I’ve been like this for a while now, I realized with disgust. I tried to shake it off, but the shadow of my solemnity clung to me worse than static cling.
I definitely felt awkward in class today. No one was really talking. Even Raiya wasn’t here to fight with me, making me wonder if she wasn’t in the hospital, too. Martha wasn’t teaching today, of course; she’d been seriously injured in the attack, according to the grapevine. Even the best-case scenario wasn’t comforting.
So our class was watching a movie.
I was determined to focus on the movie, and the movie only. I had to will myself out of this gloomy mood. And I sincerely thought I could.
I sighed, leaning my head on my hand for support. I shouldn’t have moved. I caught sight of my wrist.
There was no hint of the Emblem of the Prince. The sight of it (or lack of it, I guess) sickened me; Martha was in the hospital and Mikey was incarcerated as a result of the mark’s disappearance.
It wasn’t that I’d brought on my own problems or that I could stop them. It was just there were things I couldn’t control, and there were some I could, if I would do the right thing to stop it . . .
But that was just it. I couldn’t do the right thing, because there was supposed to be no right or wrong, good or evil, and all that other stuff.
But what if there is? What if I’d been wrong?
Psh. I couldn’t be wrong.
If I was wrong about that, about the condition of the world, about how there was no good or bad, or right or wrong, then I would be more than just wrong.
If there was good and bad in the world, I would be among the bad. One act at all would prove something to be bad. I would never be wholly good, just capable of doing good things.
Obviously, it was a matter of deep philosophy, and I didn’t really want to think about it.
But I took a good look at myself, and for the first time I could remember, I did not like what I saw. I cared too much about myself and my happiness. Martha’s life was on the line, Mikey’s fate was precariously hanging just above doom, and all I could find the energy to focus on was me.
And most of it was just to pity myself. It wasn’t even to plan on doing anything about anything except feel bad about what had happened.
There was no clear way I could live with myself now I had acknowledged my great, imperfect soul–and I didn’t see why anyone else would want to live with me, either. There was no atonement I could offer.
My head collapsed into my arms as despair took hold of me.
I glanced over to see Gwen. She wasn’t faring any better than I was, by the look of it. I wasn’t really that sorry for her, to be honest. I’d been too shocked and depressed after the swim meet trouble to take her out, and she had been more than okay with that. When I’d called her up later, I’d been the patient, understanding, compassionate boyfriend, much to my chagrin.
Hey, I still wanted to find out whether or not she’d been cheating on me. I think it was a reasonable desire under the circumstances. Especially since I was pretty sure she’d been pining to go to the hospital to check on Tim. She had asked me whether or not my dad was on-call at the hospital more than once since the swim meet.
It also didn’t help the gossip grapevine was in full swing, saying Gwen had been using me for a cover with her parents while she and Tim had afternoons full of good, clean, 1950’s romantic bliss.
When the bell finally rang, I put my stuff away, and, like a hollow automaton, headed for my next class. I purposefully avoided Gwen, and subconsciously, my friends. (I didn’t need to have them ask about the rumors of me and Gwen any more than anyone else.)
When did the world become so meaningless? I wondered. And when did I begin preferring it the other way?
I thought about fighting with Elysian over destiny, passionately defending myself to Starry Knight, about seeking out the hidden truths in darkness even while I denied their existence during the day.
I automatically chastised myself for even thinking of anything reminding me of those losers, or my so-called supernatural abilities, or how I’d quit without ever really knowing who Starry Knight was . . .
What did I have to look forward to now? Checking up on social media? Seeing how much I could play Tetris or sleep during class before getting caught? Sort-of talking with Gwen at Rachel’s about unimportant stuff? Running away from demons and putting around school like it was a custom-made hamster maze? Pretending like I had it all figured out even though I didn’t, just wanting people to believe I did?
“Hammy.”
“Huh?” I jerked out of my gloomy, colorless self-resignation letter on life. “Hey, Gwen.”
She seemed a bit shy, wringing her hands together. “Hey. I wanted to . . . . Well, I wanted to see if you wanted to hang out later.”
“Sure.” Even my response is automatic, I thought bitterly. “Sounds good.”
“Would you like to go to Rachel’s? I know it’s your favorite.”
“Yeah. Sounds good.” Automatic to the point of a broken record.
“Do you want me to see if anyone else wants to go?” Gwen asked.
She was trying too hard to appease me, a suspicious voice murmured in the back of my head.
“Sure.” I smiled, but it felt robotic in the end. “I’ll see you then. Gotta go.”
“Bye,” she called out as I made my way out of there. It was sad; even a trip to Rachel’s wasn’t enough to lift my spirits.
*☼*
“I can't stand it anymore, Rachel!”
Gwen and I both flinched at the screechy voice as we entered into Rachel's Café later on. Along with the other people who were trying to enjoy their meals, we stopped and stared at the middle-aged woman loudly complaining to Rachel.
“This is the third time this week I've been stood up, and twice by the same guy! Ooh, I'm going to make him suffer for this unforgivable outrage . . . ”
Rachel smiled. “Calm down, Mom, people are staring,” she whispered. “You don't want to scare off the people who pay for your nice outfits, do you?”
“Part of the reason they come is to mock me in these drab clothes!” Leticia huffed disdainfully.
“Letty, get a grip on yourself,” Grandpa Odd (Ugh! He’s here too!?) spoke up from his usual bar stool. “I don't see why your life is in shambles at the mere thought of spending a night at home instead of at some fancy-shmancy restaurant where you can't even pronounce the names of the food right.”
Leticia scowled. “Let's just say I need it for my health,” she retorted. “I fear loneliness has driven you to madness, Old Man.”
“Mom, he's got a point–”
“You be quiet. I need to smoke,” Leticia huffed, pulling out a cigarette. “That nicotine patch isn't working at all!”
“You have to take it out of the box first, Mom.” Rachel smirked. “Besides, no smoking in here. It taints the food. The FDA doesn't approve.”
“The FDA can kiss my–”
“Hamilton! Gwen! Come in,” Rachel called out. “I was wondering if you were coming today. Jason said you didn't have practice today.”
“Hey, Rachel . . . Leticia . . . Grandpa Odd,” I greeted them all as politely as I could and still be able to call it polite.
Only Rachel smiled in return. “Hey, I have some chocolate blueberry brownies baking. When they come up, do any of you want to try a sample?” she asked.
“Sure! I was wondering what smelled so good when I came in,” Gwen smiled. “I love brownies.”
“Great! I'll have Jason bring them out to you once they're ready,” Rachel promised. “If you'll have a seat I'll get someone to get your order taken in just a moment.” Off to the side, she added, “I have to take care of these two right now, sorry.”
Gwen and I found our usual booth and exchanged comments every so often while keeping an eye on the front counter; Letty was in one of her moods and the old man still wasn't taking meds apparently, so it was sure to be a fun show tonight.
The kitche
n doors swung open, and I cringed as Raiya came out the door with a tray in her hands. She’s working today? Come on, I thought bitterly. I really hoped she wasn't going to be our waitress today . . . . If she was, though, on second thought, it would be fun to torture her. That would be just awesome, especially since she’d been out of school today.
“Hey, Dinger, Gwen,” Jason greeted as he too came out from the kitchen with a tray. “I'll take your order today.”
“Thanks, that'll save me some worrying,” I quickly quipped, nodding in Raiya's direction. “She's working today?”
“Yeah. The other waitress who usually works here now, Holly, is close to six months pregnant, and she's having some problems. So Raiya might step in until Rachel can either find someone else or Holly's babies are born and maternity leave is over.”
“Oh, my,” Gwen said. “That is horrible.”
“Yes, it is,” I agreed, although I was pretty sure Gwen was talking about the complicated pregnancy, while I was referring to Raiya working here for another three or four months.
Jason smiled brightly. “I think it's nice. Raiya's . . . . Well, I like working with her. She's interesting to–” Jason broke off as he saw the look on my face. “Well, never mind. What would you like to have, Dinger?”
“I'll have that blueberry brownie Rachel mentioned,” I grinned. “And also a mocha.”
Jason laughed. “Sure, Dinger. How about you, Gwen?”
“I think I'll have a brownie, too, Jason, and a cream soda.”
“Good choice. I'll go check on the brownies and be back with your drinks shortly.”
“Thank you,” Gwen replied. She watched him walk away and said, “Jason's so nice. I'm glad he likes his job.”
I grinned. “Yeah, where else could he get paid to stare at Rachel all day?”
“Does he really like her?”
“Sure does. The first time I came here with him–it was for his party, you know, when the meteor rock came crashing into Apollo City–he was practically drooling over her. It's fitting that he's waiting on tables for her now, if you ask me. Too bad Rachel's getting married.”
“Yeah. Poor Jason.”
I nearly snorted and then held it in. I didn't really feel sorry for Jason–after all, Jason was fully aware Rachel was getting married. He was just acting like a fool. When he finally realized the truth, that's when he'd straighten up.
“Ouch! Augh!”
Gwen and I nearly jumped out of our seats, along with the rest of the guests in the restaurant, when Jason suddenly let out a loud screech from the kitchen.
“Stop it! Ouch!”
A number of guests were craning their necks to see what was happening.
We were all anxious to see the kitchen door open. But a moment later, it was only Raiya who breezed through the kitchen door with a tray full of drinks in her hands. Talk about a disappointment.
“Raiya,” Rachel stepped away from the counter where she had been talking with her mother and grandfather. “What happened?”
I leaned forward, pricking up my ears.
“Jason was checking the brownies and he got hurt,” Raiya replied.
“Did he get burned?”
“He says so.” Raiya shrugged. “You might want to go look. I didn't see anything.”
“You checked it then?”
“I took hold of his hand and looked very closely,” Raiya assured Rachel. “I'm sure nothing’s wrong.”
“Sounds like Jason got burned,” I told Gwen, a smirk creeping up on my face. “Ironic that we were just talking about his love life, too.”
There was a fleeting smile on Gwen's face before she shook her head. “You're so mean, Hammy.”
I shrugged. “Just being myself. I like being honest.”
“When it suits you,” Raiya spoke up as she set her tray down on our table.
All the remains of any desire to be polite deserted me. “For example, Gwen, I think Raiya is very annoying.”
“Hammy–”
“It's all right, Gwen,” Raiya remarked as she handed us our drinks. “Humdinger here probably just missed me today from school.” She smirked and then waltzed back to towards the kitchen.
“Dinger, I swear, sometimes you are so irritating,” Gwen muttered through gritted teeth. “You have no consideration for anyone else–”
“Hey guys,” Jason broke in. “I have your brownies here; careful, they're still kinda hot.”
Gwen, still half-glaring at me, said, “Thank you, Jason.”
He grinned. “You're welcome. You guys okay?”
I shrugged. I didn’t care that much; I was thinking about trying to get Raiya back so I could return to our fight if I could. “We’re fine. How's your burn?”
“Huh? Oh, right,” Jason laughed. “I don't actually have one. I thought I did, because my hand really hurt when it touched the side of the oven, but I guess I imagined it.” He held up his hand to show us. There was no evidence at all to any burn or bruise. “But it was really hurting, especially when Raiya grabbed it and looked at it–she could've been more careful, I guess.”
I stared at Jason's hand in mock amazement. “Wow. You mean she touched your hand and you still didn't get burned? Astounding.”
I thought I saw Jason roll his eyes. “You guys have everything you need?”
“Yeah, unless you have a muzzle back there,” Gwen spoke up as she sat down. “Dinger here could really use it.”
“Hey, Raiya and I fight all the time,” I retorted.
“Was she bothering you?” Jason asked.
“Apparently,” Gwen huffed.
I sighed. “Gwen, I just don't like her at all. She's . . . ” I shook my head. I didn't know exactly what I hated so much about her, but that just made me even more irritated by her.
Jason snickered. “I think it's funny. Like you didn't have enough girl troubles before, huh?” He stopped laughing when he saw my expression. (It looked like Jason had been taking irritation lessons from Mikey.) “Oh, I gotta go.”
“Yeah, see you later,” I grumbled.
“Oh, shut up, Dinger,” Gwen muttered.
She was still mad at me? Really? Great. Nothing to do about that now. Women.
While I let her stew in her rage, a new painting on the far side of the café caught my attention. A strong hand was holding what looked like dust, but the 'dust' was blowing into the sky, becoming the brilliant starlight. I stared at it in wonder, as I mechanically drank my mocha.
“What are you looking about?” Gwen finally asked.
“Huh?” I nearly jumped. I was surprised she was talking to me so soon. (Scientists determined the silent treatment is found to last an average of two days and thirteen hours).
“I asked you what you were looking at,” Gwen repeated. “You have a dumb look on your face.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just looking at the painting over there. Very creative, don't you think?”
Talking about art must have triggered her happy brain chemicals. “It's beautiful.” Gwen smiled. “Rachel always seems to have the best art here, don't you think?”
“She probably pays a bunch of money for them,” I surmised.
“I wonder who she gets them from,” Gwen remarked.
“Probably from one of the museums closing down because of the current recession.”
We settled down into silence. Have you ever seen married people just listlessly eating at the same table, and you have to wonder if they were communicating without words, or if they were just tired of talking to the same person? That’s kind of how I felt.
I turned my attention to the television over the bar and watched it for a bit while Gwen picked at her brownie.
I was almost–almost–grateful when Grandpa Odd looked up from his newspaper.
“Alas, it be Hamilton Dinger!” The old odd man saluted me with his cup and said, “You look down today, my lad. What be it that troubles your soul today?”
I said nothing, just looked down in my cup. I peeked over at Gw
en, who didn’t seem to care I was about to be bothered. I noticed, to my dismay, she was texting again.
As if she’d noticed me paying attention, Gwen stood up. “I have to go to the ladies’ room. Excuse me.”
The old man laughed as she disappeared. “Ah, the tragedy of youth. Come you hither to seek my counsel, my pupil? It must be true love.”
I glared at him. “True hate is more like it,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
“Hmm. Disturbing this is.”
I was getting irritated by Grandpa Odd. It didn’t normally take much, honestly. But between Shakespeare and Yoda, couldn’t he just find a dialect and stick with it?
Grandpa Odd’s eyes went dark and blank as he said, “You might hate yourself now, but you cannot help but love yourself. You will need to question yourself and your motives over and over again if you are to find the truth in your heart.” He sighed, and then wistfully began to recite:
“All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you. /
I never had a selfless thought since I was born. /
I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through: /
I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn. /
Peace, reassurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek, /
I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin: /
I talk of love–a scholar's parrot may talk Greek - /
But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin. /
Only that now you have taught me–but how late–my lack. /
I see the chasm. And everything you are was making/
My heart into a bridge by which I might get back/
From exile, and grow man. And now the bridge is breaking. /
For this I bless you as the ruin falls. The pains/
You give me are more precious than all other gains.”
Then he looked back at me and said, “Ah, the power of poetry to ignite the soul. Do you know what Lewis is talking about in his poem?”
I was never very good at poetry. But I was curious, to say the least. Something about the poem had resonated within me.
“Lewis is talking an honest look at himself, finding his shortcomings. Those of us who have souls all need to be honest about what condition we are truly in. And we are all selfish. We all talk of love, but how limited we are in comprehending it!”