Strain

One

July 22

“Noah,” Kate starts. “Are you sure you aren’t up for dinner? I don’t feel like you should be alone right now…”

“I’ll be fine. I just want some time to myself.” She nods and says something about checking in with her every now and then.

We just left my mother’s funeral, dark and black. But the sun is out shining bright and white. Brian, Kate’s fiancé, is driving silently with his hand on her thigh. We quickly arrive to my house, it’s subtle structure hidden behind thick oak trees on the corner of the block. My red door contrasting with the mundane siding; sticking out like a sore thumb.

I open the car door, “Noah,” Brian says. “Call me later, okay?” I lightly smile and nod. He explains, “Just to check in…” he smiles and Kate waves with a whispered goodbye. I close the door and they drive off.

I slink through my yard and climb the steps. My door is extravagantly hot with today’s pretentious heat.

My mother and I were extremely close. Closer than most. Some might argue and say that: No, my mother and I are much more tactile and congruent. Like mother like child. But I would reply with, my mother and I aren’t you. We are not warriors, we are not shapes. We don’t relate by battle or geometry. We relate by the entirety of a heart we have.

I step inside, stoop to my room and collapse onto my bed. My body has had enough. I didn’t cry at the funeral. I don’t cry, no not from sadness or anger, not from frustration or pain, but from allergies or dry eyes. Emotion isn’t my special. Not at all. Not since, I was young. Those were the days, yes. Fresh and spruce limbs I grew, but now they are burnt and charred. Lifeless, nerveless and weak. Empty of sense.

My bed is cool against my skin, relaxing and calming compared to the heat. Portland has never had such a heat wave. I don’t fall asleep; I just lie there in ironed black clothes melting into my bed. Wanting to die, but I don’t know why. I have never felt this before—not like this. It’s an emptiness but it doesn’t sting. I don’t feel a longing for my mother; I don’t feel a rope trying to pull her back. I don’t feel anything. Just her absence.

A few hours pass and I look around my life. I look at how clean I am; I look how healthy I am, physically; I look at how my life is. What it is, but sincerely, I can’t find the answer. What is it?

My ears pop as I wake. I hadn’t realized that I had fallen asleep. My alarm clock says 11:54. I slept almost twelve hours. I slump out to my kitchen, everything is completely dark. The soft patter of rain running down the roof and hitting the pavement outside echoes through the house. My wall of clocks and bird houses ticking in unison as midnight rolls over.

I dig through my fridge, pull out a container of yogurt and spoon it into my mouth. I’m not hungry rarely am, usually a good bottle of champagne cures my hunger. The sudden thought of Brian and Kate crosses my mind. I was supposed to call them. They aren’t here in a panic so they must know everything is okay.

I dial Kate’s number, it rings and her voice blasts through, “HOLD ON!” Loud pounding crackles through the speaker. It fades out and she comes through clearer, “Hey! You okay?”

“Yeah, just checking in…” I say.

“Good. Well, I got to go; me and Ariel are at Holocene. Brian and Andy are going out for a drink; you should go with them…” Who’s Andy?

“Who’s Andy?” Brian’s brother. Kate told me about him, told me he is also, not straight…

“Brian’s brother! Call him! ‘Kay. Got to go, hon… But call Bry!”