The Starlight Chronicles: Slumbering

by C. S. Johnson

  5

  Comfort

  I would like to digress here briefly and say that while pretty much everything that happened once the meteorite crashed into the city was bad, there were some good points about it as well (Which makes it hard for me to completely regret everything; it is easier to regret something if nothing good comes out of it.) But still, I believed if it had never happened, things would have been much better off. Or at least more pleasant and convenient.

  I returned to my right state of mind almost instantly after leaving the hospital. The reversion to the normalcy of everyday life was a relief for me. The panicky feeling I’d felt in the hospital was short-lived as the logic and reality of everyday life squashed any real concern to the back of my mind.

  After all, if I am insane, logic stated, I would not be able to realize the absurdity of my thinking. Clouds, looking at me. Ha. Insane.

  And reality stated since school was canceled, my time was better spent playing video games all day long at Jason’s (without consulting my parents, of course) than worrying about being insane.

  “Yes! I beat you again!” My bragging bounced off the walls. Death Raiders III: Alien Slayer was center stage for Monday’s entertainment as Jason and I battled it out.

  I was feeling much better now that I was free of the hospital – so much so, I believed the hospital was my source of insanity. I didn’t know how Mark could work in one. It took a special kind of person, I supposed.

  I personally looked forward to the day when I would become a lawyer like Cheryl, or maybe some type of political analyst for foreign countries; that sounded cool. I could travel then.

  “You got lucky,” Jason muttered as he angrily pushed the ‘restart’ button. “Come on, this time I won’t lose.”

  “I’ve beat you ten times already. Let’s do something else,” I complained, slightly irritated. Doesn’t Jason get that he wasn’t a challenge anymore, and therefore it was only half as fun to beat him? Sheesh. And I was the one in the hospital thinking that my thinking was going down the tube. Looks like I at least had some to begin with. “Let’s go outside and practice football or something.”

  “I don’t really want to,” Jason remarked. “It’s getting colder, or haven’t you noticed?”

  Strange. I hadn’t noticed. I had forgotten that it was getting closer to winter. And if anything, the past days seemed warm to me. “All right, Jase, let’s get some food. I’m hungry. Cheryl’s goofy chef made egg whites and asparagus for breakfast today. That doesn’t hold up after hours of playing video games.”

  Another annoying thing about Cheryl – she’s constantly on a diet and doesn’t believe in eating out unless business calls for it. I am the only person (well, guy, anyway) I know who remembers life in terms of diet periods (This period was the “Veganite” period.)

  “All right. I’ll see if Mom has anything out on the kitchen. Just warning, there isn’t much since Friday’s party.” Jason put down his controller, and I followed in suit.

  “It smells funny in here,” I announced as we walked into the kitchen. I noticed a pile of pizza boxes and sandwich wrappers from the doomed party still near the garbage can. “You going to throw those out before they rot?”

  Jason huffed. “You can take them outside if you’d like, Dinger,” he said as he opened the fridge. “Eh…”

  “What is it?” I asked, peeking over Jason’s shoulder. “Ah, I see what you mean.”

  There was nothing in the large fridge but a half-empty jar of pickles, a slice of what appeared to be moldy cheese, and a blackened banana.

  “So, you want to eat out?” I asked, reaching into my pockets. “I have some money on me.”

  “Well…” Jason fumbled for words, and I briefly recalled Jason’s lack of proper funding at the moment.

  “My treat – since I beat you so many times at Alien Slayer,” I smiled. “Come on. We’ll have to walk, but there are a couple of places around here, right?”

  Jason nodded. “All right. Sounds fair to me, since I let you win all those times.”

  “Yeah, sure you did. Oh, it looks like it’s going to rain gumdrops.”

  Jason’s brow furrowed; he looked like he wanted to hit me for my comments, but realizing that would forfeit the free food, he merely asked, “Do you want to borrow a hoodie or something? It’s chilly outside.”

  “Nah, I’m good,” I waved off the request. “It’s like summer to me. Where would you like to go?”

  “Let’s just go to Rachel’s Café, okay? I don’t think you’ve ever been there, but Rachel’s really cool, too – and hot. She’s getting married soon, I hear.”

  “Oh, really?”

  Jason continued as we headed out and down the street. “Yeah. She’s twenty-three or twenty-four. Her boyfriend, Lee, is helping my dad get some freelance work right now.”

  “That… is interesting.” Actually, I was quite bored. I just hoped the food was good.

  A few blocks down and over, Jason nodded ahead just to the right. “It’s right there, see?” He indicated a small place which looked more like a two-story house than a restaurant.

  It was… okay, I supposed. But honestly, if Jason hadn’t pointed it out to me, I’d have never noticed it. Even if I had, I wouldn’t have gotten close to it without some pepper spray.

  Walking into Rachel’s Café, however, I liked it almost instantly. Decorations, menus, framed photos, and paintings hung cheerfully on the walls, while small tables and booths were cramped everywhere. It felt warm and welcoming and real.

  “Yeah, it’s cool here,” Jason remarked, seeing my expression. “They have great food and music nights… uh, Dinger?”

  I heard Jason beckoning me, but I ignored him (Frankly, I just didn’t like the idea of letting Jason think, even for a moment, that he’d ever be able to call the shots with me.)

  I saw a painting by the door of a fiery bird, surrounded by dark starlight, reaching out its wings. Later, it would hit me how odd it was that I’d found quality art in a bar of all places. Usually those sorts of places were devoid of refined elements of culture.

  “Uh, Dinger? Come on, you need to meet Rachel.”

  “Coming,” I muttered, catching up at my own set pace.

  “Hey there, Jason,” a chipper voice called out in greeting. I assumed it came from the pretty redhead with gold-speckled eyes looking at us from behind the counter.

  Wow. Jason was right (for once.) Rachel, assuming that was Rachel, was absolutely gorgeous.

  “Hi, Rachel,” Jason nodded toward me. “This is my friend, Hamilton Dinger. He’s never been here before.”

  Rachel’s eyes lit up (No doubt at the thought of a potential new customer.) “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Rachel. And, if you haven’t guessed, this is my café.”

  I returned the smile back to her. It came easily enough. “I like it here. You have a nice place.”

  “It’s a small coffeehouse, but it houses big dreams. At least I think so,” she giggled, instantly reminding me of an older version of Gwen. “Hey, would you guys like to try something new? I’m trying out a new recipe. It’s an apple crumble, kind of like a tart-turnover-pie.”

  “Sounds good,” Jason replied. “I’ll try it. Has Lee had it?”

  Who’s Lee? Oh, right – Lee was the guy Rachel was going to marry, and Jason was all upset about it and stuff… right.

  “No, I just made them this afternoon,” Rachel promised. “So you’ll be the first.” She hurried – practically skipped – off to the kitchen.

  Jason grinned. “Always lots of perks here. Rachel’s a good cook. You shouldn’t have to worry about her food being off-tasting.”

  “Hey, I’ll try it,” I agreed eagerly. I was still hungry. And it was free food (There is really no beating free food.)

  A moment later, Rachel reappeared and handed us her treats. “So, Hamilton, was it? That’s an odd name, if you don’t mind my saying.”

  I cringed. My name has always been a more awkward part of my life.
It has served its purpose of scarring me, driving me to be a successful, skillful, and charismatic individual – I’ve never wanted to be an awkward person with an awkward name. On the bright side, it made me sound like a smart person. Not everyone can say that about their name (barely anyone can these days), and it was a good conversation starter.

  “My mother’s a lawyer. She has her undergrad in history. She was obsessed with Alexander Hamilton when she and my dad got me, or so they tell me,” I said to Rachel. I had the lines memorized.

  “Got you, Dinger? I didn’t know you were adopted,” Jason remarked with a laugh.

  “I wish,” I muttered. Although, thinking about it, those were the words my mother used, and my mother was a master of semantics.

  Rachel laughed. “My mother was reading a romance novel when she was pregnant. That’s how I got Rachel.”

  “Trust me, you have it much easier,” I assured her.

  The cowbell over the doorway clanked loudly, halting Rachel’s bubbly giggles. I looked up to see a woman who could only be Rachel’s mother, walking in with a sour look on her face.

  “Men are the stupidest things on the surface of Earth,” she announced to the whole gala of people, before making her way towards the bar.

  “We’re not all bad, Letty!” an older man called out from the back, sending a fury of laughter fluttering through the crowd.

  “Hi, Mom,” Rachel waved. I wasn’t sure but there seemed to be some hesitancy behind her words.

  From looking at the lady’s grim face, it was easy to see she’d just had a disastrous date. Her graying hair was messy, and her (probably) once-nice dress was windblown. “Hi, Rachel,” she greeted brusquely before slumping down on a creaky chair.

  “Bad date, I take it?” Rachel asked, getting a mug of strong coffee out for her mother.

  I was bluntly amazed a woman like that could get a date at all.

  Leticia – Letty – snorted. “You don’t want to know.” She shifted on the barstool and straightened out the wrinkles in her dress before sighing obnoxiously. “Oh, God! I used to be wealthy! But no, thanks to my brother and ex-husbands, I’m dashing around town in second-class clothing, living in the poor district like a welfare case, and going out on blind dates with men of the most insufferable kind!”

  Huh. Dinner and a show.

  Rachel gave her mother a sympathetic pat on the hand. “Don’t worry so much, mom,” she said, putting on a bright smile. “You still have time to find a suitable date for my wedding.”

  “Ha.” Letty huffed again. “Let me just say this, Rachel. You can count yourself very lucky, now that you’ve found yourself a half-decent man to marry. Nowadays, there aren’t too many of those walking around.” She dug into her expensive-looking knockoff purse and pulled out a cigarette. “If I had it my way, no man would walk at all.”

  I felt a sudden rush of gratitude for the American justice system.

  “Mom, no smoking in here,” Rachel reminded her. “And the doctor told you to stop. You already have high blood pressure.”

  “Life is pressure, darling,” Letty sneered humorously, and that’s when I first thought I might just like her enough to be amused. “Oh, why did I raise you to be so good?” she asked as she tossed her cigarette back into her purse.

  “I’m sure you didn’t mean to,” Rachel laughed. “Here, I just tried a new recipe, and I want an honest opinion – and your opinion is as honest as they come, Mom.” Rachel gave her an apple crumble tart before disappearing into the kitchen.

  Letty took the tart somewhat reluctantly, but it calmed her down (Food usually does that to overstressed women.)

  “There you guys are,” Rachel said to Jason and me kindly, handing us our orders. “I’m sorry for Mom…” she leaned down and whispered. “She’s cranky today; she was up late last night, helping my cousin.”

  “Is your cousin okay?” Jason asked. “Did the doctors figure out what was wrong with her?”

  “No, but she’s been under the weather for a while now,” Rachel told him while I was busy concentrating on the food. Letty distracted me, as she reached for some whiskey to add to her coffee.

  Something timeless seemed to take hold of me. I glanced around the place again, and found myself admiring various quirks of the place. “I like it here,” I decided aloud. “I’ll come back.” And as I said it, I knew it was true.

  Rachel grinned; she wanted to hear that, I guess. “See that you do,” she nodded. “We’ll remember you, right, Mom?” She glanced over just in time to foil another one of Letty’s attempts to smoke. Letty snorted and chucked her lighter across the room in reply. I wisely swallowed a laugh at the sight.

  She turned to Jason and me. “Don’t you boys date until you’ve found a good-hearted woman to please, you hear? Else you’ll be hearing from me, after I hear from Rachel.” We nodded as she picked up her clutch and headed out the door, coffee cup in hand.

  As soon as she is out of sight, I shook my head. “It’s a nice place, but there are some weird people here.”

  Jason sighed happily, peeking over at Rachel. “There’s definitely something in the air.”

  Yeah, probably marijuana.

  “So, how’s business going, Rachel?” Jason asked, vying for all the attention he could get from his beloved barista. While I thought he was a bit on the pathetic side, I had to give him props for finding a girl who could whip up a mocha to die for.

  “It’s been growing, I think,” she answered. “I’ve had a lot of new customers today. I think it’s because a lot of places nearby are closed for at least the week. Did you guys see any meteorite damage?”

  “Yeah, sure did,” I smiled proudly, about to recount to Rachel my heroic deeds.

  She nodded to the television above us. “It’s been on the news almost non-stop since it happened. The crash site’s only a few blocks away from here. A lot of nearby buildings have been damaged. I guess we were lucky here. Nothing happened to us at all.”

  We looked around, with slight confusion, to see Rachel was telling the truth. In fact, if I hadn’t known about the meteorite myself, coming in here, I would’ve never guessed it happened at all. “Strange.”

  “Well, a lot of strange things have been happening lately,” Jason interjected. “I heard the meteorite blew up the other day when some guys tried to move it. They got a robot machine to move it to the science lab at Apollo City College.”

  Rachel nodded. “That’s true. Lee’s brother works there.”

  “You almost have to wonder if it’s not really a bomb disguised as a meteorite or something,” I replied thoughtfully.

  Conspiracy theories make you sound cool, but only if you half-believe them. If you get too excited, then people think you’re nuts. Luckily, I mastered the technique years ago.

  “It would explain why NASA didn’t pick it up on radar,” Jason agreed encouragingly. “Not until it was too late.”

  “Yes, it would,” Rachel shrugged. “But seeing all the good that’s come out of it for my restaurant, I can’t help but think it’s a miracle, almost.”

  “That’s silly. It caused a lot of people to die, and cost a lot of money in wrecking damages.” I snorted disdainfully. “Plus miracles don’t happen. There’s always a scientific explanation for stuff like this.”

  “It’s sad you don’t believe in miracles.”

  “Why?” I looked up at her with my best skeptical face ready. I loved arguing about this kind of stuff.

  “Because I suppose you don’t believe in true love then,” Rachel blushed. She put her hands up to her cheeks and sighed. Jason and I exchanged glances as Rachel went off into her girly daydream, and I knew, since Jason was her friend, I couldn’t tell her what a ditz she sounded like.

  I settled for inwardly groaning.

  True love, to me, was a nice term for the ignorant. In my opinion, true love could be reduced to a simple formula: how much money was involved (income and expenditures) and how willing a person was to communicate (The X factor
– motivation is nearly impossible to predict.) Of course, there were more anomalies involved (the Y – “why” – factors), but those were the basics. People who believed in those “happily ever after” stories were doomed to find out they don’t really exist.

  “Hey, Dinger, did you hear anything about the play?”

  “Huh?” I looked up as Jason’s off-subject question broke through my thoughts. “Oh, not really. I’m sure we’ll find out when we go back to school.” As if I even cared to know, recalling the bunny-faced Romeo.

  “I hope it’s still on,” Rachel said, leaning over the counter. “It would really make the students of Rosemont happy.”

  “Rosemont? Why?”

  Rachel replied, “Well, the art department of Rosemont Academy was working on the set. I heard the designs were beautiful.”

  “Personally, I think it’s pointless. I mean, are you kidding me? Romeo and Juliet?” I snorted loudly, randomly thinking I did that a lot when I hated something. “All our plays almost always end up in a lawsuit over faulty staging equipment. Besides, Shakespeare died how many years ago? It’s a rather uninteresting and downright lame story; Romeo’s hysterical, and Juliet’s a suicidal maniac.”

  “Romeo and Juliet!” the clanging of the cowbell at the door was accompanied by a loud, passionate, borderline senile voice.

  “Oh, no,” Rachel grimaced, slapping her hand to her forehead.

  We – everyone in the room – turned to see an old man standing in the doorway. He was thin as a rail, with a beard reminiscent of Santa Claus. The old man punched his fist into the air, and then began to recite:

  “Two households, both alike in dignity, /

  In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, /

  From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, /

  Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. /

  From forth the fatal loins of these two foes /

  A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life; /

  Whole misadventured piteous overthrows /