Interstice

December.

A month full of twists and turns, a month with an inevitable scent of holiday. A long month, yet at the same time short. The boy was born in the month mentioned. That fact didn’t make him look forward to December. At all, at all. In fact, if he may be honest, he did not like winter and hoped that the snow will soon go fly a kite from the roof or something.

Snow on the roof, snow along the fence, snow on trees, mountains of snow in front of the house; it dizzied him seeing so many blank white. The main paved road stretched into the distance as far as the eye could see.

“Could you help me clean the warehouse?” Grandma called the kitchen. Her voice was stable, it didn't sound like some sort of a high-handed errand. If anything, it was more like a request.

December would always be a busy month. Happened every year, they would participate in a garage sale. Grandma and the boy’s late mother really liked the notion of participating in the end-of-the-year events, and he remembered his father took all kinds of family gatherings and events into his head, the ones that require an involvement from both sides of the family, before at the last instance all those events were never held and remained a mere injudicious arrangement.

The boy was habituated to being only with himself. Living a solitary life, he was a miserable so and so; continued walking north, never looking back. Having seen promises being broken over and over and over only confirmed how much he didn't like dealing with people. People must begin to learn to walk the talk.

Father and mother were no different from him. They were the only children. Loneliness was like being passed down from one generation to another. But Grandma had many younger siblings. The word that Grandma was the eldest of twelve siblings just slipped out of father's mouth, that one time when they celebrated the new year by throwing rocks in the mossy lake. When he inquired where the other siblings were, no one could give him a fulfilling answer. The boy kept asking and asking, which eventually became a pressing matter, until finally father conceded defeat and said they were all dead.

Grandma called him once again, this time his full name. That was not a good sign, first and foremost. The boy hurriedly wore nitrile gloves and a mask. Incredible heavy work awaited him. At least this would take him the minimum of two full hours. He hoped when the warehouse was clean, there was a hot lunch at the dinner table – waiting to be devoured and warm him up.

The work was almost done. The last two boxes were too heavy to be lifted alone, especially with an empty stomach. He would fill his stomach to the brim with Grandma's splendid food. Or if that wasn't enough, he would snack on more than two packs of potato chips and soda. The boy sincerely believed that the intake would be proven to help increase his strength.

At that moment, from the corner of his eye, the boy witnessed a figure lifting up the box ; so stalwart and handsome, despite his hands were emaciated as if they had no meat left and the sight of wrinkles on his face were gathering in one part, for that it made him look like he had plumps all over and he was at death’s threshold. 

“H- Hey!”

Rather than worrying the item would be stolen or the figure was somebody with malicious intentions, what he was more concerned about were those thin hands. Those hands could break at any given time – splitting into two uneven parts. Doubtlessly it would be the most horrific sight that could inflict a deep trauma within him. A deep trauma in which he could never healed from.

The figure, after taking the box outside of the warehouse, came back with sweat gliding down his chin. Once again the boy was reminded of how magnetic the figure was. The figure said nothing, looked straight at him with clear green eyes. Those clear green eyes reminded him of the mossy lake he used to go to with father when he was a tyke. 

“I thought you needed help.” said the figure, after a whole slew minutes had passed in an offbeat silence, yet somehow felt familiar. 

Awkwardly, the boy nodded without looking at that wrinkled face. “Uh-huh?” he didn't know what to make of it – his stomach growling in the middle of the blistering day and a man in his mid-50s trying to shoot the breeze with him. What a queer day.

And the figure didn't bother with the disconcerting sound his stomach made either. The figure acted as if he was deaf. There was no attempt at all from both parties to kick off or terminate the conversation. The boy began to feel uncomfortable, but somehow remained tight-lipped on the situation; staring dagger at his muddy trekking sandals. 

The figure disposed of a little distance between them altogether, standing next to the boy with a straight back that seemed tempted to stoop so much in as much as that there was a ghostly stack of burden carried. He couldn't put a finger on why he conceived that way, nevertheless when the old eyes that were still alert look at him briefly, he felt it in his bones that he had known the senior gentleman longer than he knew himself. 

“The weather forecast said there’d be a Derecho storm today. Do you think they’re mistaken?” there was no cynicism in the senior gentleman's tone. Only a one liner to commence a conversation the boy didn't dare do. 

“That's human nature at work.”

“If they're not, we wouldn't even have a chance to cross paths.” the senior gentleman flashed him a dazzling smile—the very first time after a while had passed in an unfathomable cumbersomeness. 

The boy smiled back happily, not realizing that was what he had been waiting for from the start. “And I’d be left with strenuous work alone. So, lucky for us both?” realizing the way he behaved might seem a little impertinent, he hurriedly corrected himself. “I mean, lucky me! Haha-” however much he felt he knew the man, in reality they hadn't even exchanged names yet. 

“Yes. Lucky for us both.” a brief sentence from the senior gentleman and once again they immersed in silence, which was this time soothing. 

“What did you have this morning?”

The senior gentleman pondered for a spell, “Roti cane. It's been like that for about a month.”

The younger seemed stunned, thus why he assumed the youngster didn't have any clue what he was talking about. “You should try it at least once in your lifetime. You're still young and will taste a lot of different flavours in your life from now on, but I can guarantee that roti cane will leave a remarkable impression if you're willing to get out of your comfort zone and try it.”

Nevertheless the boy still ambushed by vacillation, for he was always by himself and enjoyed his solitude more than anything. It was as though his back solidly stuck to the wall. The warehouse wall was the pillar of his consciousness. The pillar was very much alive, telling him this, whatever was this, would come to an end before long, then he would return to the house, helping Grandma with whatever she wished him to serve, and just like that this year would end with the usual nonsense packed into his brain like sardines. The boy would repeat a much similar routine next year, preparing for the end-of-the-year events, alone and detesting every second of it.

He wondered what would be different if no promises had been broken in the first place, if all plans were carried accordingly to its ideas, if people weren't being hard-hearted and If he didn't end up in this situation – a boy who shoved everything aside, only to bitterly hoped for anything possible and logical. 

“It must be nice to live inside your head.”

The boy looked down, abashed. On occasion he would daydream and question many-sided stuffs, but never in front of people, especially in the middle of talking to people. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don't be. Have you ever told anyone what's going on inside? Some entertaining parades, maybe?”

His brows knitted into a full-form frown, “No.”

“Why so?”

“Just... no.” 

The senior gentleman didn't press any further. For that, the boy’s dignity was spared—he genuinely appreciated the kind gesture. 

“You know? This may be random, but I miss my brothers and sisters dearly. It’s futile for I know they don't feel the same way.”

“What makes you think so? You can't simply decide it yourself like that!”

“Because they don't exist anymore?” the senior gentleman’s honest eyes flickered with dolefulness. It was far cry from the ones at the beginning of their conversation. “Well, almost everyone.”

Before a string of thoughtless apology was spilled, the senior gentleman put something in the boy’s hold. “Please say hello to your grandma. Tell her Larnee misses her burnt cooking.” in contrast to his sudden and unexpected appearing, his departure left a satisfying touch of emptiness. 

Grandma was calling. The voice was drawing closer and closer, until conclusively the boy realized the voice came from beside him. “What are you doing? Daydreaming like that in the middle of the day.. geez.”

The boy opened his clutched palm and found a timeworn silver pendant. He estimated it was twenty years old or so.

Upon seeing the pendant, it immediately reduced Grandma to tears. At the drop of a hat; the chapped, wrinkly, feminine hands pulled the boy into a warm embrace that melted his entire barrier at once. And in the heat of the moment, the boy did the one thing he had wanted others did to him; he wiped Grandma's tears away before curving a large smile. 

“Let's go back home. I’m starving.”

December would always be a busy month. He was aware of that from the start.