Nanowrimo 8

Callahan hated coffee, but he wanted to seem like he didn't. He got something he couldn’t pronounce. He also said “large” instead of “venti,” which elicited a glare from the barista. Callahan felt more self-conscious than he usually did.

            Froid had no self-conscience anymore. She ordered a venti quintuple Americano and left Callahan to pay for it so she could go next door to the CVS and probably buy some cigarettes. I frown. I can’t get rid of them until she’s around me again. I also can’t see her at all except through Callahan.

            She returned a few minutes later with a plastic bag. I can’t see what’s in it because Callahan can’t. I try to get him to ask, but he beat me to it.

            “What did you buy?”

            She shrugged her shoulders. “Just some stuff I need.”

            “Cigarettes?” Callahan blurted out at my insistence.

            Froid glared at him.

            I think about the poem that Callahan wrote about Froid and how it was really more about her smoking habits than actually about her. I remind him about it gently.

            “I… wrote a poem about you.”

            She looks up at him.

            “Well, actually, about your smoking,” he modifies. Froid drinks her Americano with urgency but says nothing.

            Callahan takes the first drink of what he ordered. To his surprise, it was delicious.

            “Wow, this coffee is amazing! I can barely taste the-”

            That’s because you got a Pekoe misto. There’s no coffee in it. Just tea.”

            She drinks more of her Americano. It’s very strong, and Callahan sees her wince a little as the bitterness flows into her mouth, but she overrides it.

            “Oh… well that explains a lot!” He chucked nervously and tried to slow his breathing but to no avail. His face was bright red and hot and not just from the heat.

            I nearly cackle as I hear him and pour myself a cup of the rooibos brewed.

            The silence was unbearable for Callahan. Froid didn’t mind it, but the lack of conversation exacerbated Callahan’s meddling low self-esteem. It didn’t help that Froid seemed to be going out of her way to keep the conversation minimal. She didn’t even make eye contact with Callahan or anything in the room. Her eyes had glazed over long ago, as soon as she had seen him. She had re-hibernated, artlessly retreating into the solitude that she found more appealing than Callahan. It was offensive, but Callahan was too nice to object to it. However, the sight of Froid was beginning to lose its luster as it reflected the emptiness of their relationship. Callahan meant nothing to Froid, never had, and it pained him.

            “How long have you been in Seattle?” Callahan asked after a few minutes, determined to get Froid to talk, even if it meant supplying her with easy answers.

            “Since I left campus,” replied Froid. Her downward intonation indicated that she was finished with her answers. The last syllable landed with a thud on Callahan’s heart.

            “Wow, so you really just didn’t go somewhere else at all. You went straight for here?”

            Froid nodded. Callahan couldn’t tell whether it was at him or the Americano. Probably the Americano.

            “Why? Why didn’t you go home at all? What’s so urgent out here?”

            Froid shrugged her shoulders. She was bypassing words to communicate with the most insultingly minimal gestures.

            Callahan had to think of better questions, and so he paused his endeavor to think some up. It took a while, because he realized he would have to ask very specific questions. He assembled them together and prepared to fire them rapidly at her.

            “When does school start here again?”

            “January.”

            “Where will you be living?”

            Shrug.

            “Will you go home for Christmas?”

            Shrug.

            “What will you be studying?”

            “Physics.”

            “Why are you living with Luke right now?”

            Shrug.

            “Why don’t you know why?”

            Shrug.

            “If you don’t know why, why are you still there? Do you want to be by someone like Samuel so much that you’ll go for his brother?”

            That got a reaction. Froid crushed the empty cup in one squeeze. She looked up at Callahan. It was the first time anyone had mentioned Samuel since she had got here.

            “What is it to you?” she asked.

            Shrug.

            They sat in silence again, Froid clearly uncomfortable now, and Callahan frustrated.

            “I heard Samuel came here, for a poetry reading. You went, didn’t you?”

            Froid’s lack of response was a response in of itself. She was trying to retain her composure. Callahan knew exactly what that meant.

            “I’m right, aren’t I? Of course you had to go, even if you didn’t want to. You needed to see him again.”

            Froid remained completely still. She even held her breath.

            Now they were having a conversation. Callahan was putting the pieces together, and the more Froid remained still, the more Callahan knew his words were getting through to her.

            “I heard he only recited one poem.”

            Froid exhaled as quietly as possible. She didn’t inhale immediately, though.

            “Higher Wisdom. His most popular poem. His best poem. The only poem he’s ever written that’s not about himself.”

            Froid still didn’t inhale.

            “In a split second I fear,” began Callahan. “Fear. That’s not a word Samuel ever uses. He’s a monolith. He has no cracks.”

            Froid slowly inhaled. Her shoulders didn’t lift, and her stomach didn’t expand. It wasn’t much of a breath.

            “You, in repetition, blue, yes like oceans. At the edge of my shore, a God like I.”

            It was Callahan’s favorite poem for almost one sole reason: it was about Froid.

            Froid breathed out, her teeth shivering. She was scared of someone. Callahan didn’t know of whom.

            And I don’t know whom either. If I still knew her I would, though. But ever since my brother has come to Seattle Froid is about as unreadable as he, and maybe even worse.

            Someone smiles in an art gallery. The person is looking at a copy of a Balke painting, titled “Lighthouse on the Norwegian Coast.” It’s a beautiful painting, with a solitary manmade structure withstanding the torrential sickly green waves beating against the barren shore. It’s one of my favorite paintings. It’s also one of Samuel’s.

            The person is nearly moved to tears. Their hands are folded in their lap. I know those hands.

            The person takes out a piece of homemade paper and some beleaguered charcoal.

            No. It can’t be.

            Samuel starts writing on the paper, but he’s not writing a poem.

            He’s writing a note. To Froid.

ambrosia-

I have to go back to murkvein tomorrow to attend my publisher’s funeral. I wish I could have stayed longer. I understand that you will not return to murkvein. it is perhaps for the best for you. burn this letter as soon as you receive it. I will not bother you anymore.

stc

His script is long and lean and severely slanted. It looks like a different, linear orthography. Very few people can actually read it without a transcription. One of them is Froid.

Samuel suddenly disappears from my mind, but I’ve seen enough. I sigh in relief. With Samuel gone, I can rebuild Froid without interference. For once in my life it seems like my brother is on my side.

Callahan and Froid slowly but surely finished their drinks at Starbucks, though the total of the words uttered between them was about the length of one of Samuel’s poems. As soon as Callahan finished his cup I text him, saying that they’re on their own for dinner because I got a call to go to the office.

Of course it’s not true. If I don’t want to do a surgery a certain day I’ll make it so I don’t have to. I’ll have the office delay paperwork or make the patient just not show up. And since Froid has been in Seattle, I’ve been minimizing the time I’ve spent at work merely by making myself unnecessary at the office. I’ve had the interns undergo intensive training camps, the surgeons below me capitalize on my absence, and patients simply wait on surgeries until after the holidays, when Froid would presumably begin classes and live in a dorm away from me. I still plan on seeing her constantly whether she’d like me to or not. I know I’ll win her over eventually. She’ll be mine again just as she was before.

            Callahan didn’t even bother asking where Froid wanted to eat. He knew he wouldn’t get any response. He got up and walked out of the Starbucks, assuming that he was on his own to eat.

            He walked a couple blocks until he get to the edge of Chinatown. His stomach growled. Peking duck sounded good, and he walked in to explore his options.

            My vantage point changes. Someone is coming up behind Callahan.

            “Callahan,” Froid says quietly.

            Callahan turns around. My vantage point changes again to see Callahan looking at Froid. It changes back and forth between them, and the motion makes me feel a little sick as I jump back and forth between looking at Froid and looking at Callahan.

            Froid says, “Let’s eat together.”

            “Really? Anything you have in mind?”

            “Peking duck.”

            Both Callahan and I are surprised. Did Froid read Callahan’s mind?

            “Well, alright! Let’s go.” Callahan walked next to Froid, and she disappears again from my mind. I’m actually somewhat relieved. Managing multiple vantage points at the same time in the same place was exhausting. I pour myself a glass of water.

            A waiter brought Callahan and Froid some water. Callahan immediately ordered Peking duck in lieu of Froid doing anything since they sat down.

            Their meeting was hampered with silence again, though this time Callahan didn’t even try to supply the conversation. The two sat silently, and Callahan texted Caracolle that he was with Froid at the moment.

            Caracolle immediately called, but Callahan sent her straight to voicemail.

            Caracolle texted him.

            “omg u dick y r u ignoring me?!?!”

            Callahan texted her back. “We’re at a restaurant… can’t really talk.”

            “show her this text: ambrosia ur the most selfish person i know. even if mom && dad don't seem to care i do. come back home soon 4 my sake if not 4 mom && dad.”

            Callahan put his screen in front of Froid’s face. She looked at it and her expression didn’t change.

            “Tell her I’m busy.”

            Callahan texted Caracolle back. Caracolle retaliated with another text.

            “OMG A Y R U BEING SUCH A BITCH??!!?!?”

            Callahan showed Froid the text. Froid told Callahan that she had no intention of going home any time soon.

            Callahan wrote back to Caracolle, who sent another text.

            “ughhhhhhh fine. if u don't want 2 act like an adult then i won’t even waste my time.”

            Callahan showed Froid the text. Froid said nothing and looked back down at her water.

            Callahan put his phone in his pocket, but Caracolle still insisted on sending messages to Froid through Callahan.

            Callahan finally texted her back: “Look, if you want to talk to her then just text her directly. I’m not your messenger boy.”

            “i don’t have her new # dumbass”

            Nor did Callahan. Froid didn’t even have her phone with her. It didn’t even work. It was still sitting on the kitchen floor. I look over at it as I sit on the sofa, unwilling to cave in and throw it away. Froid will eventually pick it up and take responsibility for it.

            Froid was of no particular interest, so Callahan began looking around to the other patrons. They were one of the few non-Asians there, and the two of them sitting around an enormous Lazy Susan looked awkward. Other tables were filled with people having boisterous conversation, enjoying each other’s company. The two of them sat together in the middle of the restaurant, not talking, not enjoying themselves, a foiling fixture for almost everyone else there.

            “Steamed bok choy,” said a waiter to a customer in the corner. Callahan took a sip of water.

            Alone. He nodded to the waiter. Samuel.

            Callahan spit his water out. Most of it sprayed onto Froid, whose expression reflected her surprise for the first time since Callahan saw her.

            To Callahan’s horror, everyone in the restaurant stared at them and giggled at the sopping Froid.

            Callahan jumped up, taking his napkin with him, and tried wiping Froid dry.

            Someone handed Callahan another napkin.

            “For the performance, Athlete.”

            Callahan turned around. Samuel stood eye to eye with him. He didn’t smile. He didn’t look at Froid. He wasn’t even looking at Callahan. He was looking at me again.

            I incite enough anger in Callahan to almost get him to punch Samuel right there on the spot, but Samuel walked back to his table before Callahan could lift his fist.

            Callahan sighed as he continued helping Froid dry herself. She thanked him quietly, but he didn’t hear it because she didn’t say it in his direction.

            She watched as Samuel dragged his chair over to their table, with his bowl of bok choy under his arm.

            “No,” Callahan growled. “You can’t sit here. Go back to your own table.”

            Samuel acted as though no one else was at the table. It didn’t surprise either of them, but that didn’t stop Callahan from getting angrier. I don’t even need to help him at this point. Callahan loved Samuel’s poetry, and even worshipped Samuel as a person for a few years. But now all that was left with him was the adoration of the poem and abhorrence of the poet.

            Callahan stood and faced Samuel, pointing at the corner. “Leave. Now.” His stature was his best asset. Towering over anyone was intimidating.

            Except for Samuel. With terrifying apathy Samuel stood up, squared his shoulders to Callahan, and sat right back down.

            “Callahan, please sit,” whispered Froid. This didn’t calm Callahan down any. It only made him angrier.

            “Why are you defending him? After all he’s done to you, after all that’s happened, you’re telling me to sit down? You’re not going tell him to go away? You’re not going to do anything?”

            Froid looked at Callahan. “Do you think he cares?”

            Samuel slurped his bok choy like they were noodles. The waiter brought over the Peking duck, and Callahan took the thigh immediately. The thigh was huge, significantly larger than that of a chicken, and it was tasty enough to distract Callahan from Samuel’s presence. Froid nibbled on some breast meat in silence. Samuel finished his bok choy in minutes.

            Callahan assumed that as soon as Samuel was finished he would get up and leave, forcing them, and therefore Callahan, to pay for his meal. But he didn’t. He stayed there, eyeing his empty bowl like there were still bok choy in it.  He didn’t look at the Peking duck at all, to Callahan’s mild relief. He didn’t want to give him any.

            However, Samuel’s continued presence remained as a slow irritation on Samuel’s mind. The most annoying part was that Samuel was so inhuman that nothing that either he or Froid did would compel him to leave. He would only leave on his own accord.

            Samuel looked insufferably bored, but he didn’t write a poem or try to entertain himself.

            A waiter returned with both checks, and before he even set them down on the table Samuel pulled out a fifty-dollar bill from his pocket.

            “For both. No change.”

            The waiter stared at the bill, trying to do the mental math of exactly how much of a tip that was. It was well over a hundred percent. Samuel’s meal was not even five dollars. The Peking duck was not that expensive either.

            Callahan was even more surprised than the waiter.

            “Think of it as a parting gift, Athlete,” said Samuel as he stood up. Callahan felt buoyant. Not only was Samuel leaving, he also picked up the check.

            Callahan engrossed himself in his thigh, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Samuel tap Froid’s shoulder in a rhythmic pattern as he passed her. He had seen this before.

            So have I. Callahan wasn’t looking directly at Samuel, so I couldn’t tell which pattern it was. But it was definitely a message in their own little code.

            That was why Samuel sat down with him. He has something to tell Froid.

            Froid and Callahan return immediately to the apartment. I ask them how their dinner was, and Callahan responds that it was nice but uneventful. He doesn’t mention Samuel at all. Froid walks straight over to my room and closes the door. Probably going to sleep. I don’t blame her. Seeing Samuel twice in two days would be exhausting for her. I don’t plan on disturbing her at all. She needs her rest.

            I offer Callahan some herbal tea and thank him for spending the day with Froid in the wake of me being so busy.

            “You know, with all the things going on the office and trying to get stuff done before the holidays, it was really nice to have a whole day to just catch up on everything.”

            “No problem,” Callahan replies.

            “Did she seem any better?”

            Callahan grimaces. “I think she said about twenty words to me total. It was really frustrating.”

            I nod sympathetically. “I know what you mean. She took a few days to relax and open up. Just give her time. I think the more you’re around her, the faster she heals. Not sure why. Maybe she just needs exposure to support.”

            Callahan likes the sound of that, but I know deep down he is feeling discouraged at how stingy Froid was with him.

            “Tell you what, let’s get out of here, you and me. I know a great gelato place down the way!”

            Callahan is still full from the Peking duck. He doesn’t want to eat anymore, but I override his stomach, and he agrees politely.

            Before we head out the door I break my promise to myself and look in to check on Froid. She’s sleeping already, motionlessly almost at the edge of the bed. I smile and turn off the light as I close the door.