I'll Share With You My Heartbeat

ten

He recalled when he was still in school, that being the only kid with glasses came with an assortment of questions, namely—

"Can I try it on?"

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"So what do you see when you don't have them on?"

Cal didn't mind these questions as much as people expect him to, though he remembered the difficulty of explaining the blurriness that came with being glasses-less. Edges were reduced to fuzz and lines were distorted.

He had always been so grateful to have them, leaving the old days of his younger self struggling to read the blackboard behind.

However, Cal seemed to have branched off from that time in his life. Right now, he couldn't appreciate the blurriness any more than he did.

Leaving some objects in front of him unidentifiable saved him from painful reminders. He didn't have to worry about recognizing things that caused him heartbreak. He could drown a little more in this sea of light and color and nothing definable in between.

Unfortunately for him, humans had five senses, which means blocking one out didn't spare him from the others.

He raised his pint of beer to his lips and let the citrusy flavor burn his throat. Sitting at the far corner of the bar, keeping no one but himself company, may not be the ideal look. But on some nights like these, Cal couldn't find it in him to care.

It was a vicious cycle. Like arthropods shedding skin.

He lathered himself in grief, allowed himself just a drop of hope, shed his tough skin, try to live out a decent day, and somehow end up here again— wallowing in self-pity.

The only difference today was the obnoxiously loud clapping coming from the bar, followed by a couple of cheers and whoops.

Interested, Cal dragged himself out of his seat and approached. "What's happening?" he asked whoever's on his left.

"The boy's doing magic!"

Cal rubbed his eyes and squinted at the scene before him, pushing against a neighboring watcher. This might be one of the first times he wished he had his glasses with him.

The bartender appeared to be situated atop a stool, palm open towards the ceiling. A glass hovered over it— by magic, he claimed— and floated down into the counter.

The crowd wowed. Cal stared at him skeptically, head tilting when he realized it was— What was his name? Lennon. Yes— Lennon was performing for everyone.

"No ma'am. I do not have any strings attached to the ceiling," the chestnut boy continued, grinning from ear to ear when he earned a few laughs.

He got on his tiptoes and passed the pitcher to a certain ghost, who held it there. A few gasps sounded when Kieran began pouring the liquid into a line of glasses. To everyone else, the pitcher seemed to be levitating by itself.

"How do you do that?" someone asked.

Lennon wished he had a smarter answer than "I just— do."

"I just do," Kieran mocked from next to him, fully aware that the boy couldn't scold him with so many pairs of eyes on him, "Couldn't come up with anything better than that, Lennon?"

The chestnut boy aimed a quick glare at him, only to catch sight of the clock hung on the opposite wall. "Oh!" he exclaimed, lowering himself back down on the ground. It was already past the end of his shift. He turned towards his little audience. "Sorry everyone."