The Ace of Spades

Chapter 16

      Sitting in the park that taunts me so, Grief having invited me, shattering my heart still beating-- Grief, the house guest that never left. Daddy is here, found in the way a swing hugs the lap of a girl whose giggles turn to screams of glee; having come here in the hopes of finding happiness. I have accepted that it's something that must find you.

     The air is crisp, having been burned by the Sun, and I look to the man beside me; with frayed edges and eyes that bloat. I can't help but wonder if for him, condolence cards just covered the bottle. There is a secret too, to alcoholism, one not commonly shared; some days you'll drink from the glass and other days you'll walk on it. Just like his eyes I believe that his feet bleed red. Somedays, Mama would look in the mirror and toast to her reflection-- swirl the liquid in her cup, spit, and say cheers. No stories have been written about the alcoholic's friend, simply because they do not exist.

     Kaiden-- walks with two shadows, one that sits upon his shoulders, and the other that graces the ground. Still, life's avenues are anything if not numerous, yet this is a boy that has chosen none of them. Some decisions are made from bravery, cowardice, and hope-- yet this one was made from fear. You see, Kaiden had dipped one toe into trust and deemed the water far too cold to fall in any further. Maybe, it was due to this reason, that my feet wander away from the tinkling sound of childish giggles, towards the ominous sound of the ever looming church bells. Kaiden had looked at me in such a way that I had believed my skin was crystal and my hair honey, that my lips weren't chapped nor my eyes muddy.

     Little was the church perched on the hill, painted by mildew, with arches hanging low. The wind was gentled here, nature having been humbled; and I can't help but wonder if the choir boys sing a tale of woe.

     Stumbling over uneven cobblestone, my feet performing a dance of unsure faith, I find stability in the walls of this chapel, lending themselves to me as a place of rest. Having only made it to the building's established threshold, I sink to my knees and wait, for surely this church will swallow me whole, if only for the reason that I dare rest within its wooden jowls. As if growling with menace the door behind me creaks and groans, swinging open to reveal the shoes of the boy I hate the most. Like Daddy, Kaiden has no halo, as it has broken and become a chain, anchoring him to the one thing he hates the most-- faith. To him it is a joke celebrated at Christmas, for God has no place among the godless. Yet to me, faith is tangible--bittersweet.

     Tickling my brain is the question I refuse to ask; why was the boy who plays chess with the devil here in a holy place?

     Sculpted by his demons, his skin oddly smooth for being made with taloned hands; I can't help feeling that if he was a pot he would have been made with a wobble. It is visible on his chin which puckers and his eyes that prickle, in the way he clutches the doorknob white-knuckled.

     "Come to mock me?" rolls the brassiness of his voice, his question spoken with broken words that tremble.

     "No...I came to talk to the one person Daddy always said would listen."

     Popping at the knees, he sits beside me with eyes darting like a predator tracking prey--serving to remind me to remember who I speak to.

     "My Father was a man whose hands came down heavier than his feet on a tiled floor. I would have given up a thousand birthdays if he had promised there was a person who'd listen."

     There seems to be a weight to the silence.

     "I'm sorry... but....maybe you can share the memories of mine. When people ask you who raised you, just tell them it was a man whose smile lines were so deep one could fall in and never climb out; a man who'd talk to the night sky like an old friend, just in case someone was looking back-- a good man. A just man. A fair man."

     "I wish I could have met this 'good man'," he murmurs, picking a hole in his jeans.

     Rolling like vast hills is the silence that follows, and like vast hills it is beautiful in its simplicity. Throughout life people love and leave and sometimes the only things that stay with you are the scars; but when I look at him I don't want to just see a scar.

I didn't even notice the tear that rolled down my cheek until the valleys of his thumb brushed it away--I was too busy wondering why I leaned into his touch.