Keys of Life

Chapter Eight: Autumn

Chapter Eight: Autumn

   The phone clicked off, but I couldn't bring myself to set the handset back onto the other end of the receiver. The girl had sounded tired, and sad, and more than a little wistful. Jason had mentioned her once or twice, and I knew that they hadn't been close. He hadn't exactly had the most functional of families, and when at eight years old a little sister had been thrust upon him, he'd been chained with responsibility before his time.

   His parents didn't take an interest in him, even though they'd been dutifully there for his earlier years. The children of my would-have-been in-laws had pretty much raised themselves, and Jason had been left with the need for a stable home, yet no clue of how to maintain it. I sighed, finally bringing myself to move, my hands shaking as I sat down, collapsing into the sofa conveniently placed behind me. Jason had been the love of my twenty-one year long life, and I had hoped for a house in the suburbs, a dog, and a couple of children that we would've given a completely different upbringing. It was the picture of normality, the very essence of what many middle-aged bureaucrats struggled to avoid, while the youth of today laughed scornfully about getting stuck in that rut. It sounded like heaven to me.

   We'd met on the bus, sitting among the stubbornly silent mush of people who seemed determined to make travelling as uncomfortable as possible. Jason had smiled at me, and we had chatted for a while before going our separate ways. I hadn't thought I would ever see him again, but the next day, he was sitting in the same spot, looking anxiously out the window and searching for my face. That's what he told me, anyway.

   Jason was popular, loved by everyone, and if sometimes his eyes seemed to contain the ingredients of storm clouds and chopping seas, I could live with it. All I wanted was for him to be happy, to escape the clutches of the demons of his past and turn his gaze to a brighter future. It still didn't seem like so much to ask, even after fate had ripped it from me as a punishment, for being too greedy, or selfish, or for some other sin I hadn't realised I'd committed.  

  I closed my eyes as I remembered the sheen glancing off his hair as the sun briefly caressed his cheek, before allowing itself to be hidden by the silver lined clouds. The last memory I would ever have with him still living on this earth, the one that I had watched unfold so many times in my head, powerless to stop. We had just left the little cafe we both loved, giggling and laughing like two schoolchildren even as the first fat drops of rain plopped from the clouds. The earthy smell of moisture clung heavily in the air.

   "Autumn, I need to go. I'll talk to you later, won't I?" he said, glimpsing fleetingly at the hands mechanically turning on his pearl watch-face. I tried and failed to look as if the answer wouldn't involve a 'y'. Every time he asked, I would race to the phone as soon as I got in, carrying it around with me as if it was a shadow I couldn't misplace. Every time it wailed at me to pick up, I would faithfully answer on the third ring. Every single time I would promise myself that tomorrow, I would let it go to voicemail, would try not to seem like I needed to hear his voice or that I was just waiting, passing time as quickly as I could before I saw him again. I never quite managed it.

   "It depends. I might be busy." He looked so crestfallen that I immediately amended my statement, even though I knew he was just putting it on for show. Jason had that effect on me. "I'll try though." He grinned, just for a split second looking like a Cheshire cat who had not only gotten the cream but the warmest spot in front of the fire. I sighed inwardly. I couldn't even bring myself to mind that he knew I was always on his beck and call. When had I gotten so pathetic, so dependent on him?

   My reward for my loyalties was nothing more than a passing glance over his shoulder, the intimacy in his smile as his lips quirked up lopsidedly. The look in his eyes was reserved only for me, and it gladdened me to know that he was there, no matter how many times I was shouted at by my superiors at work or the amount of whispered remarks that fled past my ears, driven without reprieve by my colleagues. He was the rope that moored me to my happiness, and at the risk of sounding like a lovelorn poet, he was my rock, always there and unfazed by news of blizzards to come. That was, of course, until the day he wasn't.