Spring Won't Come

Seventeen: Manny

It felt good to be held by someone that had never hurt him before. Manny let himself enjoy the touch, knowing that there would be no sharp tongue, no lashing belt, no striking hand. Just love, comfort, and acceptance; he could allow himself to feel safe.

Manny had run from the school and come straight to Alice's after what happened with Eichman. He could still see the teacher's body twitch, see the blood pour from his face, see the look of horror that gripped his classmates. They all thought he was a monster, and for good reason.

He had fantasized about this moment, though it had been under different circumstances. Alice was holding him, gently brushing his hair. He had spent the night downstairs and had come up sometime around noon. Sleep had been impossible and he hated the idea of being alone with his thoughts, so he had come to Alice.

She hadn't said anything when he knocked on the door, just quietly let him in and then joined him on one of the couches in the living room.

They had tea. He cried. She held him.

That's where they were now, Manny on the tail end of a crying session and Alice holding him. She smelled of flowers, sweet berries, and spices. Her body was warm and comforting. Manny wondered if this is what mothers were supposed to do? He had no past experience to compare this with.

"I still can't believe I killed him," Manny said.

"It wasn't your fault," Alice said softly. "I didn't show you how to use the power properly. It was a careless oversight that resulted in an unfortunate accident, nothing more."

"But I knew what I was doing," Manny said. "I knew I wanted him dead and I knew how to do it. I was just so angry!"

"You had every right to be," Alice said. "He sounds like a terrible, pretentious, perverted, and miserable excuse of a man. He bullied you day after day and then he took it too far. If you ask me, he got what he deserved."

Manny wondered if Alice was right. Part of him wanted to believe that she was. It was like a quiet voice whispering, telling him that it was all going to be okay. Alice knew best, he just needed to trust her.

"Alice," Manny said. "Is there anything that your power can't do? Where does it even come from?"

"It comes from a lot of learning," she said with a chuckle. "Lot's of learning and hard work. As for the limits," she brushed her fingers across Manny's forehead, "they exist. Why do you ask?"

Manny felt drowsiness overcome him and he almost forgot why he had asked the question. "I was wondering," his speech was slurred and his mind in a fog, "if it was possible to talk to people who are gone."

"It is, but it's no simple task. It's not something that many are capable of."

"Do you know how to do that, Alice? Can you do it?"

"Yes. One day I can show you."

Alice carefully lifted Manny off of her and rose, placing him on the empty cushion. His eyes were closed and far too heavy to lift again. He heard Alice moving in the apartment, as if from some great distance. He let sleep take him, knowing that he was safe here with Alice.

When he awoke, he could smell tea brewing from the kitchen. Manny sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair and stretched. The coffee table was clean and some of the lights were on in the living rooms, casting a soft light that Manny's sleepy eyes found acceptable.

The room was quiet and still. There were three clocks: a grandfather, anniversary, and cuckoo; creating a gentle melody of ticking and clicking. Manny wondered how long it had taken Alice to accumulate all this stuff. The clocks, china sets, cabinets, and other little oddities. He also wondered why someone would want all this stuff, another facet of life he didn't understand.