Grieving Last Year

CONTENT WARNING: mental health, grief, and substance abuse

“I quit!” Vincent exhaled as he threw his paint brush unto the counter. Nayda opened her eyes and batted her eyelids a few times to get use to the shaky brightness of the buzzing bathroom light. She jumped a bit, since she could not see her friend’s traits, which had been growing more tensed for the past five minutes.

“What do you mean, you quit?” the woman asked. She wiggled on the countertop to see her face in the mirror as Vincent left the room. She heard him open the pantry in the hallway as she stretched her neck backwards so that her eyes could focus on her own face. She looks at the makeup design, searching for the flaw. On the other side of the wall, Vincent’s shut the pantry’s door with a lot of strength than he knew necessary.

“Seriously,” Nayda said as Vincent reinterred the bathroom back, putting a towel next to the sink and beginning to wash the makeup brushes, “I don’t see what you don’t like about it. Actually, never mind, I do see it now. It’s unfinished!”

“Who cares.”

“Oakley does!”

Vincent shook his head.

“Listen, idiot,” Nayda said, “I drove one hour and forty-five minutes in traffic just so that you could have a face to practise your son’s Halloween makeup on. So, you’re going to pick up those fancy instruments of yours and you’ll finish the skeleton face.”

Vincent closed the faucet but remained silent, drying his tools on the mauve towel.

“He’s twelve, Vince, it’s probably his last Halloween going out!”

“It does not matter, anyway. He says he does not want to go.”

He took the colour palettes and shoved them into the drawer before closing them loudly. Nayda was waiting for the rest, and he knew that silence would not help him feel better.

“He doesn’t want to go with his dad, he thinks it’s embarrassing, but he knows he won’t be able to do it if he tries to go alone, and he doesn’t want to ask his classmates, because he thinks…”

He stopped talking. He sniffed and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. He could feel Nayda’s stare on his neck.

“He says he’s a burden. And… and I don’t know how to help him.”

Neither moved nor spoke, because there was truly nothing add. They both knew there was nothing they could do, that this was Oakley’s battle, not theirs, and that no matter how many times they’d repeat to him that he was all but a burden, only time could convince him. Nayda waited at least ten seconds until she broke the frost that now shimmered over the conversation.

“Follow me.” she ordered

Moments later, they are on the building’s balcony. The woman took a pack of Belmont Select from her coat’s pocket and shoved one between her friend’s fingers and one between her lip. She took his hand to aim properly as she lit his cigarette up with her lighter before doing the same with hers. Vincent stared at her for a few seconds, nodding to thank her. She reciprocated the gesture as she blew her first puff out. He did the same. They stared into the neighbourhood in silence.

“They say the first year’s the toughest,” Vincent exhaled at some point.

 “I thought that was not true.” Nayda said.

“You’re right, but right now, nothing else makes sense.”

The October wind swept leaves off the three bellow, making them fall on the ground and glue to the sidewalk due to the autumnal humidity.

“I think about her every day, and I know he does, too.” Vincent said. “But he seemed to be doing better, and I was doing better, but this whole one-year anniversary thing, it’s bringing it all back. He does not talk about it much, but I can see that he’s becoming angry, again. And I know he’s trying to hide it, because he does not want to make me feel sad…”

“He’s got a big heart.”

“Bigger than the two of us combined if you ask me.”

They both took another puff.

“I lost my wife last year, but he woke up without his mother and without feeling in his legs.”

The father went to the side of the balcony and crushed the tip of his cigarette in a dent where water had accumulated.

“If you ever feel the need to get high, get in your car and die,” he added, “please, don’t do it on a holiday.”

At that exact moment, before Nayda could answer, someone knocked at the door. The two exchanged a look.

“Is he already back?” she asked, as she also extinguished her cigarette.

Vincent reinterred the apartment, leaving his friend outside. From the window, the woman stretched her neck to see who was at the door. There was a boy on the other side of the threshold, but it was not Oakley. Nayda reinterred the house, tiptoeing towards the conversation that had already begun.

“…that’s all right,” the boy said, “it’s you that I wanted to talk to, actua-woah!”

Vincent turned around, and Nayda suddenly remembered that half of her face was covered in a thick layer of Halloween makeup.

“That’s really cool, miss!”

Nayda smiled and pretended to move away to the kitchen to leave the boy and the father alone, but she flattened herself next to the wall, instead, so that she would be able to continue listening to the conversation. Vincent shot her a glance from the corner of his eye but decided not to comment.

“I’m sorry, Dennis, what were you saying?” the father asked.

“Yeah, right… well… I’m here to speak with you about something. You see, Oak told me what happened last year... and that he was not sure if he wants to go Trick or Treating.”

“And that is his decision, Dennis, not yours.”

Nayda kicked Vincent's shoe from under the tone to show the disapprobation she felt towards him hardening is tone at the proto-teenager.

“Of course, sir, I know that, but I seemed really sad that he could not go, so I just wanted to tell you that I can take him. He told me he was scared that the foliage would get stuck in his wheels, but I can push him for a while if he needs to.”

Vincent did not speak. He could not speak. He looked at that little boy look at him, his chocolate-brown eyes filled with tenderness and a hint of apprehension.

“That’s very kind of you, young man.”

“It’s the least I could do, sir. Oak’s my friend, and I want him to be happy.”

Vincent looked at the boy up and down, seemingly noticing for the first time that the shy boy in front of him, who was his son’s age, might have seemed small, but he was no longer a child, but a little adult.

“Are you sure that you’re okay with spending the afternoon and evening with Oakley?”

“Of course, sir! There is going to be a bunch of houses decorated a few streets down from here, and my parents are going there with my sisters. I did not really feel like tagging along, so it would be great if Oak could also come. Is that all right with you, sir?”

“I’ve got one condition.”

“Anything, sir!”

“Stop calling me sir.”

Dennis’s face reddened and he chuckled, just as the elevator door opened behind him. Seconds later, Oakley emerged, removing his scarf and his tuque. He stopped himself and his eyes grew narrow as they went from Dennis to his father.

“Dad,” he said, suspicious, “I see you’ve met Dennis.”

“Yes, I have.”

“Hey!” said Dennis “guess what! We’re going to go Trick or Treatin' together, tomorrow. If you want, of course!”

Oakley nodded, seemingly in shock.

With a muffled scream of victory, Dennis hugged Oakley’s shoulder from behind as he passed behind him and pushed the elevator button down. The latter reciprocated the hug, but when he met his father’s eyes, he peeled himself away from it as if he had touched a hot furnaced. He turned red as he pushed himself through the front porch.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dennis asked. “I’m not letting you go without a costume! Come on, what d’you wanna be?”

“Huh…” Oakley turned his head towards his father.

Vincent had a look behind the door, where Nayda’s face, half covered in rainbow paint. He turned to Dennis.

“He’ll be a joyful skeleton.” Vincent said.

Oakley’s face illuminated at once. Dennis erupted in a long stretch of verbal vomit as he hopped onto the elevator that had just arrived. His speech finally got interrupted when the metal door closed, allowing the beginning of Oakley’s eruption into a fit of laughter to be heard before they descended. Vincent closed to the door and turned to Nayda.

“How do you find your future son-in-law?” Nayda whispered, still flat on the wall.

“I like him already.”

Nayda giggled, and for the first time since his wife had passed, through tears of relief, Vincent laughed with sincerity.