these sweet nightmares

chapter 6: lonely

I wished I had a friend, someone who would play me, someone I could confide in when things don’t exactly the right way, but most of all, to have someone banish the loneliness that had sunk in after the day Henry came home.

I wasn’t sure if anyone within the family beside me noticed, but ever since he returned, Henry had begun to act very strangely. If his hostile conduct was bad before, then the growing estrangement was worse now. Slowly, he became indifferent to whatever that was happening around him. He had no interest in anything but the book he religiously carried day in and day out.

What was so special about that book anyway? It was a simple paper bound volume with synthetic leather covers, a tiny one at that, too. Anyone could go in a print store and purchase one, and yet, Henry allowed no one to touch it or even go near it, not that anyone would, of course, because they would then experience his wrath and fury.

The word that first sprung up in my mind when he started becoming too preoccupied with the book was obsession, and it fitted him quite nicely. It was unhealthy and unnatural, for although I understood what it meant for an object to be a source of comfort for one in distress, this was an entirely different matter. Would become of him if one day he did not have in his possession?

Many a times I tried to muster up courage and confront him about this, but failed to do so. Insinuating the problem as lightly as I could was as difficult as teaching a new language to a lifeless rock. When I switched to open lectures, though, Henry refused to allow me carry on and I was harshly rebutted. It seemed that the harder I tried to talk sense into him, the more Henry rebelled. Yesterday was the finality of my helping him. It ended in unpromising results, a gentle term for what really took place.

I had managed to corner Henry into Father’s study, much to his angry opposition. I had caught him in the middle of a very important business he was dealing with, so he had said. But I cared not. I remembered clearly being strong in my determination to have him see things in another way––one that was less fanatical about inanimate objects.

As usual, he had the book with him as glared at me with unreceptive eyes. “What?” he growled. “What do you mean by having me here? Don’t you know I am in midst of completing some urgent matters?”

“Yes, yes, I know,” I said, sighing. “But please give me a few minutes to speak my mind.”

“Fine,” he snapped, granting me my wish. “Just spit it out so I can go already. The quicker it is, the quicker I can get back to what I was doing.”

“Henry,” I began, stalling to collect what I wanted to say. “I’ve been noticing some odd changes in you and I’m getting worried.”

“Then don’t,” said Henry. “You shouldn’t be meddling in other people affairs, Christopher; it’s bad for you. Hasn’t Mother taught you that?”

It took all I had not to retaliate. “This isn’t about etiquette. It’s about you.”

“What about me?”

I slapped my head with my hand. Really, my patience was thinning and I didn’t know how I could hold it together any longer. “Look at yourself, Henry! For the past two weeks, all you’ve been doing is shutting yourself out and pouring through that stupid book of yours! It’s not right.”

“Take that back,” Henry growled, moving forward to me, but I stood my ground. “This book”––Henry jabbed at the front––“is everything we need to come to society better than ever! Because of this, we won’t be laughingstocks anymore.”

How sad that it had to come to this. “See what I mean? You’re losing it. You’re putting faith in something manmade. Use your eyes, Henry. It’s tearing me apart that you can’t discern from what is not real from what is.”