wife, I can’t be one of them! I’m not a wife! Barely, we’ve barely been married for 6 months! He still doesn’t know about the baby! I’m not a wife! I’m still new at this! I’m still that new girlfriend. That friend. That companion.” She was saying her thoughts aloud by now, crying and banging her fists on the window seat as the men walked up to the door. Her crying had gotten Lins’ attention.
When the doorbell rang she only motioned at it to show Lins that she wanted her to answer it. She took deep breaths as her body shook violently. As Lins opened the door she realized why her friend had been acting so oddly. The sight of the men in uniform caused Lins to heave over and fall to her knees.
“Mrs. Abote?” the younger officer asked. He had a kind face. His eyes were a light shade of golden brown and were understanding. His face still had the features of a boy. He looked like he couldn’t be older than 18. The older man shook his head a placed his hand on his shoulder motioning over to the smaller woman standing just out of view. Lins could barely bring herself to point over to where her friend stood, before leaning her head again the doorframe and crying.
The small women stepped out from where she was standing, her face looked blotchy and her eyes were red and swollen from crying. She had a slim face. She looked fragile like even the slightest amount of pressure would snap her. Her hair was a dark auburn colour and was pulled back into a ponytail. She was wearing a 50's styled dress, powder green with tiny white polka dots. She had a flour covered apron tied around her waist. Her eyes showed her Asian heritage, but they were a stunning shade of green. They were a deep green, almost like endless pools, and they were piercing and unsettling.
She nodded to the men as they introduced themselves. The older man had been her husband’s commanding officer, and the young boy had been one of the men her husband had spent his last breaths with.
“We were both in the same platoon,” he said to her, shifting from foot to foot as he talked. Her unsettling eyes were making him nervous. “He talked about you a lot. Always talking about how beautiful you are, how happy you made him,” he said looking up at her. “He wasn’t lying about how beautiful you are,” he said hoping it wouldn’t be to bold. She only gave him a half smile. “Well he was a great man. Everyone loved him,” he said, the back of his throat was starting to close up and tears were threatening to spill out. “We were driving on one of the roads when we were hit,” he said hoping she understood what he was talking about. “It hit on the left side. I was in the second one. We had the chance to prepare. But he was on the left side of the truck. We all rushed to get to their aid, but the truck had already gone up in flames,” he was crying now but he didn’t care. “We got two men out, but they were burned real bad and bleeding. We stopped the bleeding and called for back up. We heard on coming fire. We had to take cover. Leave the others. But I reached for him. He smiled at me and nodded his head. I couldn’t hear what he said but I know what he said,” the boy had to take a break before he could continue. “He said, ‘You’re a good kid. You know what to do.’ I had to leave him then, but he handed me his dog tags and this,” he said holding out the dog tags and small gold chain. He hugged them lightly before handing them to her. “I knew what to do.”
Her hand shook slightly as she held out her hand to retrieve the dog tags and the chain she had given him as a birthday gift. They lay heavily in her hands and the metal was cold and lifeless. She imagined this is how her husband was. Her friend. Her companion. The weight of the metal felt like the weight of his entire body had been dropped into her hands. She didn’t shed single tear more. She was a military wife. And because of that she was strong.
PART TWO
-----♥-----
“What lies behind us and what lies in front of us are all tiny matter to what lies within us”
He liked to look at the people’s faces, see if they were smiling, if they were having a good day or a bad one. He liked to study their faces and figure out their story. He’d match them up to on of his songs. Every person he saw was given a song. He enjoyed his job at the 7/11 gas station as the cashier. He would sing along with the songs that played on the old radio that sat next to the cash register. People would tell him he had a beautiful voice and would ask him why he was working “at this dump” instead of making money off of his talent. Each time he was asked this he would simply reply because he likes his job.
And he truly did. He enjoyed guessing each person’s story and enjoyed seeing their face, reading their expressions. He loved it so much that he had even refused to be moved up as manager, because then he couldn’t the people’s faces in the office. He was content where he was.
A customer walked in, interrupting his thoughts. She had a toddler clinging to her hand while she carried a basket in the other. She grabbed two juice boxes and a box of animal crackers, which she opened and handed to the little boy. She walked to the back of the store to the drink section and grabbed two sodas and then turned back and grabbed a bag of pretzel trail mix. She walked up to the counter with the toddler following close behind.
“Pump four,” she said nodding toward the gas pumps that were outside through the gritty window. “Honey give mommy the box so she can pay for them, okay?” she told the toddler as she reached down toward the little boy who handed over the box reluctantly.
He rang up the box and then, smiling, handed them back to the little boy who smiled gingerly back at him before taking the box with his sticky and drool covered hands. He rang up the rest of the items and gas before handing the mother her bag,
“Traveling?” he asked eyeing their car, which was loaded with suitcases strapped to the top.
“No, moving,” she replied as she handed him the money. “My husband got a new job in New Jersey.”
“Oh. Well have a safe trip,” he said as she took the toddler’s hand.
“Thanks,” she said as she left.
He watched as her husband took the boy and placed him in the carseat, then kissed his wife on the cheek before getting into the driver’s side. He sighed, he knew he would never have a family like that.
-----♥-----
“Just remember, you will be remembered.”
It was a beautiful autumn day. The air was crisp and the sky remained clear and blue all day. The air was as clean as city air could get, but to her it wasn’t any less choking than the day before. Autumn was usually her favorite season, but today it was no different. When she had gotten home at 4 A.m., after a night of mindless walking, she had already 20 messages. She didn’t need to play them to know who they were from or what they were about.
She cleaned the wounds on her hands in the sink. The cool water stinging the open cuts. The water was stained a reddish brown colour as it ran off her hands. The phone rang, echoing off of the small apartment walls, startling her. She let the machine answer it. It was her mother.
"Honey please, please pick up! You're scaring all of us to death! Please! something's happened to John. Honey. PLEASE! Please pick up...or at least come down here..." Click.
She unplugged her phone and turned off her cell phone. She already knew. She had known the second he did it. She had felt it. She had felt everything he had felt. And, she was only half satisfied when she felt relief. She knew why he did it. She knew it was going to happen, only it was too late. It was always too late with him. He did things at the drop of a hat. He was hard to predict, and when he hadn’t called her by 9:30, she knew. She had always known, and shew didn’t have to walk to his apartment to see the yellow crime scene tape surrounding it. She didn’t have to listen to the cops as they tried to talk to her, or to her family and friends as they tried to explain it to her. She didn’t need an explanation. She knew what had happened. How.
They had talked about it once. How they would do it. If they preferred quick or slow. She knew he had used a gun. She knew where he would leave the note, a separate one for each person. The cops handed her’s she turned and walked away. She felt nothing, dead, numb, but at that moment she’d never felt more alive. And she hated it.
-----♥-----
“They say a mind is a terrible thing to waste, but what good is mine if I’m locked up in a cage?”
He remembered it all too well. He remembered everything like that, they were all vivid, real. They invaded his dreams and littered his every thought. He remembered that night all too well as he was walking back home from the diner. The way she had smelt, felt, sounded. The look that had been on her face, that look of desperation.
“I can’t stay here. I can’t stay with you, be with you,” she said as she grabbed her coat. They had just finished dinner. He was walking out with a tray of coffee and pound cake. She was up and at the door before he even had the chance to register what she had just said. They had been catching up so well. It was the first time they had been together in a year and a half. He had just gotten done with a tour with his band a month ago, and she had just finished her first to years of college. He had hoped that she would agree to move in with him, but she hadn’t even given him the chance to mention it. She was crying now, and his brain had finally caught up to the rest of the conversation.
“What do you mean can’t be with me? What are you talking about?!”
“I can’t stay, I’m sorry. I should have told you but I couldn’t!”
“You’re not making any sense. Sit down so we can talk,” he said as he reached for her arm.
“NO! I CAN’T! I’m not your’s! What did you think! I can’t stay your’s forever!” she shouted as she pushed him back roughly.
“What are you babbling about?!” he screamed. It started to hit him. The coffee had long been forgotten and he left the tray drop. It shattered inti a thousand pieces around him as it hit the wood floor.
“I’m not your’s to keep! I MET SOMEONE! We were friends until two months ago. I wanted to tell you... I wanted to tell you...” she sobbed as she let herself slump to the floor. “I wanted to tell you but I was afraid. I couldn’t hurt you! But this! This hurts even more”. And with a deep, unsteady breathe she got up and reached for the door.
“NO!” he yelled out desperately,
“He asked me to move in with him! To live with him! What did you think?! That we were going to stay sweethearts forever!? We both knew it wouldn’t last!” she yelled as she stepped through the door. He wanted to run. To follow her. To go after her and hold her in his arms like he did before. But he knew she wasn’t his to keep. She didn’t belong to him anymore, she belonged to the one that was waiting for her in their shared apartment. The keys jingled as he opened the door to his apartment. The one she had left over a year ago. He had gotten the wedding announcement two months ago. It still sat on the table next to the door unopened
-----♥-----
“Teenage boys go in thinking on the other side they are fighting and killing the enemy, when really on the other side of that line they are fighting and killing teenage boys.”
She sat on the park bench, the deep green paint chipping away and exposing the under layer of blue pain and rust. The wind blew her skirt, wrapping it around her legs. It was chilly and the knit sweater she was wearing wasn’t much help against eh wind, even when she hugged it tighter around her body. Her hands were numb and a bright shade of peach from being exposed to the autumn evening air.
The sun was starting to set behind the buildings. The houses on their suburban street were beginning to nestle in for the night, not far off the tall buildings and skyscrapers of the city reflected the fading sunlight in blood red streaks and puddles. The windows danced and shimmered like the castes rays of a chandelier. A gust of wind pulled her hair loose from her cream coloured shell combs. Strands of auburn hair slapped her face. Tears rolled across her face leaving frozen streaks of tears and mascara down her cheeks and chin. His dog tags were lying in her lap, her fingers intertwining themselves in and out of the metal balled chain.
She was tired the preparations for the funeral were tiring and the endless calls from relatives and friends full of empty hearted sorries were beginning to slowly drive her insane. She stared down the street at the small blue, three bedroom, two bath ranch style house that she and her husband had bought no more than four months ago.
“It’s big enough. And it has a large fenced in backyard! Perfect for a family,” he had said before they had closed the deal with the previous owner. She had smiled then at the thought, and had even slightly worried that the house may become too small. But now the house seemed too big, too empty, lonely. Now instead of a house filled with promises and dreams they could full fill together, it was a house built on false hope and dead dreams. Instead of promises and wishes, the house made her sick. Se started at it and she could have sworn it stared right back.
She let her head fall into her hands and let herself cry. She had lost the only support that had ever held her up, and now she had to build her own because she had to be strong for tomorrow. She had to be strong for her husband. She had to be strong for his funeral.
PART THREE
-----♥-----
"be kind for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle."
“Here,” an envelope cut through the air and landed at the boy’s feet. He picked it up and placed it into the pocket of his 7/11 gas station uniform.
“For you. Found it in my mail. Damn postal service can’t seem to get anything right,” his neighbor scolded as he shook his head and stirred a small white plastic spoon around in his coffee cup. The boy sighed and smiled at his neighbor.
He was an older man in his late fifties. His hair was salt and peppered and his mahogany coloured skin resembled leather from many years of manual work and exposure to the sun in the shipyards. He was short, no more than five foot six, but he was strong as an ox. There were stories that he had pinned a man to a wall, who was over six feet and close to 250 pounds, with a single arm. He was known as Billy the Goat. He was old and straight to the point, but was kind.
All of his children were grown and out of the house with families of their own, he and his wife had been living in the apartment next to ten years when the boy and his mother had moved into the empty apartment next to them. His wife died three years later, right as the last child was leaving.
The boy studied his neighbor’s face. There was no doubt that the man standing in front of him missed his wife. That was clear as day. The boy smiled. “It’s all in the eyes.” that’s what his mother had always told him when he was growing up.
“Anything I could help you with?” his neighbor asked, motioning to the envelope sticking out of the boy’s uniform. “Haven’t gotten a letter from them since, well, you know. . . for a longtime”. The old man sighed before taking another sip from his mug, but his eyes said it all.
“I miss her, too,” the boy said before turning toward the door to his apartment.
“Ahh. You remember her? Could have sworn you were too young, not even four or so. Couldn’t even see you through the peep hole when you would knock on the door,” the man said with a chuckle.
“I remember her cookies. She was always kind to me, and she always smelt like the lavender flowers that were always in the vases around the house,” the boy said smiling at the memories.
“Yea, those flowers always did bother the crap outta me. Always had me sneezing. But, I never did realize how much I really loved them until she was gone,” the older man paused to take a sip from his coffee cup.
“What about me, sir?”
“You miss anybody? What about your daddy? You miss your daddy much?”
“No,” the boy answered back bleakly as he opened the door to his apartment, “there was nothing to miss. I wasn’t even born yet.”
His mother was in the kitchen of their small two bedroom apartment. Curry and chicken filled the whole apartment with their thick aroma. He breathed it in as he headed over to the breakfast bar, and place the envelope down on one of the cherry place-mats.
“You have another appointment tomorrow,” his mother said. Her back was to him as she cooked over the large pots on the stove.
“I know,” he said as he picked up the plates and silverware and placed them on the breakfast bar counter, that was littered with magazine clippings and coupons. “I’m going to take the subway tomorrow so you don’t have to worry about driving me up there during your break,” grabbing two cups and filling them with ice and tap water.
“But I want to take you,” his mother said as she brought over the food.
“Mom, please? I want to take a walk anyway before I have to go in for the appointment. You know, clear my head.”
“I know baby,” she said as she sat down next to him and placed her hand on his arm, “I know.”
☻
A soft warm glow of pink light flooded in through his window. A streak ribboned across his pillow, gently brushing his eyes. He woke up, blinking a few times. His arm was asleep and he had a stale taste in his mouth. He sighed and pulled himself out of bed, shaking his arm violently so that the feeling would come back. He went into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face before pulling one a pair of jeans that were hanging on the back of the bathroom door. He looked in the mirror; the face staring back at him appeared older and different, like it had been years since he had seen his reflection. He sighed. Scars marked their pale white stories up and down his upper arms. He stared at them. The insides of his arms were bruised with two new scars from a different cause. They boldly printed out a new story in small black and blue bruises. He glared in disgust at them before quickly throwing on a T-shirt that was on the counter.
He reached into the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of Minute-Maid orange juice before heading out the door and locking it. He tucked his keys in one of the side pockets of his jeans since the back ones had holes in them. He walked out into the cool November air and turned left toward the Suffolk Downs subway station. He had four hours until his appointment, enough time to walk around and take in the city.
-----♥-----
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