Life, Lies, and the Little Things

by Brandon Mason

It had been several weeks since Waldin had been by the apartment. After returning from their trip and the funeral, he decided to sell the oversized loft and move someplace modest, not too far outside the city. He couldn’t stand that place anymore. It reminded him too much of the man he once was, the man who killed his mother and nearly himself. After the funeral he drove right past his place and ended up at Avalyn’s. He’d been staying there since. It had grown to feel more like home than his apartment ever did. A few things had been left behind and he figured it would be his last time there. Though he was happy to be leaving, there was a certain inherent nostalgia he felt no need to deny. The movers must have been by early since the door remained unlocked. There was very little left to even identify the apartment as his. Only his books and the record player remained. Besides her, they were the only things that gave him any comfort.

  Waldin took a seat on the couch, and with a proud smile looked upon his collection. He tried to remember what each book had done for him, what questions it asked, what little nuances in it spoke to him. This exercise brought a surprising joy to him. An abrupt crashing steered his focus in the direction on his bedroom. Out from his room walked a young man, at most early twenties, with a gun in hand. For a moment he didn’t notice Waldin and seemed deep in thought.

  “Oh fuck!” He lifted the gun and advanced on Waldin, clearly frightened. “Don’t fucking move! Goddammit! We’re fucked!”

  “Look, I don’t want any trouble! I have money. You can have it—”

  “Shut the fuck up and let me think!”

  Waldin sat with unprecedented posture, his entire back glued to the sofa. How nonchalantly the man pointed the gun at Waldin pushed his heart right past his epiglottis.

  “Where’s all your shit? I thought people here were supposed to be rich.”

  “I … I’m moving out. It’s all gone.”

  “My fucking luck. What’s in the safe?”

  “It’s cash. Like I said, you can have it! Whatever you want is yours!”

  The man seemed a bit confused, but motioned the gun towards the bedroom. Waldin calmly unlocked the safe and showed him the money. “It has to be at least thirty grand. And I can get you more, but, please, I don’t want any trouble.”

  He said nothing, put the money in his bag, and motioned Waldin back into the living room. Unsure of what to do, Waldin assumed his previous seat on the couch, the man still seeming rather occupied by his thoughts.

  “Look, I know what you’re thinking and—”

  “Man, you don’t know shit about me!” He aggressively redirected the pistol to the center of Waldin’s slightly perspiring forehead.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know anything. But I’d bet you didn’t come here looking to hurt anyone. I’d bet you’re desperate, but you’re not even doing this for yourself. I’d bet you have people depending on you and this was your last option. I’d bet you’re a better man than I am. I’d bet the main reason I’m not in the same position as you right now is because I lied to get where I am. I’d bet you figured you’d take from me because I don’t need it and that’s fair, noble even. So take my money. You need it, I don’t. I don’t even think I want it anymore.”

  Though the gun was still pointed at Waldin, the man’s disposition seemed to change.

  “Now, I used to be a lawyer. I can help. I know people in the courts. If you have a record I can get it expunged. I can help anyone you know fight charges, give them proper representation. I have more of that in the bank. I can help you. You’ve got to let me help you. You could start afresh. You don’t have to do this.”

  The gun had found its way to Waldin’s stomach.

  “How the hell am I supposed to know you’re not making all this up?”

  “I can’t expect you to trust me. I’m just asking for you to give me a chance. I’m going to reach for my wallet.”

  The man nodded in agreement.

  “Here’s my card. Call me on that number any time. I’ll do everything I can. I can help you.”

  He took a long look at the card. “Fuck man. You don’t get it. But I ain’t no killer. They can’t make me that.”

  The man finally lowered the gun to his hip. Waldin flinched as the man grabbed the wallet and headed for the door. A few steps from leaving, he turned back around and compacted his forehead with the base of his thumb and his middle finger. “Goddammit!” He walked out hurriedly, but gently closed the door behind him.

  Waldin sat motionless on the couch for some time, undoubtedly shaken up, but oddly satisfied. How absurd was it that he broke into Waldin’s apartment of all others? Waldin had never been a fan of fate, but how else could it be described? What had just happened? Had that man broke in that day to have his life changed? Was the course of the man’s life now completely altered from the path it would have taken if he had chosen any other apartment?

  Waldin felt a rush he had never experienced. He sprung up, grabbed a pen and paper, and fired up the record player. “The Sounds of the Smiths” was still on from months ago. “Asleep” was up. It somehow always made him think of Avalyn. What a captivating song, the entrancing piano melody, the haunting wind in background, the gunshot. A bullet raced through the back of Waldin’s skull, entering through the left side and making no exit. The pawn shop owner was right, the old Beretta 918 didn’t pack much of a punch, but it was enough. A shaking hand on the “ivory” handle steered the bullet off center. He had been standing, petrified, behind Waldin since he sat back down. He never wanted to kill him. There was never a choice. Waldin had seen his face. He held the gun, but Waldin held the same power, the power to end his life. Waldin could, in essence, bring an end to his life and his family’s. Waldin never understood. There was no help. There was no fix. There was no choice. Woe to the have nots.

  Avalyn had grown anxious outside, and came up to see if Waldin needed any help. On her way up she passed a man with a startling countenance. Never had she encountered such a combination of pain, self-hate, regret, sadness, and hope. She swore a tear rested in the corner of his eye. Though a stranger, she felt a deep desire to comfort him, but he only looked down shamefully and quickly walked by. Upon hearing the music, she made some flippant comment about how The Smiths were more what you’d call “night music”. Surprised not to see Waldin on the couch, as he most often was, she walked towards the bedroom. When she turned back from the empty room, she saw. Without thinking, she collapsed down into the side chair next to her. Her initial reaction was pure shock. Before she could burst into tears something stopped her. She looked deeply into Waldin’s eyes, and, despite the many hours she’d spent lost in them, saw something she’d never seen before. Across Waldin’s faced rested the slightest smile that ever existed. Though she had no way to know what happened, somehow she just knew. He had died listening to his favorite song, thinking of her, and feeling as though he had profoundly affected something of real significance. And it seems that was all he had ever wanted. As the tears began to escape from her eyes, all she could do was smile back.

  Chapter 14