by James Eddy
him made his reflection difficult to avoid as he went to the shower cubicle and switched it on. He was tired and hoped the water would revive him. That was not going to be an easy task. He settled for using the sound and sensations to distract his mind while getting ready to meet Rebecca at one o’clock.
They'd been seeing each other for nearly a month and when they were together things were great. Scott was already digging on her pretty badly. There was something about Rebecca that soothed his heart. He smiled at how drunk he was when they'd met again and then at how quickly he'd sobered up when she came towards him. Shock was the obvious cause. Not only at seeing her but also because she was as beautiful as he remembered. In fact, for a few moments after looking into her eyes again he'd been lost.
A beautiful night, that was more beautiful for being unexpected. They went to a bar Scott owned called ‘Diamond’ and toasted “New beginnings,” with a first kiss, second time around. Guilt followed. After two years, he realised the pain of Sarah’s death had become bearable and he hated himself for that. He still missed her and knowing he'd never see her again still hurt but somehow it was diminished; lacking the worst of the rawness that had once tortured him.
Scott undressed and stepped into the shower. The shock and step back was immediate and cold water remained on his prickled skin as he adjusted the heat. The second try was more successful and he soon warmed to the task of cleaning himself up.
With the shower off, he stepped onto a soft white linen towel on the floor. Steam and coma eyes obscured his reflection in the mirrors. He didn’t stop. Drying and dressing, he walked back into the bedroom, pausing only briefly to peer through the window. There was no sun in the sky but at least the couple next door seemed to have shut up. His mind only wandered again when he sat down on the edge of the bed.
Scott still hated himself for how he dealt with what happened to Sarah. Back then, strangulation seemed to be better than feeling. So, he’d gone on tour. He wished he'd stayed. He would always wish he'd stayed. He just wasn't strong enough. So, he drank and took whatever he could find. It effectively became months and years of stumbling through the dark and onto various stages to sing about her and everyone else he'd loved and lost.
For what may as well have been an eternity, everything he took got stronger and his real feelings, the real him, got lost. There was safety in darkness, a place for him to hide. It was an existence far too destructive to last. More than once he was close enough to the end to almost taste it. And yet, he somehow managed to endure it all. Wishing for death hadn't been enough to end Scott Drake’s charmed life of treacherous bliss.
The paralysis of over-analysis was what he was suffering from that morning. Scott reacted in the same way that he did when he realised that on every other day. He took his guitar from its case on the floor and strummed a few chords. Sounds spilled, progressed and flowed. He occasionally noted combinations he liked. That was how he worked, with an occasional swig of vodka to expand his buzz. He still felt tired though. He felt more tired every day, no matter how he fought against it. There was a sense of hurtling towards oblivion and of trying to catch the sparks of moments. The best he could really hope for though, was just to hold on. There was still joy in that. It was just a shame that he struggled to treat the other parts of his life in the same way.
Playing music always made Scott feel better about things. As he put his guitar back into its case, he was telling himself that everything was under control. He was with Rebecca and that had to be a good thing. She made him smile and laugh and he didn't really know why. It was just a gift she'd always had. Just something in the way she said and did things that amused him. Nothing too specific but still wonderful.
He could hardly wait to see her. He was more aware than ever that he needed a new start and to be around her as much as possible. He understood then that her love had become a fading Polaroid in reverse. The more he exposed himself to it, the more she and everything else in the world came into focus.
It was midday. Scott’s stomach was growling, gnawing at his backbone. A coffee seemed the easiest and quickest solution. Hunger could be kept at bay and maybe the caffeine might even get rid of the stinging tiredness in his eyes. The kettle was full, so he pressed down a button at its base and made the bed while the water boiled. Hardly hospital corners but it'd do. After sneering at the decaff, he emptied a sachet of instant coffee into a cup and covered it with sugar and milk. A whistle sounded and boiling water was poured into the cup, sending a lovely aroma out into the air and reminding him of Sunday mornings when he was a kid. The familiarity of the smell followed Scott back into the bathroom and stayed there while he cleaned his teeth.
He tasted his error in an instant and washed his mouth out with water, hoping the minty tang wouldn't mix too horribly with his coffee. It didn't work. The first sip made him wince. Luckily, the horrible mixture got more bearable with each sip and, once he got used to it, it didn't taste too bad.
By then he'd packed almost everything he owned into his suitcase. Almost without realising it, Scott had made a decision. It was time to leave. And after all, there were always other hotels. He just hoped that this time things would be different.
After putting on a jacket, he raised his cup of coffee to salute the room and swallowed down the dregs. He put the cup down on the desk and collected the vodka bottle from the bedside table, placing it on top of the clothes in his suitcase. Scott only paused to open the door. He deposited his suitcase and guitar case in the hallway. As he did this, the grinning couple from next door walked out of their room and came towards him. A momentary smile of politeness crossed his lips but they didn't notice. Scott turned away, and, with barely a backward glance, he closed the door, picked up his things and walked away to meet Rebecca.
The Graveyard
Colin Abbott looked down through the darkness of his shadow at the smooth white headstone and the grooves of words cut into it; truth, set in stone. Few things could be more final.
The grave beside his mother’s was still new enough to be marked by a name etched into a small wooden cross. There was also the rounded mound of earth, discoloured by the glorious life of flowers placed on top. A beautiful shroud of sadness for the body within.
The rotting of petals and stems on his mother's grave had happened weeks ago. The sight of it hadn't been as sad as Colin expected. Reading both his parents’ names on the headstone that day was the first time he understood why. Part of Colin had always thought his mother would find a way to live forever. That had made finding her cold, lifeless body both unexpected and even more traumatic. What he hadn't realised until then was that he'd actually been preparing himself for it since the day his father had died.
After his death, she'd never quite been the same woman. All Colin had been able to do was watch while the goodness she once had in abundance slipped away. He'd spent the best part of twenty years grieving for that loss.
He sighed and turned away from the grave. Someone was standing right behind him.
“Hello Colin! How the devil are you?” the vicar asked with a smile.
Colin didn't come close to making sense of his strangely ironic question. Reverend Peters was the first person to speak to him in nearly three days. As a result, his response came more from surprise and politeness than honesty.
“I am fine thank you," he told him.
“And back here again,” said the vicar.
It was neither a question nor a statement.
Colin nodded anyway, noticing for the first time the effects of the sun’s brutality upon the vicar's head. The sunburn and flaking only made the man's growing baldness all the more noticeable. Reverend Peters looked down at the headstone and Colin looked away from his scalp.
“They’ve done a good job there, I think,” the vicar said, without looking up.
Colin nodded in agreement.
“Yes...They have.”
“Not really to my taste, of course,” Reverend Peters added, “But I assume it's what Nancy
wanted... And since it’s her body in there and not mine, that’s the most important thing.”
He often spoke like this. It was a slight vampiric twist to his general jollity that suggested understanding that cut through the spiritual into real life.
A sudden breeze cooled Colin’s face for the first time that day. He briefly enjoyed the sensation on his smooth shaven skin.
“She was a good woman really,” the vicar told him.
Colin noticed the word “really” but not even family loyalty made him question it.
“And you have been a good and dutiful son.”
Reverend Peters twinkling blue eyes peered even more intently through his thick lensed glasses.
“That should not be forgotten. And it certainly shouldn’t be by you... The door of the church is always open if you need any guidance... But I would imagine you would rather not be guided by anybody for a while. After all, it has taken a long time for you to reach this point.”
Colin barely noticed the hand on his shoulder and the friendly goodbye that followed. Thoughts and feelings, hinted at before, were suddenly blossoming. He knew then that he'd been waiting for his life to begin. Since his mother died his routine hadn't even changed. He'd just rattled around the house on his own. He was so very alone in the world and he couldn’t help