The Fleeting Life of Constantine Silvester

Ava met Constantine Silvester in June, when the sky was the bluest and weather warmest. His presence in the next three days of Ava’s life unravels parts of her that she had no knowledge of. This story is the sticky, heavy, and dark re- discovery of Ava Dinley and her ability to capture the essence of everyone around her.

There are places that Ava loved more than others. Day care and the way it smelled like innocence, jasmine, and white florals. How beautiful, the scent of children, pure and delicate. As if surrounding her with a warm blanket. Others might’ve caught whiffs of baby powder and laundry detergent, but Ava found comfort in basking in the scent of jolliness.

Ava’s parents caught her peculiarity during her elementary year. It had been a peculiarity back then, the way she couldn’t smell body odor yet always stealing time to cuddle with her mother because she always “smells good”. If Ava were to describe it now, her mother had smelled like Lavender, calm and calmer until eventually little Ava found her eyes heavier. Ava’s older sister, Ally, smelled like orange, and sometimes fresh grass. She smelled like the earth and rain and ocean, and at times summer breeze.

Ava was right, the next couple of years Ally set on sailing, on discovering, on devouring the world. Wrote stories upon stories on how she met strangers, cultures, architectures. And each time Ava reunited with her sister, her scent grew stronger.

The Christmas Ava’s mother and father danced to a slower, sweeter rendition of I’ll be Home for Christmas, she found her favorite scent. It was peach and raspberry and rose, it was sweet and flowery. She closed her eyes and leaned back on the sofa, clutching her plushie, inhaling the scent surrounding the swirling couple. Each person omits a different scent, yet so infused by each other. They blend and whisk together, almost similar to the way they melted together, circling on the mahogany floor. It smelled so good, love smells so good. 

As pleasant as it smelled, Ava recognized the longer she spent time around them, the more they smelled far away. She felt estranged, as if her olfactory is telling her that this scent only belongs to them, something private and intimate. She would later drag her plushie into her room. One day, Ava thought, I’d bask in that scent. The way they did. 

Home was a sure place she can find herself at peace, until one day her father went home smelling like asphalt, and thunderstorm, and something very- very rotten. That day Ava learnt about grief, and the horrid smell of it. How layers of it engulfed her father’s usual scent. Gone was the smell of bakery and woods. That day, as soon as Ava saw her father entered the house, she combusted into tears.

Ava lost her mother in the age of 15. She learned to nurse the grief of the people around her. Make them smell pretty. She became a blacksmith of words and fun, of comfort and joy. Turning her peculiarity into her sharpest weapon. A super power.

In the age of 17, Ava begun to read people with her eyes and ears. Observing body language, expression, and intonation as miniscule as they are. She was set on making people feel better, happier, make them smell pretty. The day she picked up a book about psychology, she started mapping the scent around her. Everyone’s essence is never pure, the older they got the more complex the scent. Her father never smelled the same ever since mother kissed him goodbye, yet he does not reek of grief.

Her future was set, she mapped her way through university and psychological institutions. The best and the worst, the bad and the ugly.

Ava thought she had smelled it all. Until she met Constantine Silvester, a transfer student. Who transfers on their senior year? 

As soon as the teacher appointed him to sit beside Ava, the hair on the back of her neck stood up, there was something earie about him. She tried to not look obvious as she observed him, his raven hair and pale skin. Took her minutes to realize that the boy is anosmic, he omitted no scent. 

Scared. Ava was overwhelmed by her anxious heart. Have you no soul? She was dying to ask. She pressed her palms together and braced herself for an introduction. Before she knew it, she had exchanged Ava Dinley for Constantine Silvester, exchanged her notes for the one from his old high school. They exchanged smile when they are more at ease. It’s okay, he seems normal. Yet the alarm ringing in her head did not stop whenever he’s in her radius, even until the last bell rang. 

The next day, Ava had decided that Constantine is a case for her study. Despite her worry, she found herself interested to know why was he devoid of all scent. 

“How about I take you to the best kiosk in canteen?” Ava had offered after the bell rang for recess. Both young birds now perched on a bench, facing the school back yard. Ava brushed the eeriness, who would’ve thought that the absence of scent bothered her more than the smell of grief, or jealousy, or malicious intent. People don’t like what they don’t know, she reminded herself. And so, she’s here to understand. 

There were small talks, about food, restaurants, school subjects, and teachers. “I don’t get people who are brilliant at math.” She had said.

“I don’t understand people who don’t get it. You just have to move the formula around,” He replied. “But to each their own. I can’t bring myself to memorize a single thing when it comes to history.” He covered carefully. 

“You sound like my dad.”

“Why so?”

“Well, he’s an engineer, and he finds it frustrating when he has to be in a discussion about abstract things.”

Constantine raised his eyebrow, “History isn’t abstract, if anything science can be way more unpredictable.”

“Yes but history and social subjects alike don’t have any formula as an anchor to go further on. They tend to be immeasurable.”

“I’m sure there are aspects that influence the result of a social phenomenon, and that in itself resembles a formula, don’t you think? We just haven’t figured it out yet. Besides, the only exact thing in science is well… science. Remember, math is a social construct.”

Maybe he has a point, Ava thought, history repeats itself and we just have not gather enough data to come to a conclusion and, perhaps, a formula.

Ava considered him for a second. His dimples that kept reappearing and the almost smile, usually after he finished a sentence. Anna, one of her close friend, had casted a suggestive glance when she invited Constantine to the canteen. Anna had known that this is her favorite spot, with the wind constantly blowing and the view of an abandoned field that the school left empty a year ago. Something about the field brought peace to her.

In their moment of silent, Ava caught a whiff. Ava couldn’t describe it, for it was gone as soon as it appeared. But it smelled like peacefulness, a very faint pine trees.

Emotions.

Ava, being the curious cat that she was, fished for other emotions.

“My mother left us when I was 15.”

She cursed herself. Yet she sensed a blooming, warm sympathy. And It stayed, lingering around her. As if he understood. Ava did not even need to smell it to figure that he was genuine.

“How about your family, Silvester?” Ava broke the comfortable silence. And oh how she regretted it.

Grief. Sharp and heavy. her nose and eyes stung. Before she could hide it, Ava let out a sob. His grief was stronger than any people had exposed her of. Yet, when she composed herself and about to say her apology, the grief is gone, just as quickly. And he was staring, questioningly. His expression showed no sign of hostility, but his eyes were so cold. 

The bell rang again.

The next hour was spent by listening to their English teacher reciting and dissecting the poem ‘If’ by Rudyard Kipling.

“If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

   Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

   And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;”

Constantine leaned forward slowly, “How did you get over the grief?” 

What a surprising question, nobody had asked her if she is still heaved by it. People just assumed that she is strong. The teacher’s melodramatic voice faded into the background, “I don’t know if I ever will,” Ava considered, “but I’ve made peace with it.”

"How?" Despite the tone, his questions didn't feel invasive.

"At the time i thought, i have others to live for." Her answer didn't miss a beat. She had known that nursing people's grief took away her own, and had trained herself to be comfortable with vulnerability.

Pry away, Monsieur.

“How would you deal with it?” Ava carefully picked her question.

Constantine considered her, “I don’t know, I just don’t associate myself with it.”

Before Ava could reply, the teacher announced a homework that is due the next day. she hurriedly snatched her pen and wrote down the teacher’s direction.

Ask him. Ask him to do the homework together.

Ava ignored her thoughts, discouraged by Anna’s giggling behind her.

Who knew, for a girl that can capture anyone’s soul scent, the one that magnetized her was the one devoid of it. 

You should’ve asked him Ava. You truly should have. 

Ava didn’t go to school the next day. Last night she had dreamt of a never- ending fall. And this morning, the TV screen bind her eyes, her body trembled. A prisoner of a revelation.

He jumped. Constantine Silvester had jumped from the balcony of his apartment. 

The funeral was held by his distant relatives, eulogies made of pity, sympathy, and regrets. By aunts that met him once, cousins and childhood friends that had not been in contact for years. The room is filled with sorrows. No stinging grief, no unbearable loss. Just people that wished they could’ve helped him earlier.

And the worst thing is, that is exactly how Ava felt. She wished she hadn't treated it like a game of puzzle. Disgust rolled on her stomach. Had he bartered his grief for emptiness? Completely removing himself, ignoring his feelings. The dread.

"I had met Constantine when he was a child, he's the boy that every parents dreamt of, quiet and sweet. And he grew up to be so strong, he had lost so much-"

Anna patted her back. There are a few people from their class, taking time to show their condolences. They exchanged a weak smile and walked to grab mineral water, nobody knows what music Constantine wanted to play during his funeral, so his family had chosen old Christians songs.

The closer they walked to the closed casket, the more disturbed they felt. They had only known him for less than three days. Ava’s eyes landed on the simple design of the casket, brown like his eyes. The closer she got, her chest felt suffocated.

There is nothing. She smelled nothing again. But this time the scent is too empty, too lonely for her to avoid. A vast and cold nothingness.

O death, is this thy sting?

Ava almost wept. She regretted not following her instinct. She can have all the sensitivity in the world, all forms of clairvoyance. If she doesn’t truly listen, it is all deemed useless. 

Guilt.

Ava had no idea that her ability is developing, bending and twisting and seeking. Expanding its ways to give warnings. But if she can't learn to listen, the lessons she would face could kill her slowly.