penance. a love story (The Böhme Series)

by Sarah Buhl

  “It means we need to drop our guards sometimes, so we can help each other. We can’t drop the guards of others, but by dropping our own we can show them they aren’t alone,” I said as I watched the kid now complete the jump after watching how the girl did it. We were having a conversation with each other, but sorting out our own thoughts along the way.

  “I think you’re right,” he said as he turned back to me.

  “So let’s see here, I have an idea. I ask you a question then you ask me,” he said with a light smile, pulling us away from talk of hiding and fears.

  “Okay, sounds good. You just asked one, so it’s my turn,” I said with a coy smile that brought a laugh from him again.

  “Go ahead,” he said as he waved his hand toward me, encouraging me to continue.

  “Favorite book?” I asked as I sipped my coffee.

  “Fahrenheit 451.” He lifted his eyebrow and asked, “Favorite book?”

  “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.” I smiled at him as he gave me a smile back. “Favorite television show? Oh and by the way I appreciate this fast fire list of questions we are doing. I am going to take mental note of everything you say so I can analyze it later.” I laughed.

  He shook his head at me and laughed himself. “Good that means you’re as crazy as I am, because I was planning on doing the same. Battlestar Galactica is my favorite by the way and what's yours?” he asked.

  “Doctor Who. But I've never watched the older ones, just the new ones. Lame, I know. All I know of the earlier ones is the one Doctor’s scarf. Other than that, I am clueless. But I see we both appreciate science fiction. So let's answer the greatest question of the ages… Star Trek or Star Wars?” I asked with a grin that filled my entire face.

  He eyed me for a moment before he responded, "Let's say it at the same time. It will be my question too. On the count of three we will both say our favorite.”

  I nodded agreement as he began the countdown with his fingers. We held each other’s eyes as he began to lower the last finger. We wore huge smiles as we inhaled to speak at the same time.

  “Star Trek,” I said with inflection as he said, “Star Wars.”

  “Oh man!” I said and shook my head at him. “Star Trek it has to be. Leonard Nimoy is glorious.”

  He laughed at me, “I knew you were going to say Star Trek, so I said Star Wars. Both equal in goodness, I find. It's illogical to pick one,” he spoke with a monotonous tone resembling characters from both franchises.

  “You ass, that was a lame attempt at a geek joke by the way,” I said as I threw my napkin at him. “Okay it’s my turn now since you used your turn on that.” He nodded for me to continue as he drank more of his coffee. “What is the worst case you have seen at work? I don’t need the details.”

  He gave me a shocked expression before speaking, “Well, I was expecting more of what is my favorite color, but okay.” He looked at the ceiling trying to find the answer in the fluorescent lights above my head.

  “Every part is horrible. But assaults are the worst. It’s more difficult to cope when I hear them crying or screaming in pain caused by another person. I always wish to the universe that they left before I arrived. It's a different cry than when it's an accident. Something changes in those cries as if trying to understand how a human being could do that to them was consuming them, piece by piece. The confused cries come from trying to grasp for understanding. The sound is as if they believe with each cry they could make sense of the chaos. I don’t understand it myself and that is why I hate working those cases.”

  “Why do you do it then?” I interrupted, wanting to know why he chose to do something that haunted him.

  “Nope, it’s my turn to ask a question,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “I am going to tone it back. What’s your favorite color?”

  “Blue,” I said without hesitation. “Now why do you do it then?”

  He sighed before responding, “I don’t know why I do. The job fell into my lap and I keep doing it because it has become habit. Maybe I am a masochist and enjoy putting myself through the pain. Now, I will ask you a lighter question again, favorite band?”

  I sighed myself at his dismissal of the topic. “I can’t think of just one. I appreciate music in various styles. But I guess any music that embraces life. I don’t want bullshit songs with a chick in tight pants and glamorous bullshit on being a rock star.” Taking a deep breath, I continued.

  “The style doesn’t matter as long as it taps into that. I guess it goes back to what you said earlier and the truth in people. Music should show us the truth of its creator or a truth in the world. It should have a single minded focus bent from the creators own sense of humanity. I have the same view on books. I don’t want something the musician or author thought I wanted to hear or read. I want their truth. Without that it deserves to be in the bargain bin or twenty-five cent table at a library book sale.

  “However most of the world doesn’t want truth. So we are given the popular. Which becomes a person walking around accepting what they are told is good instead of deciding their own mind. It’s sad. It comes from a wider umbrella of wanting people to find out who they are without others' opinion.” I laughed at myself. “I pulled a politician and digressed from your question, didn’t I?”

  “Is that your question?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, was that yours?” I asked and laughed at his expression. “No, that was not my question. My question for you is… favorite food?” I smiled at him.

  “Mexican and I mean authentic Mexican, not from a drive-thru or the frozen food section at the supermarket. I mean the real authentic cuisine. What’s yours?”

  “The fake Mexican food from the supermarket,” I deadpanned, bringing a smile to his face. “Just kidding, my favorite meal is peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It’s the perfect sandwich,” I said as I pointed at him with my coffee mug.

  “I’m not meaning any old bread from the store or any old jelly. It has to be my mom’s homemade strawberry jam on her homemade bread. She grinds her own flour and bakes the bread herself. I use refrigerated natural peanut butter, too. That’s making my mouth water thinking of it. Top it off with a glass of fresh milk and I’m in heaven.” I looked away from him as my heart caught at the thought of my mother. She was both wonderful and annoying. I missed her like hell and I never wanted to see her again. “So question for you—favorite band?”

  He laughed, “How am I supposed to respond to that after your eloquent response earlier?” Raising an eyebrow he looked over at me as he began to run his finger across the top of the sugar packets again. “Part of me has the need to impress you, but I won’t because that isn’t truthful.” He leaned forward, folding his hands together and resting them atop the table. “So in honesty, I don’t have a favorite band, but I have been listening to Lord Huron lately.” He looked away with his usual demure smile and continued, “Especially the song She Lit a Fire.” I smiled at his confession. I didn’t know Lord Huron or the song, but I was going to find them as soon as I got home. “Okay, my turn, now. What's your favorite place in the world?” he asked with a light look in his eyes. They held a joyful expression that made flutters dance across my abdomen.

  I took a deep breath as I focused my thoughts on my favorite place, which now held dark memories as well. It was still my favorite place but it was no longer pure.

  “Hey, I’m sorry,” Wynn said. “I don’t know where that look came from, but I’m sorry that my question caused it.” He leaned forward and with hesitation, he touched my hand. I looked up into his eyes and saw that he meant his apology and I felt horrible for showing him this side of me. Putting my hand atop his, I lifted it and set it back on his side of the table.

  “No, it’s fine. No worries. My favorite place is the flower field behind my parents’ house. My sister and I used to play there when we were little. I miss it sometimes. Not the place itself, but the happy moments it holds.”

  I looked at the playground across the parking lot
again and watched two little girls playing together on the swings. They were happy and they were free, as Lily and I once were. Happiness in my childhood was fleeting. Once we met the world we realized how small we were in it. We shared our dreams with that field and it was as if they waited for us to return to find them. But we never will.

  When we grew older, we realized possibilities were not limitless, because we learned to limit ourselves. Life made more sense when we stopped floating in the clouds. After she died, I quit believing in dreams because it made it easier to cope with the reality of life. Everyone will leave this world regardless of their dreams so what is the point?

  “Why do people believe in something?” I asked and didn’t wait for his response before I continued. “We must believe there is something outside ourselves directing everything. I used to believe that. It’s easier to believe a force outside myself influenced me to be the way I was. It wasn’t my fault because the devil made me do it—you know? So obey rules, repent for mistakes and you’re back in good graces,” I watched as one of the little girls began to push the other on the swing. “It’s funny that when we are children, we can’t do wrong. We are faultless, because we’re still learning. Every authority figure is faultless in our eyes, too. If we couldn't fathom doing horrible things, they couldn't either. The world we live in as children is full of truth and wonder. We grow up and realize it was bullshit. We can't fathom doing horrible things, but that doesn't mean others won't do horrible things to us. The world isn’t faultless and neither are we. Life sucks and we suck right with it and we are at fault for the sucking mess we find around us. No one wants to believe they are at fault, though. Most don’t want to believe they are capable of doing horrible things.” I let my voice trail off as I continued to watch the girls and my mind wandered to another time. I wanted the freedom I experienced as a child.

  I wanted escape from my pain and I wanted to believe that the world held magic. A few moments in our conversation awakened that longing. With Wynn, it was possible to be faultless and dream.

  Wynn took in a deep breath and in breathing out it looked as though he were counting. Darkness fell over his eyes as if I said something that brought memories to mind he wanted to avoid. “Well, do you still want me to answer the question?”

  I forced a smile and shook my head. “You don’t have to answer. I killed our conversation didn’t I?” I looked at him and held my smile, “It’s a horrible habit of mine and I apologize. Thanks for taking the old me out for a dance I smiled at my own odd choice of words. “But she comes out for brief lapses of time, and I must sulk again.”

  He met my eyes and I could tell he understood what I was saying. He held onto his sadness as much as me. He wanted to be rid of it as well, but neither of us knew how. When sadness and brokenness consume you for so long, you forget what it’s like to dream.

  9

  Wynn

  Without realizing it, she was fucking with me. Though unintentional, she dug herself out a huge space in my head. I wasn’t normally this open and the flippant way I spoke was unnerving.

  As I watched her calculate her thoughts, I sorted my own in my mind. I replayed the conversation and her statement on living screamed the loudest. She spoke of claiming moments and I wondered if that was a variation of Stinson saying I needed to make thoughts my bitch.

  I never delved into deeper topics with strangers. Hell, I didn’t even with the people closest to me. But Hannah and I were scratching the surface of possibilities together. I watched her as she unwound her hair from her neck and twisted it. She watched two little girls playing at the park and the expression on her face held the pain she tried to hide from me.

  Awkwardness overtook me and I was unsure how to respond to her emotions. That shit I spewed on being truthful and dropping masks was honest, but I didn’t know if it were possible for me. I was lost to what to say now. The vulnerability left me feeling nervous. I sat here like an idiot, not knowing what to do next. My phone ringing in my pocket saved me and the distraction was welcomed.

  I checked the number, “Shit. Sorry, I have to take this. It’s work,” I said as I started to stand from the booth.

  Her eyebrows popped up in a false interest as they overshadowed a dark memory. She forced her initial reaction away before speaking “Oh? Does that mean someone died?” she asked.

  When she said the word, died she hesitated. Her expression changed and she felt that word. Truly felt it. I realized where her sadness originated. Death was not only a word for her. It was an emotion.

  I gave her a slight smile, “Yes but not always.” I stepped away from the table and stood near the restrooms to answer my phone. I watched her drink her coffee, continuing to watch kids playing in the park.

  “Yeah, it's Wynn.”

  “Hey Wynn its Reynolds, can you make it over to Market Street in fifteen?” He always got right to the point.

  “Well, I have someone with me, but after I drop them off I can. I'm not sure if I can make it so soon, though,” I said as I continued watching Hannah. She looked lost to her thoughts.

  “Oh, sorry man, we have a murder/suicide. I hate shit like this.” The desperation in Reynolds tone had been increasing and I wondered how long before he broke.

  “Okay. Let me drop her off, and I’ll be out.”

  “Her? I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned a her,” he said and the smile resounded in his voice as he spoke. “Now, I regret having called you even more.” Though it sounded as if he smiled, he held a distance in his voice. Never speaking of a relationship either, I wondered if the brokenness he showed came from that.

  “I don’t think I have mentioned anyone before, Reynolds. We tend to keep conversations out of that realm.”

  He laughed, “No, I guess you haven’t. But yeah head to North Market. You can’t miss us,” he said and without another word he disconnected the call.

  I slid back into my seat, trying not to show relief for the work interruption that stalled the conversation. “I have to go to work,” I said. Her despondent expression made me want to continue our conversation, but my own thoughts strayed to darker places and fears I didn’t want to approach.

  “Okay. I don't need a ride back to the school. I can walk over to where Maggie works.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I will either drop you off at home or take you to her. I can’t leave you that way,” I said as our eyes met and I wondered what was going on behind hers. As we looked at each other for several moments, my earlier assessment of them solidified. She had a great abyss in her eyes filled with thoughts and reasoning that most people never knew existed.

  “Okay, you can take me to Maggie’s. She’s a couple blocks from here, I think,” she said as she climbed from her side of the booth and left enough money on the table for her food and tip. I did the same and as we exited the restaurant she looked over the counter and yelled, “Thanks, Sonya.” The plump woman met her eyes and shook her head, lifting her hand to give a dismissive good-bye.

  Hannah gave me a huge grin as if her dark thoughts were nonexistent now. When she spoke of childhood and religion she started to retreat into herself and the distance the topic created between us was tangible. It was as if talking of them halted any progression we may have together. The unease was disconcerting, but in her smile I felt peace.

  I found myself wanting to trust Hannah and that was a start I guess. It was crazy what an hour and several cups of coffee changed. Hannah was right—coffee had the potential to be life changing. She was the most genuine person I ever met, but I was still hesitant. I was taking part in a strange balancing act where part of me wanted to trust her, but old ghosts reared their heads taunting and making me question everything.

  She directed me to the ad agency and I pulled up out front. As she was climbing off the bike, Gabe came running out. He pulled Hannah into a hug and kissed her on the mouth and I couldn’t help but be jealous. It wasn’t the act itself I was envious of, but how easy he did it. After he broke their
embrace he gave his attention to me with a smile.

  “Who’s your friend, Hannah?” he asked as she smiled and put her arm through his.

  “This is Wynn. Wynn meet Gabe.” Gabe smiled as he took my hand and gave it a firm shake. He looked back and forth between Hannah and me before giving me his focus.

  “It’s a pleasure to me you, Wynn. You took care of my Hannah didn’t you?” Through his forwardness, I saw his words were authentic. He cared for her and I was thankful she had someone as him in her life.

  “Yes, I don't think another way is possible with her,” I said, giving Hannah a smile fueled with a need to prove that statement. She responded by looking away shyly.

  “Well, Wynn has to get to work, Gabe,” Hannah said as she gave me back my helmet, avoiding her unease. I could tell she was trying to end the conversation. I wondered if it was because she didn’t want me to meet her friend or if she was ready for us to part ways.

  “Yes, I do, I’m already running late. I’m glad I met you though,” I said to Gabe and turned to Hannah. “Thank you for the company.”

  She smiled at me and leaned in for a hug. She kissed my cheek right near my ear and a rush of flushed embarrassment ran across my neck and face. “We will do it again, Wynn.” She whispered and they left to enter the building. I took note that she didn’t say we should do it again, but she said we will.

  I arrived at my job ten minutes later and climbing off my bike, I thought of how fucked this job was for me. Sometimes it amounts to taking simple photos of bullet holes, footprints, or smashed car windows. But days as today are the ones that embed into my memories. I hated these cases.

  This job literally did fall into my lap. I was photographing an old building on the south side of town and when I entered one of the rooms I found what I thought was someone sleeping. I was wrong. There was a young man lying dead under a cardboard box and it was later ruled accidental overdose. Reynolds met me that day and I shocked him by the easy way I handled the situation. He saw my camera and said there was an internship I should look into with the police. The rest was history.