The Wright Way

Chapter 6 - The Wright Way

I perk up at the distant sirens. Even when I'm off shift, the sounds of fire trucks invariably send adrenalin rushing through my veins. It seems like they're heading away now. Waterfront? One of the hotels? Sounds like one engine—they would have sent more if it was a hotel. Perhaps it's not a fire?

Enough. I draw the window shut. That cuts off most of the noise, and I sit back and put the tea bag into my steaming mug. The whole point of an evening off is to unwind, to forget about your job for a while. To go out and have some fun, as Lagana keeps telling me. Have fun, Ethan. Do something with your free time, Ethan.

He should know better. He knows where I come from. He knows that my concept of fun is different.

What is my concept of fun, anyway?

I take the dripping tea bag out of the mug and throw it into the garbage bin, then slip into the chair and look at the TV above the door. There's a report of some agricultural miracle, a farm that outperforms all its neighbors, but the babbling of the reporter is just a background noise to me.

I don't really have a concept of fun. To me, free time is a curse, not a blessing. When I'm working, I'm alive. When I'm not, I'm a discarded object, my life suspended until the next shift gives it meaning again.

"Give this to Mike," said Mr. Brooks when we were leaving 'Golden Leaf'. Kendra was already walking to the car when he handed me a long piece of glossy paper—an entrance ticket.

"It's not a bribe," he said, "just showing respect to our hero firefighters. Mike's a regular, so I always send him one when Kendra stops by. In fact..." He slipped his hand into his pocket, and retrieved another ticket, before pushing both into my hand. "Here's one for you, too." He gave me a long look that made my stomach turn.

"No," I said, trying to return the ticket. "I don't need this. I'm not, you know --"

"It's just a show." He shook his head, moving away. "You don't need to be gay to enjoy live music. Kendra came once, too, when we were on better terms."

"Ethan, come on," Kendra called from the car, and I turned away and walked towards her, the  tickets clutched in my hand.

They lie on the table in front of me now, their glossy paper reflecting light from the neon sign across the street. They have words and numbers on them, the opening hours and some blurry picture of dancing people. 'Golden Leaf' is just two blocks away, with its live music and drinks.

Since I came home, the tickets remained on the table, untouched. I'll give them to Mike tomorrow. He'll find someone to go with.

It makes me wince, imagining him walk hand in hand with another man. Dancing with a man. Kissing...no. That's too much. My mind goes blank when I try to think of it. Mike is a good guy, I can always rely on him at work. How can his goodness coexist in him with such twisted, unnatural behavior?

Maybe I should throw the tickets away. Why would I give them to anyone? I'm here to save people, not help them throw themselves away.

I raise my eyes to the TV again and Uncle Zachary stares right back at me, as if my thoughts have summoned him to the screen.

I choke on my tea, spilling some of it. I put the mug on the table and eye the wet splashes on the tiles, postponing looking at the screen again. But his voice is there—the soft version of it. The good Uncle Zachary. The one people flock to for answers, for peace, for refuge.

Except for me, running in the opposite direction.

"It's all about saving people," he says from the screen, his smiling eyes surrounded by the net of wrinkles. "We're not seeking to save those who don't want to be saved. But whoever needs salvation are always welcome in Bethlehem."

The picture switches to the aerial view of the Bethlehem's farms as the reporter begins to talk about their staggering production.

I get up shakily and switch the TV off. I know what's about to come. They don't just say good things about Bethlehem. Whatever praise they're giving the farms now will swiftly be followed by 'however...'.

I don't want to hear that part. Bethlehem is my place of purity. I want it to remain as such. There were always those who spoke of us badly, but we persisted, and that's why we're the growing, thriving community that the news reports so love to thrash.

Yet I'm here and not there.

The phone rings. I glance at the screen—an unknown number. I click the green button.

"Hello," I say.

"Hello, Ethan," says the deep, soft voice I have just heard coming from the TV. I freeze. Could he have known I have just seen him on the news? There's no way, and yet the coincidence is chilling. "I'm not interrupting?"

"No. It's my day off."

"I know it's your day off."

"Ah," I say. Of course, I told him about my shifts, but the way he says it makes it sound as if he knows more than that.

"Uncle," I say. "Why are you calling?"

"Just checking on you. We haven't spoken in a while. I was wondering you weren't forgetting me—us." The last word comes out in a snake-like hiss, momentarily breaking the serenity of his tone. "Just wondering if you're fine."

"I'm fine."

"That's good." His voice is back to its soft, lulling tones. "Then everything is good."

So many people claimed that his voice made them feel calm and peaceful, and yet it makes me break in cold sweat. It always feels like he knows too much about me, about my innermost thoughts and feelings. As a child, I thought he was a supernatural being—but I'm not a child anymore. He's just a man who's good in reading people.

"It was nice talking to you," says Uncle Zachary. "Take care, Ethan."

"Thanks," I say. "You, too."

I press the red button and let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. For a minute, I remain by the table, looking at the phone in my hand. What did he want? He didn't ask anything, and yet it felt like just being on the phone with me allowed him to pry into my head, to make me feel confused and guilty.

I have a purpose, that's why I left. I'm saving people here, too. Saving lives is just as important as saving souls. As long as a person is alive, there's a chance they will change their ways. I'm here to give them a second chance, to shove it into their hands. That's my contribution. It's not much, but that's all I can offer. This is my way of doing the right thing.

My eyes find the tickets again. I wanted to throw them away the moment I got them, and yet they're still here. I shake my head. Damn curiosity. The never-ending desire to know. I always wanted to understand, to see with my own eyes, not to follow others blindly. I'm here to do my own things and make my own decisions, and he shouldn't be able to control me anymore.

One must understand people to save them.

A point I and Uncle Zachary could never agree on.

I get up, pick up the tickets, and take my jacket off the hook.