Cygnus and Christopher

Chapter Five

Sylvia, Christopher’s mother greeted us when we went inside. “First day of summer! Are my favorite little boys excited?” My shoulders and neck moved in a motion somewhere between a nod and shrug. In Sylvia’s hand was a can of beer, she sipped it, the liquid entered her mouth through cracked lips. “Yes Mom, I am excited. Kids played all sorts of pranks to celebrate the end of the year ya know? My favor-” Sylvia interrupted, “Jonathan can you check on dinner?” No reply, “Jonathan?” Jonathan, Christopher’s father, apparently ignored Sylvia or was out of earshot. Sylvia walked away and repeatedly called “Jonathan.”

Soon, Sylvia had gone far enough away that I no longer heard a spaced out chant of “Jonathan.” I imagined her as a monk calling out to a lost spirit. When silence settled back in, I realized my shoulders were still tensed up from the previous shrug/nod thing I had done. It took some sort of effort to let them relax, as if there was a natural inkling for them to tighten uncomfortably.

A mumble came from Christopher. He did not look at me, his eyes intensely or absently, I could not tell, pointed at the opposite wall. There was only one mumble, one wave in a puddle of water that then turns placid. Quick enough in passing that it feels almost as daydream that dissipates in a blink, and a new reality that doubts previous realities seeps into its place.

“So should we go dow-” Christopher drops his backpack on the floor. “Yes.”

To the left at the bottom of the stairs was a cat palace of sorts. A carpet covered, multiple layered cat house. On the top level rested Fluffy Snow Paws. Fluffy stirred at our arrival, back arched, mouth open wide, and eyes squeezed shut. I tried to mirror this movement; arms stretched overhead, back arched, a yawn, and eyes so forcefully closed that tiny bits of color appeared on the inside of my eye lids.

There was a small pink scar on my left hand. Sometime long ago, Fluffy bite me, at least I think she did, it was a long time ago.

Fluffy hopped off the tower and rubbed on my leg. I knelt to pet her. Her fur felt nice between my left fingers. On occasion the shiny pinkness of the scar peaked through her black coat. I wondered if Fluffy remembered biting me and what a lack or presence of such a memory could teach me about forgetting and forgiveness and if or what is the difference between those words.

Off in the far corner from the stairs was a mini fridge. Inside was nothing but alcohol, juice, and soda. It has been that way for a few years now. I don’t know if Christopher’s parents were oblivious or aware and did not care.

Christopher made himself a drink, half rum and half cola. He also made one for me, one fourth vodka and three fourths orange juice. Anything stronger than that I had trouble keeping down. He handed me the screwdriver and raised his glass in the air. “Cheers to the best summer of our lives.”

The sun poured in through the sliding glass door. It shined through our glasses, making two sets of light and shadow whirl on the opposite wall and the two chairs pressed against that wall. Quick apparitions, I tried to read into them, tried to discern any warnings or guidance. I saw nothing of the sort so I raised my glass to Christopher’s, the two sets of light and shadow merged together. “Cheers.”