The Things We Lost in the Fire

 I see her the moment I walk through the door. She is on her phone, face down. She hasn’t changed. Not even a little bit. My recollection and the present collide and I am seated across from her.

“I hate this place,” I tell her by way of greeting.

“Really?” she asks, for a moment genuinely taken aback, “I used to bring you here all the time as a kid.”

I say nothing in reply, neither does she. This is why I do not like people. They prefer filling every single moment with small talk and inanities to actually having a conversation. The menu itches closer to my hand and I feel a deep and abiding desire to do anything but return her gaze.

“How have you been?” she asks.

“You are leading with that?”

She shrugs, offers a small smile as though urging me on.

“I woke up this morning with every intention of blowing you off. There is nothing you have to say that I care to listen to and there is nothing I want to say to you period. Cassie tried to convince me that coming here to see you would actually help, it is for my own good, she said. We had a fought about that. I am not big on being told what to do. Then this morning I woke up next to the most beautiful woman in the world. So here I am like a freaking pervert watching her slow breathing as she sleeps and I am thinking, I am thinking I am happy. It counts for something, doesn’t it? I am happy. Coming here to see you? It changes nothing. My father is an arsehole, my mother still walked out on me but I am happy.”

“I am sorry, Charles.”

I should stop, comport myself but for some reason, I am unable to. I keep going.

“Back when I joined campus, I had this thing where I thought a woman could fulfill me. This is not your fault, keep that in mind because by then I already had Cassie taking care of most of my mommy issues. So, I did what every generic predictable man does. I jumped in bed with the first girl that showed even the slightest interest in me and before I knew it I was in a relationship. She broke my heart, over and over again yet I kept going back. Girlfriend number two was even worse yet I couldn’t seem to help myself. I call her the corrupter. I still think of her fondly. Take what you may from that. Maybe the third time’s the charm. I loved her. I honestly believe that now with the same startling clarity I believed it then. And she loved me too. That much is not in doubt. I believed she was my destiny, my final fate. Or like the kids call it, my endgame. The Selina Kyle to my Bruce Wayne, the Lois Lane to my Clark Kent. One day I shared my pain with her, my disappointment in the shit show that is my life. She kissed me, pressed even closer against me before telling me that all life is pain. Pain is the only visible sign we are growing. That is why our bones ache when we grow. One week later I found her in bed with a guy I thought was my friend.”

“This woman, she loved you, you say?”

“What people say is rarely, if ever, as important as how they say it,” I tell her. I feel oh so clever as I do the warmth that comes from that one tiny moment spreads across my body like water to a dry rug.

The waitress chose that moment to return.

“So, what have you been doing, now that you’ve finished school?”

“I have been having sex with random strangers in an obvious and classic attempt at gaining my father’s attention.”

She almost chokes on her food as sputtering coughs follow. She reaches for a glass of water, and ever so regal takes a sip.

“What do you want?” I ask her.

“I want to explain myself to you.”

“You left. That’s the story. Anything else is just details.”

If she gets the American Gods reference, she doesn’t show it. She always was good at that. The impassive façade, betraying nothing.

“It wasn’t that bad, was it? We had some great times, didn’t we?”

“Memory serves no other purpose than to cause me pain, to wound. If I am being honest, I think I got tired of growing up a long time ago.”

“I wasn’t a very good mother, was I?”

I say nothing in reply.

“I was in a terrible place, back then. I was no use to you, to anyone. I went to find help. I am better now.”

I laugh in reply. Short and contained.

“Sometime last week, I was seated across the table from someone else, having a conversation like we are now. Only it was a different place and I am sure I was a different person. You see my father has only ever loved two people in the entirety of his life and both of them left him. With Cassie, however, he always thought he would get her back eventually. She still was in his county after all, and here he is king. A bit like a parent allowing a child his fits of rebellion knowing she will come back anyway. So here we are, talking. She wants to know more about this girl I had brought to meet her. I had brought only one other before, you see. After a while, the conversation drifts off to other matters. She is pregnant. This I knew before. What I didn’t know is that he asked her to marry him and she said yes. She wasn’t moving away, mostly because she likes it here and because I was here. Now, father didn’t know any of this, mostly because I don’t think it’s any of his damn business but like everything else if the king wants to know something he will know. I was at home with my girl. He seemed pissed off, more so than I have ever seen him before. Usually, our relationship is one of apathy. I serve a purpose to him. In the eyes of the public, I am his son. To him, I am his heir, the prince. Save for that I am nothing. Our relationship is practically non-existent save for the emotionally draining and abusive early days after you left. I don’t think you are stupid, not even remotely. I refuse to believe you didn’t know the kind of man he was when you chose to leave me with him. Whatever shit you were going through at the time, or whatever excuse you chose to give yourself so you can sleep better at night, whatever rationalization, it’s all irrelevant. I am not a good person. On a very good day, I am a bitter spiteful arsehole. So, congratulations on fixing yourself. Doesn’t change anything for me. I don’t think it ever will.”

She says nothing for a moment and I consider leaving.

“But I changed. I got better.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, mother, people don’t change.”

Again, momentary silence. Only this time I choose to break it.

“There was this thing we used to do, back when we were kids before I found out just how much money my father had and the friends I had started vanishing, we would be walking along the road, a puddle of water straight ahead and one of us would turn to the rest and say, you know if I wanted to, I could jump into this puddle right now with my clothes still on. So, we would all reply, want to, then. In response, he would laugh and we would all join in because we knew going home with soiled clothes equal murder. Still, we kept the illusion going because what are kids if not delusional? We can’t do the things we want to just because, mother.”