Sol

by Apolonia Ambrosius

  ‘It was very hard for me to come forward like this and admit my mistake. As to how much pain my actions and words caused you, I can only imagine. I will probably never be forgiven but even so I want you to know how special you actually are. In fact, you are the most special person I’ve ever had a chance of meeting and this I realized early on, but admitted to myself at the time when it was already too late. And like with many things in my life that I am late or foolish about, that friendship we had, was the most beautiful thing that could’ve happened to me.’

  An urge to rip the letter apart came pounding into Sol’s head in the same way as her heart speed the beating. The anger, hatred, and revenge were expanding in her mind, not knowing how to rationally calm herself from the outburst of a whole palette of emotions.

  ‘Even when I intentionally hurt you, you still accepted me as I was, and because of this I am forever grateful. I can never express how much you actually changed me into becoming a better version of myself, a truer version. At that young age I was most certainly not worthy of your time, as I was so caught in my own pride, but now when I’m a little bit older I can begin to appreciate how the things turned out.’

  Perhaps this really was a bad timing, she thought right after the impulse of stopping to read the whole confession came to her. However her eyes diligently followed each sentence to the very end, only to start the process again and again.

  ‘Maybe these words mean little to you and if they do, I understand. After all even saying I’m sorry like this, makes me quite selfish, right’

  ‘Huh, you think?’ Sol retort aloud, forming annoyed expression, clearly not enjoying this gift.

  ‘...I heard you are having a wonderful life abroad and you are not planning on returning. I wish you all the best, and even more than to myself, I want you to find great people who will cherish you deeply.’

  After she read the following confession a lump in her throat formed, making her choke on the unexpected tears that started falling down on the page she barely hold still.

  Sol wanted to recall something out of her so-called wonderful life, but nothing came forward. There was nothing wonderful in her life here, nothing worthy of mention. Even the people she met, the friends she bonded with were all fake, all a lie. It seemed as if her whole life had been nothing but a thread of lies, with no truth peaking out. And even if truthfulness peaked here and there, it became unnoticed, unimportant. It was ultimately overwhelmed with falsehood.

  ‘Even if you cannot forgive me or accept my gratitude, I want you to stay as you are, to stay happy as the first time I met you. – Sincerely, Haven.’

  Sol closed her eyes in order to let the tears fall without any additional restriction of reading or thinking. Her shoulders relaxed as she could finally push the letter over the edge of the bed. And just as the pages fallen on the ground, once she slipped under the sheets, the revelations exposed. It may become brighter outside, but inside of Sol’s head a thunderstorm raced, enabling her to properly understand the language Haven spoken in. She could not bring herself to feel forgiveness nor accept her supposed gratitude. She could not even understand how it felt when she was truly as herself, as being happy.

  Everyone talks about happiness but where exactly is it? Why can I only perceive pain and discomfort?

  After her tears ceased to flow she remembered Min, the boy, Lion, and their circle of friends. She remembered how they all brought something precious into her life. How each and everyone accepted, heck, even encouraged her to be more as she really is. They were the proof truth existed and she was once part of their life. Sol was a fraction in their lives that changed the dynamic between them.

  She was capable of being special, as she was capable of being happy. What truly stood in the way between her morbid, or rational outlook on life versus that of freedom, without attachment, was familiarity. She was clinging onto fraction of discovered darkness, and this comfort she felt while mulling over how stupid the world has become, has enabled her to see that there existed light as well. And this light wasn't shallow or pretentious like her encounters with others were. This light was inside of her and it was the purest form of truth she could ever perceive.

  It took several loud knocks on the door for Sol to wake up for the second time that day. Her father informed her it was way past eleven, and it’s probably a good time for her to come downstairs as the breakfast is already pretty cooled down. Her patient father left only when she promised she would take only additional five minutes.

  Her room was as messy as her hair. However her mind surprisingly became organized, thoughts put in a certain order. After quickly dressing in grey skinny jeans, flower printed shirt, and a black woolen cardigan, did her eyes became aware of the letter that was abruptly tossed on the ground. Sol picked the carefully written words with equal amount of care, opened the lowest drawer of the old chest, and paused for a second. A weary feeling wanted to expand but she managed to suppress it, as she knew this was the right decision. The letter took a lonely rest in a place, where another important object slept, the silver butterfly.

  Downstairs, she came to knowing that her mother went to visit a good friend she hadn’t seen in years. So her father proposed a rather natural suggestion of taking a walk trough the streets that reminded him so much of his own childhood.

  And just as Sol was finishing last bites of toast, an authoritative voice of her father has been heard, commanding her to come to garage and give a proper explanation.

  ‘What is all this?’ he asked, his back turned to her while he gazed over all the sculptures, tightly placed one by the other.

  ‘This... this is like an experiment,’ she hesitantly answered.

  ‘But where did you buy it? And who made it?’

  ‘Nowhere. I made it.’

  The father turned around to look his daughter in the eye, not knowing how to proceed with his started conversation. He could only ask her once more if she really created all the statues, while Sol nodded in agreement.

  ‘You made all of them?’

  ‘Yes. And there are more,’ replied Sol as she lead him to the next room where another set of sculptures stood.

  Strange thing was, Sol didn't feel an ounce of guilt, even when the dead brother stood so close to his father. In fact, she felt rather proud of it.

  The father took his time in observing the sculptures from different angles, without voicing a single comment. After a good five minutes of silence, he spoken, ‘I’ve seen many statues in my life but nothing like this. This is extraordinary.’ Then he moved to the portrayal of his dead son and added, ‘I still cannot believe how you know how he looked like. It’s a mystery.’ He gently touched the son’s cheek impeccably carved into clay, when a crack in his voice was heard, making Sol’s heart beat faster. ‘Just don't tell your mother about it, at least for a little while.’

  ‘I wont,’ she promised, forming a gentle smile. It was funny to Sol how her mother for the first time wanted to share a secret with her, and now it was apparently father’s turn. Like they competed for Sol’s affection.

  ‘But you should definitely consider showing this to the world. This would be like your gift for us, who aren’t blessed with such talent,’ he said patting her daughter on head – in his own way telling her I love you.

  Only after the family stay ended, did Sol returned to her unfinished business she had with Haven’s sculpture. It wouldn't be an exaggeration if she said that, that particular girl, took her the most time out of all the statues she crafted.

  The hours spent on her childhood friend well exceeded those she dedicated for the dream guy or even Min. However after the final piece, in her personal experiment has been completed, Sol felt enormous relieve escaping her body and mind. Even her soul felt lighter, and that was when she finally done something she should have done long ago. She forgave Haven but most importantly, she forgave herself for even letting to dwell on the past for so many years. It was a period in her life she grew the most, and like the final puzz
le piece – when Haven stood before her in a praying position, with her scarred skin and vacant eyes – was Sol strong enough to close the repressed chapter and move on.

  She thought many options trough. If this art exposure her father talked about was really necessary, or even if she could keep delivering figures despite running out of content. But after fooling around with a new camera, she eventually took a few pictures of her sculptures.

  Once presented in a digital form, she objectively looked at her extremely personal and vulnerable side, then concluded on a different perspective.

  Maybe there is something I can give to the world as well. I only judge the world because I gave nothing of myself out there. But if I let a piece of myself out there, I can also start to live an honest life. I can also start, and feel, how it is when the world judges me.

  In that same day, Sol uploaded the pictures on a popular platform –oriented exclusively towards young artist. And when new spring came around a miracle happened. She received an email from a well-known gallery in the capital city that wanted to make exhibition of her sculptures.

  Upon reading the email, that would eventually change the curse of Sol’s life, two strong voices expressed their stance inside of her head. One was absent of expectation, wanting to only follow this trough for the sheer amusement, while the other slowly crept on, saying, maybe this is what I need to do in order to see Min and the boy again.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SPROUTS

  ‘We’re invited to after party. You’re coming, right?’ asked India, one of two newly gained friends Sol made while entering into the second chapter of her life.

  ‘I don't think I’m going tonight. Some other time,’ replied Sol in a firm voice, who for once started to act exactly as she thought and felt was the most true to her.

  ‘No problem, I still have Haru to drag along,’ India let out a laugh then brushed her long black hair away from her exotic face. ‘Well, see you tomorrow then,’ she flashed her beautiful white teeth at Sol, proceeding to give each other a mutual wave in agreement. And just like the girl came forward, proposing yet another event, which Sol avoided most of the time, she left like a wind – without a single trace, devoid of any emotion.

  Sol said a handful of polite goodbyes before leaving the exhibition to which she was once more the center of attention.

  In these five years of living under the new sky, sharing her innermost secrets and inclinations with the outside world, she grew immune to her past concerns of pretentiousness. The art world was nothing close to what she imagined it to be, but what exactly is the exact same way as one imagines the future will turn into?

  Sol shed the old skin as soon as she stepped into the metropolis. And after all it was more than necessary to do, as it was already a country that was so very untrusting of foreign beings – even those who share half of the same blood as the locals. She always stayed foreign, like a thorn of microscopic size placed in ones fingertip, unable to locate. All one is aware of is that discomfort still persists on until the day the body slowly digests the foreign body out of the system. But until that day comes, there it stays, that unfamiliar alien feeling.

  To Sol however, this meant having a certain advantage, a certain strength or even freedom in being authentic. When she responded to that life changing email five years ago, she made a promise to herself that, no matter what happens, I will never change. I will stay the same; I will stay myself. And perhaps it was solely because of these spontaneously crafted words – that eventually became a mantra in itself – that she kept the promise alive.

  By now she experienced many sides to the art industry that was all but pure and accepting. This nicely packaged business was deceitful, hypocritical, and utterly shallow. Their people – be it the managers, buyers or simple visitors – all thrived on making a certain type of impression on others. All wanted recognition, all wanted fame, but only a selected few get to have all the fun and they certainly weren’t the artists like Sol. They weren’t the ones who put everything into each and every piece of their selected craft. The individuals like her, were the poor devils – lost in their own suffering, never to see the hope of the dawn. They were skillfully fooled to walk blindfolded around the world they created for their masters to enjoy. However, she also attained a certain skill. And that was detachment.

  Not many people actually understand how this skill works and even if they did, would they be brave enough to practice it?

  If one thinks of detachment traits, such as, heartlessness, ruthlessness or even laziness come to ones mind. As this type of people, who are labeled with these stamps, can virtually come across as uninterested or aloof. But Sol was nothing of the above.

  She was determined; her life had a meaning and purpose. She had a big heart and didn't intentionally try to show her mean aspect, when she said her honest opinion, yet at the same time she was free from it all. Her strength lied in freedom of wanting to be like everyone else, of having these superficial friendships or romantic relationships, and even the ultimate, she was also capable of freeing herself of sculpting altogether, if the intuition called for. It was true, that many weak traits – like anger suppression, fearfulness, shame and guilt – released from her personality trough art in the same way as a therapy would. However, if the instinct voiced its opinion, she would gladly abandon this craft and never look back. It almost seemed, as if she started to finally lead a life without a single regret.

  As she walked down the busy streets, the millions of lights lit the night sky, making it appear as if the dark never descended. Then, she thought of Min.

  Countless faces that passed her equally moving figure, all reminded her of the girl she used to know, or at least tried to know. Even if she searched for underlying intentions on that mysterious girl, each time the wall was brought forward, telling her the truth. Min was superior to any human she ever met and will probably have a chance of meeting. This observing came from an utterly unbiased place, and she was convinced if anyone had ever met the girl they would certainly saw the same thing. Perhaps the girl’s blood had a different cell structure than the rest of the world. Perhaps she was indeed an alien trying to invade Sol’s mind.

  What was she doing? And where did life take her?

  Sol proposed empty questions inside her head, with only reply being the city noise, which never took a brake. It was rather strange how we, as humanity, grew accustomed to noise and instead became scared of the very essence that creates our whole universe: silence.

  Either way Sol knew, or better understood, that Min, like her equally interesting brother, came to her life like a dream. But she also knew that upon waking up from such dreams, all there persists is a bittersweet feeling. There was no assurance that their presence will once more take place in her life. Maybe they entered much more special lives of others that needed them more than her. Because after all, Sol really became so strong on her own, that sometimes, this newly gained fact put shiver down her spine. It was a scary feeling to acknowledge ones potential bending in any extreme, be it good or bad.

  It may be because of the summer heat still stubbornly carrying its job well into the night, or because of the sudden appearance of past memories, as Sol started craving a nicely cooled beer. That same one she shared on the stairs of Smiling Gerbera with Min so many years ago.

  The apartment could very well wait for her return, but the unannounced thirst couldn't. So she started searching trough the small streets, the ones with less people, where a potentially more isolated bar would be located. This task was however rather hard to accomplish, as everywhere, even in the most remote corners of the city, the air frequency changed in waves –each hitting a new annoying set of ringing noise right trough her head.

  After a good half an hour of search, she decided for a chain of bars. The instinct done its choosing with the one right in the middle. Once inside she saw that the lights were nicely dimmed, the furniture that of vintage type – most definitely imported from across the globe, all to cre
ate a comforting atmosphere for the costumers.

  She picked the table on the far right, touching the wall and made an order of one unfiltered beer. As she waited for her desired beverage to come, the time to relax came about. One detail that caught her attention though was the music. It was of a more grunge nature and its vibe was something Sol unknowingly craved for. She listened to the rhythm of the drums, then the almost lazy guitar riffs with a deep bass underline. After the instrumental part reached its peak, a female vocal stretched across the surrounding space, giving her a familiar feeling. She remembered of Caged Minds and imagined if their music was the one playing trough the speakers, it would probably be in the same looking bar as she chose for the night.

  No wonder I like it here, she thought while uttering out an audible giggle.

  ‘Here is your order,’ said a male voice, putting down the craving beer. ‘Sol.’

  After a moment of silence, before she could even look up to thank the bartender – or comprehend the fact that someone just called her by the name – her body tensed up, freezing on spot.

  She lifted her gaze to meet with the mysterious person, when suddenly her breathing stopped. How could this even happen, she had no clue, but the reality was very beautiful and it starred at her straight on, smiling. It was Lion.

  ‘It’s been such a long time but man, you haven’t changed at all,’ he said as he proceeded to sit across the table. ‘You’re still like the sun.’

  The unexpected comment made her eyebrows lift for a surprised expression, but she quickly composed herself, offering a rational explanation. ‘The only thing I have in common with the sun is my name. That's all.’

  Lion snorted laughter, then leaned backwards, his body touching the soft leather chair. ‘Honestly, it was kind of ridiculous when I first heard it, but now when I see you, you really are. The sun, and we,’ he leaned forward again, elbows resting on his sharp knees, ‘we are like the planets orbiting around you.’