The dry sunless heat of the city made the earth smell alive. The grass swayed in its own rhythmic pattern to the flow of the wind. It was lonely in the park, nothing but the two men and the lights that shone on the path ahead of them. The buzzing of the electricity that ran through the posts could be mistaken for the flies that kept trying to ram themselves into the glass. This felt endless, and the dread was almost suffocating.
Nolan gripped the plastic bag with a white-knuckle grip, while his companion, Martin, idly looked for a spot where they could finally sit down and talk. They could have gone to the grass and sat down underneath this lovely oak tree that sprawled its roots into the ground, its base overtaken by dandelions. But that would be too nice. So, Martin chose the bench that overlooked the tree instead.
Nolan groaned, holding his knees while he braced himself, after such a long walk his knees swirled with pain. Martin simply sat down with ease and made no intentions to help Nolan down onto the bench. You see, Nolan made the first attempt to reconnect with him in a grocery store parking lot when Martin——after weeks of deliberation and the pungent stench of rotting food in his fridge——went grocery shopping. The only thing that made him reconsider driving away was the fact that Nolan offered beer, and now he had to hold up that end of the promise. Nolan reached into the bag with the 6-pack, his hands struggled to open one for Martin, though he managed anyway, and he handed it over. The condensation had already accumulated on the outside of the can which made Martin’s hand clammy and cold.
With the same struggle, Nolan opened another for himself and held it in his hands for a moment, staring into the bright rim in front of him. His lips touched against it gently to take in the first smell of yeast that emanated from the drink, it was tangy with a hint of smell of metal——expected since it came from a can——but he took a sip anyway.
They sat in loud silence, as the city outside the park honked and screamed. Nolan looked over to Martin, who stared into the distance; his stomach felt as if it were in knots. He could not help but notice that his companion had dyed his hair to a hickory hue, it was a stark difference from the striking white curls he sported when they met all those years ago during his first visit to Seattle. His hair was long then too, making it past his shoulders and almost animated with every movement he made. Now it didn’t reach his ears, quite cropped in the back, so his neck was exposed. Though, this time around he is thinner. Emaciated thin. His cheeks were sunken in, but he still held a fresh-faced appearance——surprising since they are supposed to be around the same age. Nolan’s years showed in his face, creases lining above his eyebrows that deeply illustrate the stress he carried along each ridge. His jowls extended past his jawline with definition to his chin that was not there when he was in his 30’s.
He couldn’t believe he managed to find him in the whole slew of people, perhaps God was real with the way it all worked out for him to be able to catch him that day in the parking lot, or maybe he was a crummy believer. Being a Pastor never made him believe in God any more than a dog that believed in tomorrow. He never justified his belief; there was no need to. The roar of an airplane that soared above was what broke the uncomfortable silence between the two men, Martin pointed up into the sky.
“That’s Vega,” he slowly traced his fingers into the night sky, leering to the right——“and if you follow that. . .there’s Altair, and——” Nolan followed his finger all the way to the left, “that’s Deneb.”
Nolan tried to trace his eyes back in the same triangle again but quickly lost them in the plume of the night, he laughed a little and covered his eyes, “I’ve never been good at stargazing.”
A small huff of air left Martin before he took another sip from his can, another knot formed in Nolan’s stomach as he could tell he wasn’t too enthusiastic about his comment, and it made him shrink further into the bench. “You. . .seem quite fond of stargazing. Is it a hobby?” He took another turn to look at the night sky.
“It’s not,” Martin took another sip from his can before he placed it down onto the pavement, small sweat droplets slowly gathered to create a ring beneath it. Martin leaned back, then rocked forward; unconsciously, Nolan prepared himself.
“Forgive me for my language, but what the fuck do you want from me?”
Nolan felt his throat go dry; he was taken aback by this response. Admittedly, he assumed he had the capability of cursing——this was different. He always took Martin as a polite and serviceable man, since he was a professor in a past life——the same professor that took his son under his wing——however, people change. All men must change, and so did his gilded-eye acquaintance. With his attempts to change his appearance, the deep under-eye bags, the minimalist clothing choice of a simple sweater and jeans, and the disappearance of the wedding band he once proudly wore. It perhaps wasn’t shocking now that this was the way he spoke to him. Now, thinking of a response was what Nolan struggled with. He tried to open his mouth to force a few words out but unfortunately, all that crawled out was air. So, he tried again:
“I can’t tell you why, because I don’t really know myself yet,” As soon as he said that he felt his body slump. How his blood warmed, and the familiar rush in his hands were noticeable. He looked off into the distance at the great oak tree, where its branches were unwavering, but its humble leaves shook with every slight breeze. He knew he had lied to him.
“What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t really know myself yet——” Martin snatched his can off the floor and took another sip.
Nolan could see the way he scratched at his cuticles fiercely, as if something crawled in his hand that made his thumb angrily move across every knuckle; “You’re the one who came to me, and you’re the one who doesn’t know?”
Nolan breathed deeply, feeling the air travel through his esophagus and right into his lungs, he knew he had lied to him.
“Martin, please——I’m not trying to fight right now. . .not with you, not with anyone,”
Another lie.
“But here you are.”
And there he was. In a lonely park at night, almost drunk off a couple of sips of beer while he argued with one of his sons’ victims. Think. He buried his face in his hands, trying to fight off the familiar stinging sensation around his eyes as best as he could but there was no way he could.
Tears streamed out of his eyes and rushed past his fingertips, groveling sniffles and awful husks of air. He felt Martin’s hand that gently comforted him, “Sorry. . .sorry” but Nolan didn’t stop himself. He crushed the beer can, spurring some of it out of the top and spilling over his hand. Now, that comforting hand pulled away. Martin’s presence moved further away.
“Did you know——they called me. T-they called me when they arrested him,” his voice trembled as he recalled the memory, “I couldn’t believe it——” a sharp hiss while he inhaled as deeply as he could.
Martin stood up immediately, and Nolan peeked out through his fingers to see that he had knocked over his can which spilled out all the contents from inside. He bounced his leg to collect himself, but he watched as his companion’s feet hesitated to turn every which way for a moment.
“I don’t get why he did what he did. And I never will,” he watched as his feet moved out of view, “come find me when you’re ready to talk.” With that, he was gone.
Nolan stuck to his position for a while, head sunken into his shoulders but he wiped the last of his tears. The knot in his stomach was gone, and emptiness washed over him. There were still 4 beers left but there was no point in drinking them now, is there? The corner of his mouth twitched when he looked at them, he poured them out behind the bench.
That knot in his stomach soon returned a few days later, each block he turned he knew he got closer. Some buildings don’t exist anymore; stores seem to have changed throughout the years. The tree-lined streets gave shade onto the sidewalk below, which gave him some grace from the sun; fewer apartments and more houses came into view the further he walked. Nolan could understand why Martin came back to the same neighborhood after years of being away.
Families everywhere, people out in front of their homes enjoying the nice weather, and they even said hello to him. It brought a smile to his face; this was something that he hadn’t experienced in months.
Then he arrived at the address he remembered, a small home with an overgrown lawn and untrimmed bushes that were a sort of eyesore if he looked at it for too long. The broken concrete leading up to the edge of the door was tedious to walk over, but he made it. There was an old slightly rusted door knocker on the front door, the brass paint had probably chipped away and left the iron beneath it. Nolan set his eyes on the doorbell, he rang it once, then twice, and then thrice. After no response, he knocked. Once, twice, thrice. No response for a minute, he was about to knock again until he heard the gears turn behind the door and opened to a disgruntled Martin who again didn’t look too enthusiastic about the fact that he was at his front door. He was let in.
He walked into a long hallway, and the carpet looked dated. So did the color on the walls and the other decorations that he spotted in his descent into the home. Walking past the living room, with a glimpse, he caught two large portraits above the fireplace. Both of which are of Martin.
“Are you ready to talk?” Martin pushed past him in the direction of what he assumed to be the kitchen.
“Yes,” he muttered.
The further he walked, the more he saw things fall into place such as the holes in the wall where he presumed screws were put in but nothing else to show for them. He then arrived at the kitchen; the cabinets were lovely mahogany wood. The backsplash above the sink were deep sage tiling, and right above that was a window which overlooked the backyard. Nolan resisted the urge to look around, since the faint whiff of rot hit his nose.
Martin sat down on the kitchen island that matched the backsplash and cabinets, taking a couple thoughtful sips from his mug while he stared out the window above the sink. Nolan, with a dry throat, husked in some air to force the conversation.
“Martin——”
“Vernon. I haven’t gone by Martin in years. . .”
Nolan bit the inside of his lip, “Vernon——apologies. . .I just wanted to ask, after everything. Do you know where Bridgette went?”
“Your granddaughter?”
Nolan stepped closer, “Yes, I just want to know where to find her,” he felt the knot get bigger.
“No, I don’t know where she went. It’s been years since she ran away. . .” of course it has.
The last time Nolan had seen her was when she was 5 after he questioned his son——Gabriel——why she wasn’t in school. Since then, he hasn’t heard a peep about her. Not even after the authorities called him that night.
“Is that all you came to talk about?”
That wasn’t the answer he wanted. He soon joined Martin with the way he looked out the window to the backyard; his eyes landed on a skinny tree out in the distance. “You’re far from home aren’t you. . .do you not have a congregation to get back to?”
“Well. . .yes.”
“Let me guess, they threw you out.”
A bit of shame washed over Nolan; he stood there silent for a second, “No.”
“They did, did they.” Martin swirled the liquid in his mug, “Understandable. Who wouldn’t. . .no one wants to be associated with——that.” When Martin said it, there was a twist of disgust. “Are you staying anywhere?”
Another wash of shame, in the rush to find Martin he had left every bit of dignity he lived with. His home, his comfort. “Yes, a motel.” If that is what he could call it.
“How long for?”
He didn’t want to respond to that.
“You’re not sure, are you.” A somber look overtook Martin’s eyes before he shut them, “You want to stay here don’t you.”
The thought has crossed Nolan’s mind, but he wouldn’t say it. Think.
“And if I say no. . .” he turned to him, “What if I say no?”
“I’ll go to the authorities,” and for the first time since he walked through the door his stomach untwisted itself.
Martin sharply inhaled, now he fully faced Nolan, and this was the first time he met his eyes. Not from the side. Not at his head. But, in his eyes.
“What? Why——you’ll get in trouble too——” he sounded exasperated. “You will end up in trouble too!”
There it is.
“And? I wasn’t the one involved,” Nolan rose his chest. Calm in his demeanor.
“So why?”
“Because. . .you owe me.”
If only he could describe the look in Martin’s face, as if it was contorted and squished into expressions that jumped between anger and fear. “What do I owe you?” he practically leapt out of his chair; it screeched along the ground in the sudden movement.
He could have thrown the mug at him; he could have screamed at him. So, Nolan wondered why he asked him so calmly once he stood up.
“Everything.” Nolan looked out the window, the full background came into view. How the grass danced innocently and how the small skinny tree trembled and held its branches close, how the seedlings willowed and spun in the air with promise with the wind. Softly they flowed away straight into the horizon, “Everything, I lost my son to you. I lost my granddaughter because you didn’t stop him. I even lost my community. Who else? You were there for him, right?”
Martin’s slender fingers wrapped around the whole circumference of the mug, the tips yellow with rage. Nolan leaned his head to the side when he could see the boiling rage inside the other man, he didn’t move. The next few seconds were crucial, and he knew he couldn’t move. He had the next series of words already formed in his head in case he needed to, but the way Martin’s shoulders slowly lowered, and how his hand let go of the mug made him let them go too.
“Okay.” Martin said, taking his mug to the sink. He looked out the window once more before he walked out of the kitchen entirely, leaving Nolan to stand there alone.
Jamie Ramirez (they/them) is a writer living a double life as an accountant based in New York City. Raised by immigrant parents, their art has been inspired by Latino culture, dreams, and the natural world. Their creative outlook combined with practical skills has led them to create fiction highlighting diverse people and voices. Their favorite revenge movie would be the cult classic revenge film Kill Bill Vol. 1 & 2.
