I gasped and started to turn, but then the boy said, “Wait.” His nonchalance was killing me.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” I try not to be scared. I don’t even know why the hell I am scared.
“I’m Max and I live here. You don’t. So why are you here?”
“Because...it can get pretty lonely sitting alone in a theater after two weeks and a park seems like a lovely place to walk in the wintertime.”
Max smiles and his dark eyes twinkle with the reflection of the snow. He takes another drag as I watch his long fingers wrap around his cigarette, “You shouldn’t talk so much when you’re nervous. It’s a bad habit. What’s your name?”
“Cassidy.”
“Well sit down by the fire then Cassidy. Don’t be shy.”
“Don’t be creepy.”
“I am who I am.”
I sit next to Max despite my conscious which tells me to leave. It’s freezing outside and my jacket is thinning. Plus, he has warm food which is all too irresistible. I look around his homemade shack. There’s scratch marks on one of the walls which seem to be counting days. There’s a small storage of food beneath the metal bench. A few warm blankets in the corner. It looks more like home than the theater. Then I see the most strangely beautiful thing. The entire back wall of the shed is a mural. A painting of all different colors and it’s actually really good. I stare, trying to make out all the fine details. I see that it’s not just one scene, but four. Within three of the settings are peculiar figures which I can’t quite understand. In the fourth painting there aren’t any strange creatures, just humans and animals. The fourth one is basically New York City.
Max puts his hand on top of mine and I jump, “Sorry…You like them?” I nod slowly, my eyes still transfixed on the wall. “I’ll tell you about them tomorrow if you’d like. Tonight you’d just think I was crazy.”
“I’ll probably think you’re crazy tomorrow too.”
“Keep an open mind.”
“You said you live here. Did you mean you always have? Even before...”
“Well, yeah,” Max looks down at the dying fire.
“Will you tell me about yourself?” His dark eyes remain focused on the fire and after a few moments of hesitation he begins:
“I’m not going to make this long or sad or any shit like that. Basically I was a pretty good kid, but when I reached about 14 I messed up. I messed up in school and got into a lot of fights. I started smoking and just hanging out with the wrong kids. My dad thought I was worthless, he wouldn’t let me stay in the house anymore once I was 16. My mom didn’t want me to leave. She actually loved me, but it was never really enough. I screwed up. I’ve been living around the park for the past three years. It’s not so bad; you know quality view of the city.” He finishes his cigarette and lights another with a blue plastic lighter. “What’s your story?”
“Wow…I don’t know if I even have much of a story. There’s not much to say. I grew up in the suburbs right outside of the city with nice parents and a white picket fence. Now I go to NYU and study History. I have – I mean had a football star boyfriend. And now I’m right here in the midst of the end of the world and I’ve really lived a pretty normal life.”
“I think there’s more to you than that.” Max walks across the dugout and grabs a plaid blanket. “Here you can have this one.” He throws it toward me.
“I’m not sleeping here. I’m going back to the theater tonight, but it was nice to –“
“Listen,” he cuts me off, “We don’t know how bad this all really is, but I have a feeling it’s bad. Understand? We might be the only people left on Earth. I think there might be a reason for that. I don’t maybe like we’re the chosen ones or something. I think we should stick together. Then, maybe we’ll have a chance…” Max trails off in thought.
“Chosen ones? Why would we be chosen? There’s nothing special about us. What are we supposed to do, build the world again?” I’m becoming frantic as a wave of realization hits me: the rest of the world could be the same or worse.
“I knew you would think I’m crazy. Please stay here tonight. We can talk more in the morning.”
I inhale ready to question his intentions and ask how I know whether or not he’s a serial killer. I exhale because serial killer or not, he’s all I’ve got. I accept the comforter and construct a makeshift bed on the opposite side of the shed as Max – I’m not comforted at all.
