Nanowrimo 16

Part two of the epilogue coming soon!

Epilogue

            Callahan was more in shape than before. He had started exercising again thanks to squash team tryouts, and his burly build was now supported by adequate muscle. He had gone to poetry and back and was more or less the same as he had been during high school. His love of creative writing was demolished thanks to what had transpired in Seattle, and with Samuel’s mysterious disappearance his inspiration was gone. Callahan spent many hours on google trying to find anything about Samuel Coldridge, and all he unearthed were news articles. Many people argued about when and where and how he disappeared. Some said that he had disappeared at Murkvein one evening. Others said that he never left Seattle. Still others claimed conspiracy for entertainment purposes. But everyone could agree on one thing: he was dead.  

            Callahan closed his laptop and sighed. Another day, another empty search on google. He hated Samuel, but there was something about him that warranted constant searching. Callahan went out for a run.

            As he ran he passed a group of students on the quad. The girls smiled at him, appreciating his physique, and Callahan grinned to himself. I’m not flattering you anymore, aren’t I, Samuel? He ran a little faster, enjoying the early spring air.

            He passed a tour group that was filled with expectations. It was large, full of parents that cared too much and kids that did not care as much and a tour guide who tried to get everyone to care as much as he did. It was a large tour group. This was around the time students were waiting for their acceptance letter or praying to get off the waitlist. Their nerves tired Callahan. He slowed to a jog, avoiding looking at them as he passed.

            “Callahan!” A voice called from the group.

            Callahan looked over, expecting to recognize the guide from somewhere. But he did not. He had never seen him before. He turned away and kept running.

            A hand tugged his shirt from behind. Callahan stopped.

            “Wow, for an athlete you really suck at running.”

            Samuel faced her. “Caracolle.”

            “Nice to see you again,” she said smiling, approving of his new build. He looked more like what he had been labeled as. “Someone’s gotten buff, huh?”

            Callahan chuckled and scratched his head.

            “So, you’re touring here?”

            Caracolle nodded. “My parents would totally kill me if I didn’t apply here. Even though Ambrosia obviously hated it here and transferred after like two years and all. I don’t know what they’re thinking. They think it’ll make me more like her or something.”

            “Well, it is a liberal arts education,” mused Callahan. “You’ll get a smattering of everything I guess. And I’m pretty sure that she didn’t leave because of the school. There were… other factors.”

            “Yeah, like Samuel? Ugh, I’m so glad he’s gone or something. He was so bad for her. But she was pretty cut up about him dying and stuff. I wonder if they made up or like…” she trailed off. “Oh-my-god, do you think they got back together or something?”

            Callahan shrugged his shoulders. “I’d rather not think about it. Say, it looks like your tour is moving on. I shouldn’t keep you waiting.”

            Caracolle scoffed. “Yeah, you really think I want to keeping going? I’m not going to go to this place anyway. I’m thinking UCLA. I’ll never get tan here.” She grimaced at the weak sun.

            “Well, you know,” said Callahan, “It is early spring. I’m sure it’ll be better once it’s later.”

            Caracolle shrugged her shoulders.

“But you’re right,” he continued. “Too close to home, isn’t it? Don’t want your parents randomly popping in and checking on you or anything. Besides, I bet all the guys in California are super buff and hot.” Callahan stretched his arms back towards his spine. His biceps bulged. Caracolle ogled with no effort to conceal it. “And after all, you’re going to be in the company of super blonde tan girls that will your bff’s and let you in on all the secrets to being so sexy and stuff.” Callahan leaned closer to Caracolle, flashing her his blue eyes. She gulped.  He pulled himself back. “Now, I don’t know.... UCLA sounds like a pretty fun school.”

Caracolle’s nerves colored her chuckle. “Ha, well, yeah, I suppose it will be…”

“Well I’m all for you coming here. But I think you’re right to ditch this tour. Full of crap anyway. It’s nothing like they say. Coffee? My treat.”

Caracolle followed him to the coffee shop on campus. The last time he was there he was with the elder Froid post break-up with Samuel, and right after Samuel passed outside and Callahan began their fist exchange. It was not a pleasant memory. But Caracolle was not Ambrosia. And Samuel was not here. The scene was obsolete enough for him to enjoy his time with Caracolle.

“Spring of your junior year already…” mused Callahan. “Wow. This time has flown by. How have you been? I bet you’re stressed out.”

Caracolle went smug. “I feel like all the drama that’s going around is so pointless now. I mean, I didn’t get asked to prom by Markus Lucianescu because he’s going with my ex-bff. She just wants to get back at me because I got the quarterback’s digits probably. But whatever. I don’t even. Screw prom. I just don’t even want to go anymore. I mean, you don’t remember prom all that much after high school don’t you anyway? It’s just all dumb. They think that all this stuff is going to last forever and I’m like the only one who can see all past it, you know? I feel like I’m getting senioritis and I’m only a junior! Did you feel like that? Probably not. You were so busy with writing those poem things and stuff and like you don’t seem like the kind of person that would get all caught up in drama. I guess that’s what you get for being popular.”

Callahan had not heard most of what he said. In her huge monologue he caught a few words: prom, like, and drama. He nodded throughout in a noncommittal pattern, wondering if Caracolle had noticed that he was not paying much attention to her. She seemed much more relieved, though. It was clear that she needed to vent and had no outlet but the mild-mannered Callahan.

“Yeah, I don’t remember much of my prom,” began Callahan, continuing on the one thread of the conversation that he had caught. “I remember the girl I took to prom, and I think she wore a purple dress. I... think.”

To his surprise, Caracolle laughed. Callahan smiled at her. When she laughed she looked like Froid. She looked beautiful.

“You do look a lot like her.”

That stopped her laughter right away. Caracolle glared at him. “Don’t say that. I don’t want anything to do with her.” She could not even say her sister’s name.

“Have you heard from her at all?” Callahan pressed. He had let Caracolle rave about the banal problems of her life. It was his turn to direct the conversation.

Caracolle did not answer him. She took a loud sip of her mocha.

“I haven’t heard anything since I came back in December. She seemed fine when I left and was all gung-ho about taking up poetry again. I think Samuel’s responsible for that. And then I sent her a text wishing her a happy birthday and-”

“SAMUEL?!” Caracolle shrieked. The coffee shop went silent. Callahan hid his face with his hand before massaging his temples.  

“She reconciled with Samuel,” Callahan began, his voice not even above a whisper. “I think that was good for her, even though at the time all I wanted to do is punch him in the face. I can’t really understand those two to save my life, but I think they really do care about each other. And I think they need each other.”

Callahan’s disappointment seeped into his voice. It was hard enough to face rejection; it was even harder to watch her go back to someone she loved.

“Humph! I still think he was a waste of time. And a dick. Even though he’s dead now I don’t think she’s moved on. She should’ve done physics instead of poetry. She’s not gonna do herself any favors by holding on to the past like that.”

Callahan knew Caracolle had misunderstood. To her poetry was an avoidable evil that no one did unless they wanted to be pretentious or to impress someone. She did not understand that Froid needed poetry like Samuel needed poetry. She did not understand poetry like they did. And perhaps she never will. All of this aged Caracolle in Callahan’s eyes. It should not have, but she looked old. She looked like she had fought in a war she knew nothing about.

With effort Callahan reinstated the conversation in his direction. “She doesn’t think much about home or anything, does she? I mean, if she did, she would visit you guys or something. Are you really not in contact with her anymore?”

Caracolle acted to grateful to mask her more apparent disappointment. “Nope. I think she’s decided she’s too good for us out on the east coast. I guess all she wants to do now is be her own boss and not care about what we’re up to. She’s always been like that though. I wonder if it’s our parents that are keeping her away. Or maybe it’s you. I don’t know. I think she’d rather hear the word “adverb” than the word “Murkvein” ever again. No offense, but I don’t think she ever wants to have anything to do with this place ever again. Oh well! I guess I can go here now. Not like she’ll come bother me or anything.”

Caracolle finished with a beam, but Callahan could see her hurt.

“You miss her, don’t you?”

Caracolle was taken aback, but her face began to show signs of defeat.

“You may hate her because you hate how you parents prefer her, and you may think she’s weird and all, but I think you care about your sister way more than you let on. You were angry when no one seemed to mind that she ran off to Seattle. You made me text you when I found her and was with her at first. You were more overprotective than Luke! Are you sure you’re not some sort of alter-ego?”

Callahan hoped that he was joking.

“The hell are you talking about?” she demanded as she set down her mocha.

Callahan laughed with much more energy than was demanded.

“Okay, okay. Good. Just making sure.”

Caracolle rolled her eyes. “You’re crazy. All of you. I think I’m the only sane person in the world.”

“That may be true, but what’s the fun in trying to be like everyone else?”

Caracolle gave him a small smile.

“Say, how much do you like driving?” he asked her.

Caracolle was confused. “Uh, I don’t know. I guess as long as I have an iPod or something to listen to I can kinda just drive wherever.”

“Good. Get ready to do a lot more of it.”

With that he stood up, grabbed Caracolle’s tiny face in his enormous hands, and stole a kiss right out of her.

“Halfway between us is a really nice steakhouse. Come back next week. My treat. No bitching about vegan yeast allowed.”

He gave her a wink as he walked away from her to continue on his run. Caracolle wanted with all her heart to be annoyed with him, to go up and slap him for being so brash, but she could not for the life refuse an offer with a handsome jock who was offering her a normal, non-vegan dinner.

Caracolle was right: she was nothing like Froid. Callahan knew that deep down nothing with Caracolle could ever bring him closer to Froid. He had not talked to her or seen her, and at this point it was clear he never would.

Callahan continued running, the air inflating his body with a comfort. He floated as he sprinted across the campus. He may not have Froid, or any of the things that he wanted a year ago. But it was okay. He had poetry. He smiled as he kept running past the edge of campus, through townships, over dirt roads, east towards the sea.