Someone to Talk To

My mother used to say, “There’s always someone who has it worse than you,” and I used to believe it. It was so long ago, but I could still see how the sun made a halo of her blonde hair around her long, pointed ears, and her large, brown eyes seemed soft like velvet.

The young woman across the table held my hand. “I know it doesn’t seem like much, but maybe tonight you’ll talk about it.” She was a human, maybe thirty, tops. Close-cropped dark hair, medium-brown skin and deep amber eyes. There was a mole on her left cheek that always caught my attention for some reason. Her youth reminded me that I felt ancient, when I was, at worst, middle-aged.

She looked at me expectantly. I’d promised her my story more than once. A way to explain the reason I spent my nights in this corner booth by myself, slowly drowning in bourbon. Before now, the furthest we’d gotten was that she was Angie, and I was Jay. As nice as it was that she pretended to be interested in me, it was probably time to get it over with.

I ran my finger along the scar atop my right ear, where the top inch had been sheared off. I heard the booms, felt the searing heat, and my heart raced. Eyes closed, I took a few deep, slow breaths.

#

The place I came from is not so different from here; a small port town on the coast, facing the rising sun. Home, however, was backed high cliffs, with rich farmland up on the plateau above and a waterfall just past the town. The farm closest to the cliff was ours, my mother and I. We grew bunch beans, cabbage, garlic and sweet onions.

I made the trip down the switchbacks every day to take our produce to the market. Every afternoon I returned with fish, bread, spices, whatever else we needed for dinner. Except Saturdays. Saturday evenings I’d spend in the pub, watching the crowds while my betrothed, Eva, worked the bar.

It was a simple life, but it was mine. Travel and adventure were not on my mind. Never did I dream of sailing around the world like the father I’d never met, or even traveling to the city. I was a young man, but knew that I would marry Eva, and we’d take over the farm when my mother passed.

To this day, I’m not sure whether Eva and I were together because we were in love, or because I was the only one who didn’t look down on her for being half-elf. Regardless, we were together, and it was comfortable. My mother’s health was in decline, and I was spending more time working in the fields than going to market. Eva took over that job for us.

It was in the back field that I found what I thought was our salvation. The field had sat fallow for decades. I was turning it to prepare it for bunch beans, when I hit a large, flat stone. It hinted at a great treasure hidden in a cave in the cliff directly below it, about half a mile from the switchback road.

Eva tried to talk me out of it, but the thought that my mother might be able to see a doctor in the city, that she might be healed, pushed me to ignore her pleas. While Eva was worried for my safety, I should have known I was endangering everyone else.

I found the cave, right where the stone said it would be, by climbing down the cliff face. Inside, it quickly branched into a warren-like structure, a vast system that would put most modern subways to shame. It took months of returning every week and exploring, marking my progress on the walls with chalk, and going a little further each time, but I finally found it.

I was expecting gold, gems, silver or coins. Instead, it was four fossilized eggs. Huge eggs, perfectly preserved. I wasn’t sure what they would be worth, but I was sure that even if I got cheated on the deal, my mother would be taken care of.

I bundled the eggs in my pack and made my way down the cliff to the beach. A short trip along the beach and I reached the docks. My first stop was in the market, where I traded the eggs for cash. More than I thought possible. The merchant who bought them was ready to offer me anything. He gave me enough cash to send my mother to the city and cover the cost for treatment.

I was at the dock, securing passage for my mother when it came thundering out of the cliffs. Great leathery wings, smoke pouring from its nostrils, its long tail snapping like a giant whip as it changed direction. The first blast of explosive fire brought down the cliff wall on the town. Even at the docks, the heat of it threatened to set my hair on fire. My farmhouse teetered on the edge until the second blast brought that down too. Shrapnel flew hundreds of yards, one piece taking off the top of my right ear.

The captain of the ship dragged me onto the ship and set sail immediately. My arguments were ignored. All I could do was watch as the great dragon destroyed the town, burned the plateau to ash, and filled the port with stones ripped from the cliff wall. I had meant to save my mother; instead, I had doomed her, Eva, and the entire town to destruction.

#

I looked across the table at the young woman, her eyes showing concern. “Since I no longer have a home to go to, or a reason to if it still existed, I sit here and try to remember what it was like before. The Saturday evenings I would spend in the pub, watching the other patrons. By not looking at the bar I can almost pretend Eva is there, serving.”

“The last dragon sighting was over a hundred years ago,” she said, “in the Argwall restricted conservancy zone.”

“August fourth, 1911. The town was called Port Argwall then. Yes, that’s the one and it was my fault.” I reached for the bottle to pour another round, but she snatched it up and took a deep swig.

“That must be difficult. Shouldering all the blame like that.” She set the bottle down and I followed her example, ignoring my glass.

“Who else can I blame?” I took a deep drink of bourbon, no longer feeling its warming touch going down. “I went into the caves. I explored them, for months. And I took the eggs. No one else did it, and Eva even warned me off. It doesn’t help that I relive it in my dreams most nights. I see my house tumble down the cliff, feel the heat, hear the ear-shattering boom of the dragon’s blast, and I know it’s all my fault.”

“What happened after you set off to sea?” she asked. “I don’t imagine that you just sailed straightaway around the world and ended up here.”

#

We sailed to Harris Island where we docked. I was still in shock, even those three days later. I wandered around for about a week, sleeping in a hostel and wondering how I should die to atone for my crime.

I walked up the mountain road, looking over the valley and the ocean below. The high vantage point felt a little familiar, but that just made it more painful. There was a footbridge over a gap, probably three or four-hundred feet deep. I was so fixated on the drop that I almost ran into a human boy there, no more than twenty or so. The look in his eyes was too familiar.

He convinced me to sit and talk with him, and we made a pact: if either of us felt like going through with it after, the other wouldn’t try to stop them. Hours passed and we sat, dangling our legs over the edge, sharing our life stories.

Long after the sun had set and the moon rose over our backs, we decided that we both felt like trying to make it another day. The walk back down the mountain was quiet, but it felt like I had accepted a life sentence when what I really deserved was death.

Back in town, we went our separate ways. I couldn’t stay there any longer. The idea of getting on another ship didn’t appeal, but there was no other way off the island. I got a ride on a shrimp boat to the mainland, where I made way for the airship port. Every time I paid for something with the cash I carried, the guilt of what I’d done came crashing down again.

I determined to get a ticket on the next departing airship to wherever, and to give all the rest of the cash away. Of course, it’s never that easy. Here I was in a foreign country, using foreign money, without my passport. I was still wearing the same clothes I had been for nearly two weeks, and in my mental state hadn’t done anything to care for myself. I must have eaten and drunk something, maybe even washed, but I can’t recall doing so during that time.

The local police walked me to the station and asked about the cash. When I told them what had happened, I expected to be arrested for mass murder, manslaughter, at least. I mean, it was my fault that Port Argwall was destroyed, everyone dead.

Instead, they called a nurse. I gave her the money and told her to get rid of it. She gave me clothes and put me in temporary housing, where I stayed while shrinks and clergy and every other sort of hack tried to alleviate my guilt. I’m sure she used the money for that, though, so it all felt tainted.

Finally, after two years, I had learned how to tell them what they wanted to hear. That was enough for the doctor to decide I was capable of caring for myself. I got new papers and worked my way across the country doing seasonal farm work. In less than three years I ran out of continent and settled here, where I still work in the dockyard as a laborer.

#

“That’s the story.” The bottle was empty, and we were both feeling it. I leaned back in the booth, ready for her to walk away forever. It would be the smart move on her part.

“Listen,” she said, “there’s nothing I can say or do to make it better. You have to do that for yourself. What I can do, is be here to help you through it.”

“You’re very sweet,” I said, “but I’m not sure how much help a kid…young woman like yourself would be.”

She leaned forward. “I understand your concerns. Still, I want you to know I’m available to talk.” She scribbled a number on the back of a business card and handed it to me. “Dr. Angela Carter. You can still call me Angie. My office number’s on the front, my cell is on the back. Any time you want to talk.”

“Jerrek Lovienta, but I don’t like that name anymore…so, Jay.” I looked at the card. “Psychiatrist, huh?”

“Specialized in treating PTSD.”

“I look that bad?”

“No, you just looked like you could use someone to talk to. You may not be able to go home again, but you can create a new one,” she said, pointing to the empty bottle, “if you stop looking for it in there.”