The silence was awkward. Julianne Sierra didn’t know how to speak to her daughter and truth be told, Aimee Sutton had no intention in speaking to her mother. 

 

“I’m really excited that you’re here with me. I think you’re really going to like Galena, Aims,” said Julianne, attempting to start a conversation. 

 

“I doubt that,” flashed Aimee before she began to lower herself more into the passenger seat, as if it would swallow her whole. 

 

Her new residence in Galena, Illinois was due to the death of her Father. He had been killed by a drunk driver no less than two weeks ago. Aimee still had yet to process his death, distracted by her whole world changing around her. Never in a million years would she have thought she would be living in a crappy town like Galena.

 

“Oh come on, it’ll be fun!’

“I doubt it. I guess when dad told you that I’ll live with you ‘over his dead body’ he really took it to heart” Aimee responded, and Julianne gasped .

 

“I can’t believe you would say something that is so hurtful.”

 

“Well I did. Besides, who is it going to hurt? My dad? He’s dead, Julianne.” 

 

“Aimee, I am not the enemy.” 

 

Aimee laughed darkly and pushed her hair behind her ear before responding. 

 

“So who is then? Because last time I checked you were the one who left dad and I back in New York to get re-married.”

“I didn’t leave you. My marriage between me and your father didn’t work.”

 

Aimee didn’t responed, allowing the car to once again fill up awkward silence.

 

Thomas Behnke

Prof. Walia

ENW302

09/26/2019

 

David had just made the decision to start dinner when his cell phone rang. The caller ID flashed SISTER1 and he answered.

“Hi Liz, what’s up?”

“Hey David, you busy?”

“Not really.  Want to talk logistics? I just need directions to the school. It starts at ten, ya?”

David walked into the kitchen.

“Yeah, ten. I’ll text you the address. It’s the same exit as me, so the same amount of time to get there.”

He filled a pot of water and brought it to the stove. “Great,” he said.  “Can’t believe the girls are out of high school. Are we old, now?”

“You definitely. Me never.”

David laughed as he lit the burner under the pot. He put the lid on. “I got them both cool things. Do you think they would prefer money?”

“Your presents are always the best, David.”

As David was walking out of the kitchen, the front door opened and Michelle, his wife, walked in.

“Aww shucks,” David said into the phone, “you make a guy blush.”

Michelle gave him a questioning look, and he silently mouthed “Liz.” Michelle’s face contorted into that “I smell shit,” face he loathed so much.

She walked up to him, and in a low, angry voice said, “You need to get off the phone now.”

Liz’ voice was immediately in his ear. “Bitch face is home, I hear. My condolences. Okay, I guess I’ll go.”

“Hold on, Liz,” he said.  He held the phone against his shoulder and addressed his wife.

“I just need to talk to her about this weekend. I put the water on for pasta. Going to heat up sauce in fridge.”

“What did you do today?”

In response, David held his hand palm out to her and resumed the call.  Michelle huffed away. David headed back into the kitchen. He had a habit of pacing when he was on the phone that was unconscious until Michelle pointed it out to him five years ago. Now it was a self-conscious tic.

“Okay, Liz. Where were we?”

“Plotting wife death.”

“Have you considered a career in stand up? Because if so, don’t.” He grabbed another pot and placed it on the counter. He opened the fridge and took a Tupperware with tomato sauce out.

“Maybe I’m not the one to talk,” Liz said. “God knows, I stayed too long with John. All I will say is this. Derek and I have a spare room, and our bills are paid. You don’t eat much. Abigail and Mary are gone for the summer after graduation. Hostels in Europe. Abigail is taking a ukulele with her. Which means that there will be an entire studio in the basement, with guitars, drums, flutes, mandolins and amps, just collecting dust.”

“I can’t believe you would say something that is so hurtful.” David said.

Liz laughed. “Well I did. Have you been playing lately?”

“As a matter of fact—”

Before he could finish Michelle stormed into the kitchen.

“Why are you still on the phone? Why didn’t you put the sauce on?” She pushed herself in front of David and snatched the Tupperware from in front of him, pulled off the lid and dumped it in the empty pot.

Liz’ whispered in his ear. “Do I need to drive up there and kick her down a flight of stairs?”

“Karma says no,” David said, “Look, let me go, sis. I will see you on Saturday. Text me that thing. Love you lots.”

“Empty room. Rent free. Music studio. Bye brother.”

Liz ended the call.

David turned to Michelle. “What was that about?” he said, pointing at the pot that now sat on a burner warming up. “I was just about to do it. What is your problem?”

“Love you lots,” Michelle said mockingly. “Your whole family is a bunch of phonies and losers.”

“Why does my loving my sister bother you so much?”

“Please. You didn’t speak to her for ten years. Now your loving siblings?”

“Yes, because some people actually get over things. They move the fuck on.”

“What did you do today, David?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean tell me everything you did.”

David scratched his head. “Well, let’s see. I went shopping. I did some writing. I reminded Jonathan that I wouldn’t be at work on Saturday. I vacuumed the house, did the laundry. I read a bit and was going to start dinner when Liz called.”

“What else?”

David walked out of the kitchen. “I’m not playing twenty questions with you. Spit out whatever you want to say, or don’t. Are you taking over dinner, because I do have other things I’d like to be doing.”

“I saw Cathy on my way upstairs.”

Cathy was the super’s wife. They had recently bought an akita from the same kennel David and Michelle had gotten their dog.

“Did she have Dakota with her? He’s so beautiful and he’s getting so big.”

“No, but she did tell me you have a great singing voice.”

Oh shit, David thought, here we go. Best gird our loins for battle.

“Did she? Well, I think she is overstating the case a bit, but—”

“What the fuck were you doing playing guitar in front of the house? What is wrong with you?

“I’m sorry, I’m confused. In what universe is it aberrant behavior to play guitar in public?”

“It’s embarrassing.  You caterwauling so the neighbors can hear. You’re not good. You’ve never been good.”

“Well, music is a subjective thing, but going by the only witness we have, that would make public opinion on the quality fifty fifty, wouldn’t it? And regardless, even if I were terrible, how am I am embarrassing anyone but myself?”

“You’re not a musician anymore, remember?”

“That is actually an interesting point. I have been guilty of saying that to people, that I used to be a musician. But, really, is that accurate? I mean I still know how to play. Isn’t it like saying I used to know how to ride a bike?  I am a musician, I just don’t play in bands anymore or perform on stage.”

“Except the front stoop of your apartment building, like a fucking moron.”

David walked to the coat rack and grabbed his jacket. “I’m not doing this. I didn’t do anything wrong, and if you are mad at something that is perfectly normal, considering you married a working musician, you have to deal with it yourself. Eat what you want. I’ll grab something out. I’m not going to ruin my good mood on you.”

He walked through the doorway. As he was closing the door Michelle screamed at him.

“Go ahead, you coward. You’ll be back. You’ve got nowhere else to go.”

 

 

 

The silence in the library was so loud I did not notice his feathery steps walking down the aisle until he was towering over me, his long cotton candy beard almost touching the floor.

“You must be Rhea,” he said in the kind of soft, husky voice you’d expect from Carl Fredricksen, the grumpiest most hilariously adorable old man Pixar had ever created.

“And you must be Gandalf, nice to meet you.” Although I meant it as a joke, he did not smile. Instead the right corner of his mouth upturned so slightly that if I hadn’t been marveling at the grandeur of his facial hair, I might have not noticed. With a kind of peace I had never sensed, he remained completely still blinking down at me.

“How do you know my name?” I asked, my eyes still fixed on the pages of the book that sat wide open on my crisscrossed legs. I folded down the corner of the page and flipped to the next. After a minute’s worth of silence, I looked up only to see dust flying from the shelf behind me and a stone-colored hardcover seconds before it slammed onto my face.

“Excuse me!? That was completely uncalled for!” I huffed and puffed as I slammed the book I was reading shut, uncrossed my legs, and stood up to pat the dust off my jeans. This time I saw both corners of his mouth twitch right as he turned away, his face moving perfectly in sync with his body.

“Are you not going to apologize?” I whined as I scrambled to put the books back into the shelf and follow him onto the candle-lit hall. He was quick on his feet for a man his age.

“Start with the books on aisle 125 of the left wing, bottom right shelf. When you’re done come find me. There are bookmarks in the drawers at the end of the hall, don’t let me catch you dog-earing pages ever again.”

“You could have at least picked a paperback!” I yelled after him as I rubbed my forehead, but he had already turned the corner and was out of earshot.

After 72 hours of which only two were spent eating and showering, I finally walked into his office, all six books in my hands. I slammed them on his desk and dropped onto a surprisingly comfortable rocking chair facing the window.

“So, are you God or something?” I asked.

“I did not expect you to finish them in such a short amount of time.” His eyes were still trained on the desk and his fountain pen had not lifted from the page since the moment I walked in.

“Well, I did.”

“Read them again.”

My silence seemed to surprise him because after a few minutes I heard the creaking of metal on hardwood floors as he turned in his writing stool.

“I’m meditating, you should try it sometime” I replied to his piercing stare, which I could feel through my closed eyelids.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered almost imperceptibly. He must have noticed the dark purple bruise gracing my already acne-scarred face.

“I bruise easily,” I whispered back, a calmness I had not possessed two days ago deepening my voice. In one swift movement I jumped up, grabbed the books and stomped down the stairs to the main floor of the library, the rocking chair creaking behind me.

Kira sat on a large plush cushion staring at the nicely dressed Jesus in front of her. His silver eyes refusing to budge from her face which caused Kira to squirm in her seat. She sank into the cushion hoping to be swallowed by the push material. She twirled the end of her curly hair out of habit. Her newest failure at the mission she was given would make this number fifty-three failed attempts at becoming the new angel of death.
Jesus: Kira…why?
Kira: Why what? (while examining the room)
Jesus: Kira…you know what I mean (he said with an exhausted tone)
Kira: It wasn’t my fault boss, the man just took off. How was I supposed to know he would just run? He was almost dead anyway, so what was the harm in telling him what would happen in the afterlife?
Jesus: (rubbing his eyes) Telling humans what happens to them BEFORE they die is prohibited. You know this. This isn’t your first time!
Kira (she taps her foot impatiently): I just don’t think it matters to tell them there are different afterlives. Plus he was asking about his dead wife. How could I not tell him they are meant for different afterlives because of her Egyptian upbringing?
Jesus (he sighs and whispers under his breath): It’s the Romeo and Juliet situation all over again. (to Kira) Because of your need to tell people we have had to cause fifty-three freak “accidents!” Your need to give them the truth before they cross over is how atheists and scientologists were formed! (he walked in front of Kira and held her hands) I know you want to be the new angel of death but I can’t give you the position if you don’t follow the rules.
Kira (she looked down in shame and whispered): I’m sorry.
Jesus: I know, but I’m tired of you coming to me and feeling sorry. Then continuing to do as you please with your assignments. I don’t know if I can give you another one.
Kira (she kneeled on the floor in front of him): Please give me another chance, please, please!
Kira continued to beg with tears in her eyes and refused to stop. She needed this job, she needed to continue to feel, to be herself. She refused to be like the others, she refused to become just an angel.