- L -

Who Are You to Say I Haven't Tried Enough?

         sorry I didnt get a chance to talk to you too much this year (and arent you glad right?) but Ill always remember the good times (those hot times on Grant Street ha ha). Dont forget what a cool person you are and try not to forget me if you can. Ha ha. Seriously, have a great summer and a great life I know youre gonna do good
         Her fingers gently traced the words, the indentations almost too faint to feel, Braille imprinted by an idiot, and remaining tactile gibberish no matter how firmly or how desperately you pressed. Up close the words seemed to lose meaning, like those times when she had stared at a word and it suddenly became a string of random letters. A disconnect.
         Why does it start?
         Last night Jina had barely gotten any sleep. After a few hours she had shuddered awake from a dream of stifling darkness and a sensation of being boxed in. The soft presence of her bed had been cold comfort and her room had felt like a slice of purest oblivion. For a moment she hadn't been able to breathe. It wasn't so much that walls closing in but that the walls were already there and she had never noticed them before.
         It had reminded her of death, reminded her in the worst way, the kind where there wasn't choirs of heavenly angels or even the endless acrid stench of brimstone and fire. Not even coming back as a toad or a flower. Just the passive endless useless kind of death, where you moldered and decomposed, doing a backwards dance right back to your base elements. Switch off the light and start the show. Only you weren't there to see it. The images came to her so bluntly that she had to squeeze her eyes tightly shut and forcefully expel them from her mind. Even then traces lingered, acid eating the walls. She hadn't thought about death like that for years. Jina didn't want to think that way ever again.
         And so Jina had sat up in bed in the dark, her eyes refusing to perceive anything of her familiar room except for vague outlines and impressions. Exhibits of the abstract. She couldn't even be frightened because she didn't know what the hell she was staring at. Her heartbeat had been racing furiously and for a while she had gently placed her on hand on top of it, feeling the rapid minuscule rise and fall of that space in her chest, closing her eyes and just savoring the reassuring pressure, letting it remind her that she was alive. Any moment it could have stopped. A motor failing for the final time. She wondered how that would feel, if she would even have time to realize it.
         In the night such thoughts seemed to come so naturally. During the day other concerns crowded them out, reduced those thoughts to flimsy, gossamer cares, transparent and impossible to see, no matter how opaque the background. The darkness gave those fears greater mass and substance, until they weighed on her, and maybe everyone, like a leaden quilt, making it impossible to breathe, to even think about anything else. Rolling over and going back to sleep wouldn't have helped. Now that it had infected her head, it would branch and bud into her dreams, spreading into every available subconscious crevice that even in the daylight she wouldn't be safe anymore.
         No, she had to take her mind off of these things. So Jina turned on her nightlamp, noting distantly how ghostly and washed out the room looked with it on, the details closest to the light thrown into exaggerated and unsure shadow by jagged claws of pale brightness, while the farthest corners were seemingly thrust into even deeper darkness. Near her nightstand was her closet, which on a sudden whim she rummaged around in until she had found her high school yearbook.
         Sitting crosslegged on her bed with the book on her lap, she had paged through it, her gaze lingering on the pictures mostly, since the words of the stories blended in with the darkness too much for her to read them clearly without straining her eyes painfully. The frozen moments seemed too long ago, even the fashions struck her as years out of date, the phrase What was I thinking? coming to her mind far too often. It was nice to think that way. Smiling broadly, the faces were caught in a sort of youthful immortality, perhaps hearing time clicking to a halt around them. A hundredth of a second of exposure was all it took and there you were, set for eternity. Staring glassily ahead, watching everyone else spiralling away, all perspective stretched and distorted. How many of them would have taken that opportunity, to be set forever unchanged, more static than even the sand and the beaches they had stood on during summer vacations and prom weekends. The water had come in a little far since then, creeping up the coast year by year, reshaping the margins every day. So many faces. So many changed, so many unchanged, all of them changing still. All but one.
         Going through it now and then, Jina was struck by how few pictures of Don appeared in the yearbook. It made sense, if only in a high school sort of way. He hadn't been one of the cheerleaders or the jocks or, perhaps more importantly, good friends with people on the yearbook, and so he wasn't one of the same six people that kept showing up in every picture. Every so often he'd appear, either in the background, his frame blurred and drawn with a charcoal pencil, or in a group shot, hanging around with friends, everyone trying to get into the lens, squeezing in to make sure all their body parts got a chance at eternal youth. In one picture he was at the edge, one arm not even in the picture, the rest of him barely fitting, barely making it.
         Jina had never enjoyed staged shots. Everything looked so posed and fake, which was of course the point. She had always enjoyed more spontaneous pictures, the ones taken when the subject didn't know they were being photographed. Then it was like she had a secret glimpse into their head, at the feelings they shelved for the sake of the camera. Unaware of the visual recording going on around them, people in those kinds of photographs often revealed more than they were supposed to. Jina was probably reading into it way more than she should, but she couldn't deny that there was some unquantifiable aspect to it than appealed to her immensely.
         Her favorite picture in the yearbook actually had been of Don. It must have been taken after a pep rally, right when everyone was leaving. Don had been standing on top of the bleacher. Handmade signs all around him proclaimed in blaring letters how awesome the seniors were and how the football team was going to rock this year and the like. His posture was poised, suggesting he was about to start walking down to leave. There was no one else around except for some cut off heads at the bottom of the shot and what might have been someone's elbow on the right side. Don himself was staring to the left, perhaps at the mass of people dispersing, struggling to fit out the one exit from the gym, his face either casually intent or simply blissfully uncaring. His stance was relaxed, unhurried. It was probably the most natural picture of anyone Jina had ever seen.
         And yet, five years after it was taken he would be dead. And yet, in this one moment he was alive, almost gloriously so. They were burying him tomorrow, forever. Here, he was trapped in this black and white amber, sunken into a clear tar pit and preserved for all time. Unable to move forward, unable to move back. This one split second of his life was permanently recorded and stopped. In this one second, he'd never die.
         At some point she must have fallen asleep, waking up several hours later with the book on her lap and a stiff neck from an awkward sleeping position. Everything was brighter, shot with a grey color that filled in more details than the inkiness that had defined the night. A glance at the clock had showed that it was later in the day that she had thought. Closer to tonight's wake. Part of her wished she could sleep right through it. But she was weary, not exhausted. Unfortunately, there was a difference. Especially these days.
         Now over coffee in the kitchen she continued to flip through it. On the back pages she found some goodbye messages that had been written to her by friends. A world of infinitely varying handwriting scrawled on the blank pale green pages, going in all directions, all trying to somehow say everything that could be said about four years. Jina wistfully read the words, trying to guess who was writing the farewell simply by the handwriting and the sentiments expressed. Her batting average was better than she expected. It amazed her how many of the people she had never seen again. How many she hadn't thought of until seeing this page. Promises to keep in touch so soon disregarded. It hadn't been for lack of trying, she liked to think.
         Don's was tucked into the bottom corner of the last page. At least she thought it was his. The signature was smudged. Retroactive fog. Bit by disintegrating bit. It starts already. His handwriting used to smear all the time due to his left handedness. You damn southpaw someone used to say to him, as a joke, all the time. Jina didn't remember who it had been, but she could hear the phrase as clearly as a glass bell. The signature's proximity to the bottom suggested that it was Don's, since although he hadn't been the last to sign it, he was close to it. No doubt he had signed in that particular spot so that years from then, she would see it and think he was the last one. Such thinking wouldn't surprise her. She read the words again and again, trying to get it through her head that the person who had written the words five years ago was now dead. It didn't fit. She couldn't make herself truly believe it. He had left his phone number after his signature. It was tempting to try and call it, to see if he would pick up, to hear his voice, hear his amusement at his sick joke he'd played on everyone. I can't believe you thought I'd kill myself, he'd say, laughing. Why the hell would I do a thing like that?
         Indeed, why?
         Except Jina knew she wouldn't get Don, only his parents or his sister, all grief stricken and questioning, all very much now able to believe that he was capable of going out and killing himself. To them the joke would be blurred, refracted and distorted through misshapen droplets. Even more likely, the joke just wouldn't be funny anymore.
         Or maybe she'd dial and get no one at all. Just the hiss of a dangling connection, the mumbling of stale electrons just looking for something to do. A stagnant tone. We're sorry, this number has been disconnected. There you go again. Yes, yes it has been. Too early, too damn early. Please hang up and try again. If only it was that easy. With some luck maybe it will work that way. In the end. Maybe it'll turn out okay. Somehow.
         The sound of the door rattling open dashed her reverie. That had to be Lena, unless someone had started handing out keys to their apartment. These days, you never knew. Twisting in her chair, Jina saw that it was indeed Lena, her face flushed from the cold and her jacket all bundled up.
         "Hey, I see you decided to get up," Lena said, grinning at her friend even as she took off her gloves and blew into her hands for warmth. Just looking at her made Jina feel cold.
         "What did you do, go for a jog?" Jina asked, eyeing her roommate's chilled state and heavy clothing. "When I said you'd eventually adapt to the climate, I didn't mean for you to turn into an Eskimo."
         "What . . . oh no," Lena said, tossing her gloves onto the couch and shrugging out of her jacket. "I just went for a walk to wake up . . . it's actually not that bad out, compared to how it's been."
         "Oh so it hit thirty finally. That's a relief," Jina said with mock cheer. "We'd better head down to the shore now and beat the rush."
         Lena made a face as she moved past Jina to get into the kitchen. "Make fun all you want, but it's really pretty mild out."
         "Damn, girl, we'll make a local out of you yet."
         "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Did you at least make any coffee for me, since you had nothing but time this morning?"
         "For your information, smarty, there's enough in the pot for you . . ."
         "So I'm drinking the last cup meant for you, right?"
         "Oh no it was always for you."
         Lena just laughed quietly, shaking her head as she poured. Cup in hand she came back to the table, curling into the chair near Jina. Taking a sip from her cup she tapped the yearbook page with one finger. "That your senior yearbook?"
         "The one and only," Jina responded. "I was just looking through it, you know, reminiscing."
         "Pining for the good old days?"
         "You trying to make me sound old?" Jina shot back, hitting Lena with a false glare. Relaxing her expression, she continued, "Granted, they were fun times, but I don't know . . . I think I'm enjoying myself more now." She lowered her voice and leaned closer to Lena, "But don't tell anyone, all right? You'll shatter all their nice myths."
         Lena suppressed a laugh and leaned back in her chair, taking another sip from her cup to hide a sudden grin. "It doesn't leave this room." Pointing toward the yearbook, she asked, "So, anything juicy in there? Or are you going to reduce me to looking through it when you're not here for the good stuff?"
         "Alas, we weren't much of a juicy school . . ." keeping her thumb on the back page, she flipped through at random, watching as the half seen pictures strafed her eyes like subliminal messages, uneasily combining into a bizarre conglomerate of black and white images. Pom poms and lab coats. Custodians and assemblys. Classrooms and final dismissals. It was all there. "And I don't think any of it made the yearbook anyway." She opened the book again on the last page, her finger tracing a crooked path down the page, running it over handwriting five years ingrained. "No I was just reading some of the stuff people wrote in here." Her finger fell like a diving rod toward water right on Don's section. "This was Don's here."
         Lena craned her neck to glance at it, although her neutral expression suggested she wasn't trying to actually read it. An open kind of privacy in effect. We hide everything in plain sight. There was no meaning in it for her anyway. Baby scribbles, all the way. Just infant crayon and drool. One time, when we were all just children. "Is that the guy who just . . ."
         Lena trailed off, giving Jina the space to answer so she didn't have to finish the sentence. Sometimes implied meaning was better anyway. It was right kind of Lena either way. Catching the implication right between the eyes, Jina's face started to pull into a frown before she wisely suppressed it. "Yeah, that's him. We were pretty good friends for a while. Me and him and Joe and Brian and a bunch of others used to hang around all the time. After high school I think we all lost track of him but . . . I used to see him every so often. We never really got together, though." She sighed, her eyes blurring on the words, causing her to forcefully focus on the writing, as if it might disappear if she blinked for too long. First the eye and then the mind. None of you will ever remember me. No, no that's not true. That's not true at all. Again life struck her with a bluntness that was barely tolerable. "And now he's . . ." a vague kind of fear wouldn't allow her to finish. "He's . . . God, this stinks, Lena. It really does."
         "I know," Lena said softly, touching her friend on the shoulder. The sensation again reminded Jina how alive she was, how good it felt to be so. She couldn't explain why she felt this way. If she had survived a near death experience that was one thing, but because someone else hadn't survived theirs? But every coin had two sides and she couldn't help thinking of those who weren't alive. It wasn't fair. But nobody ever said it had to be. You play with the rules in the instruction manual you get. And if you don't have one, or it's not written in the right language, then you have to figure it out as you go along. But that doesn't mean the rules are any different. For anyone.
         Lena looked down and didn't say anything else for a while. Jina wondered what was going on in her friend's head. No doubt this was hard for her as well. She probably wanted to be the comforting hand, the shoulder to cry on, but with stuff like this, nobody really knew how to react. And Jina was trying hard not to turn into a kind of weeping vampire, moping around the apartment all day with the shades drawn, only coming out at night to watch the dead being buried. Bring them out. Bring them all out. The parade starts at midnight. Dig them holes. Dig them deep. Don't want any escaping. You just pile on that dirt until those bastards can't even breathe.
         "Hot times on Grant Street?" Lena muttered questioningly, glancing sideways at Jina. She had shifted a little to read some of the farewells written on the yearbook. Jina blinked, wrenched from her oppressive rut of thoughts, made eye contact with Lena. "I take it there's a story behind that," Lena continued when she realized she'd been heard, her lips twisting into a faint smile.
         "Yeah, but we won't go there," Jina said quickly, sliding the book closer to her. The unspoken peril of letting friends read yearbooks. She'd never learn. Still, the momentary tension had been broken, and for that she was grateful. "You would have had to have been there."
         "That's a poor excuse," Lena countered, grinning maliciously.
         "Well it's the only one you're going to . . ." while trying to edge her way out of the corner, a cramped and tight pair of written lines on the page caught her eye, "oh look here's Tristian's message."
         Lena sported a quizzical look. "Do you think I'm that easily distracted?" she asked archly, though her eyes had automatically dropped back down to the page to see where Jina was pointing. "I don't even know how you can tell what belongs to who on these pages, everyone has such bad handwriting."
         "I think these two pages are mostly the guys . . ." Jina noted, skimming the lines. "Yeah, mostly. They were all trying to write as much as they could while pretending to be all casual about it, you know, like it was no big deal."
         "Mm," Lena mumbled, scooting her chair closer and squinting to get a better look at the page. Jina knew she was probably looking for Tristian's. The girl was so obvious sometimes. "What did he write," she muttered, her eyebrows going up. "I'm only doing this because she made me. Happy now, Jina? Have a good summer. Tristian Jacart. What the hell?" she looked up at Jina with a confused expression. "What's that all about?"
         Jina smirked, replying, "It was the biggest pain in the ass getting Tristian to sign my book. I could never find him and when I could he'd always be like, oh I don't have a pen or I'm in a hurry or some other stupid excuse."
         "Good thing you don't take many things personally."
         "Of course not. If I learned one thing in high school it was persistence," and Jina braced herself for the expected oncoming joke, but Lena merely sat there, chin tucked in hand, waiting for the rest of the story. Gee, she ought to tell Tristian stories more often. Nothing captures a girl's attention like the object of her affections. Jokingly filing that mentally for later, she continued, "I did actually pin him down and he was like, you know it's not like I'm never going to see you again or anything."
         "That's not the point, though," Lena argued, taking sides in a debate five years gone now. But it's never too late. She sighed with amused exasperation. "God, he hasn't changed much, has he?"
         Oh I think he has, Jina thought, but decided to keep that pearl to herself. "I told him pretty much the same thing. I think it was one of those things he just couldn't be bothered with. It wasn't rudeness or anything, it just didn't occur to him."
         "You've got this knack for finding oddball friends," Lena commented with mock dryness.
         "I don't see you complaining," Jina countered, mirroring the face Lena made at her. Still, her friend didn't add anything else. "Anyway, I did manage to nail him, practically at graduation. I had just about given up when I ran into him while walking into the school for the ceremony and cornered him long enough to finally convince him." Tapping her nails on the book she said, "Which is why he really didn't write anything, there were getting ready to start literally while he was standing there frantically scribbling." Laughing she finished, "We must have been the weirdest sight, in our cap and gowns, Tristian muttering something under his breath and digging for a pen while I hovered over him making sure he couldn't escape." Chuckling softly, she sat back in her chair, remembering the day. It took so long in coming and now it's so far gone. These things they grow more distant by the moment. "He was right, though, I mean we did see each other all the time on campus but . . . still, it's the principle of the thing."
         "That's funny," Lena said matter of factly, like she was only the judge, not the participant. "I always wondered, how did you two wind up meeting? You always talk about hanging around with Joe and Brian, but they didn't know Tristian that well. How did he fit in?"
         Jina thought for a moment. How did friendships start? It was like trying to find the source of the ocean. You couldn't point to just one place, one spot, one time. "We were in the same honors classes together, really. That's how it started. Having met everyone else, you can probably figure I was pretty much alone there. Brian certainly wasn't a candidate and I think Joe did everything he could to stay out of those classes. With Tristian, our names were close enough alphabetically so we wound up sitting next to each other a lot and . . . well you know me, I'll talk to anyone. After a while we'd wind up working on projects together and going over homework, so we got fairly comfortable around each other. I don't know, how do you become friends with someone? You start talking to them and they start talking to you and I guess it just snowballs from there."
         "That's one way to do it," Lena noted. "He doesn't seem the type to make friends easily. I mean, if you talk to him he's friendly enough but . . ."
         "He takes a while to warm up to people, I know what you mean," Jina agreed. Or so it seems. "Trust me he's gotten better over the years, he's dropped a lot of his stranger mannerisms . . ." she paused, shrugging, "but then we've probably all shed an eccentricity or two. Growing up is supposed to do that to you." Bombs of smothering ink exploded in her head, threatened to coat everything else in a pervasive darkness. Her smile faded, the words triggering their own silent alarms. "God, I can't stop thinking about Don's family, how this must be for them. I mean he was my friend but for them . . ." she shook her head, unable to embrace the emotional desolation, not really wanting to. "I think everyone wants to just wake up and find out it's some bad dream. Even if he was alive and an addict at least he'd be alive, you know? There'd be a chance." She sighed, running her hand over the signature in the corner, unable to decide for sure if it really was his, the words nothing more than a fly's ink blot impression, the original meaning long lost to the air. "Now . . . it's just all over. For him, at least."
         "He made his own decisions," Lena remarked, gently sliding her coffee cup in a small circle on the table. "Everyone did the best they could, right? You can't ask for anymore than that. Sometimes there's only so much you can do."
         "That doesn't help his family," Jina replied, tasting the bitterness in her own voice, trying to swallow it and not gag. "Or the rest of us."
         "No," Lena said, looking down at her cup, her voice quiet. "No it doesn't."
         They were slowing drifting into one of those lazy moments of silence where you stop speaking not so much by choice but by inertia. Jina didn't know why these days were draining her so much. Don was her friend but she hadn't seen him in years, which just added to the unreality of the events. It's like hearing about someone disappearing on the other end of the world. It hits you, but not as hard as you'd think. This was different. Like being struck hard in the gut, over and over, until you're past wanting to vomit and past moaning about the pain and it's just this layered numbness, constantly erupting into sharp fingers lacing their way all through your body. Paralyzing. Trembling. He was a distant friend. Why did it bother her so? Because it reminded her how close they all were. Or was it some other reason that she just didn't want to face. Or maybe she was simply overreacting. Jina didn't want to rule out anything. But at the same time she didn't want to feel like this anymore either.
         It was this winter. Freezing the world in its tracks, putting it to sleep and for those unlucky few who were awake, making them wish they had gone into a coma with everyone else. Everything felt so heavy, weighted with the promise of leaden snow, the chill of the air slicing off bits of stamina with each grisly gust, until you expected to taste blood from your dry and peeling lips. Autumn felt too far gone and spring was too far off. Trapped in the middle with nowhere to run, all you could do was buckle down and brace yourself against the prickling cold, gritting your teeth and praying that it'll all pass on before it comes to the point where you do.
         Footsteps rising near their door caused both girls to turn toward the sound. Jina noticed Lena stiffening in surprise, almost jumping off her chair, before recovering and taking a sip from her coffee, trying to meld it all into one motion. But the cup shook just a tiny bit before Lena put it back down. Jina didn't know what to say about that, so she kept quiet.
         "You expecting any visitors?" Jina asked her friend instead, hoping it would reassure her. Lena only shook her head in response, her narrowed eyes staring in the direction of the door as if she could see right through it. That'd be a nice power to have. Though with her luck she'd be unable to turn it off and spend her entire life just staring at the core of the planet, trying not to bump into the walking conglomerations of nerves and muscles and bones that were strolling around everywhere.
         The footsteps stopped at their door and the two of them waited for the doorbell to ring. Or something.
         Nothing.
         Jina glanced at her friend and shrugged. Oh well. Must have had the wrong address. She was about to turn back to the yearbook when she heard a light knock on the door and a voice calling out, "Don't make me pick the lock, ladies."
         Now that was a familiar voice. "Joe, hold on a second, I'll be right there," Jina told him, scrambling from her chair and going over to open the door.
         He stood there leaning against the doorframe like he should have had a leather jacket over his shoulder and a lit cigarette in his mouth. Looking at him, Jina was struck by how normal he appeared. But she couldn't forget how different he was now. That moment in the hospital had proven that more than adequately. That much had to be said about Joseph Brown, he never did do anything halfway.
         "Care to let a lost soul in from the cold?" Brown quipped, stepping forward as Jina slid aside to let him in. "God I keep forgetting how brutal the weather gets around this time . . . hey Lena," he said, giving her a merry wave as she came into his view. She waved back, smiling.
         "Lena was just commenting how mild it was out," Jina said to him, giving her friend a mischevious look.
         Brown's eyes narrowed at Lena. "I thought it was always warm where you came from?"
         Lena only shrugged, though she took a second to shoot an evil look Jina's way.
         Brown laughed. "Talk about fast adaptation. That's not bad, girl."
         "That's what I said."
         "Well, Lena if you ever want to swap hometowns, you let me know. I'll take permanent balmy breezes over two foot high snowdrifts any year." He held out his hands, bargaining. "Just the winter, even. I'm not too picky. This place isn't that bad in the summer."
         Lena shrugged again, almost shyly. "I'll keep it in mind."
         "You do just that. Next time I get leave I might be giving you a call, so be ready." He stopped and laughed at his own absurdities. Unzippering his jacket but keeping it on, he said to no one in particular, "So how's everyone been? Not bad, I hope."
         "Well we were doing okay until a few minutes ago . . ." Jina deadpanned, winking quickly at Lena, who quickly took a drink of her coffee to hide her expression.
         Brown looked at her in surprise. "Why, what happened . . ." then clarity burst on his features. "Oh. Oh, I see how it is. I see." He sighed and started to zip up his jacket, "Oh well, I I guess it's back out into the bitter cold for me. Maybe the numbing pain of hypothermia will take this pain away . . ."
         "No, no, I didn't mean it . . ." Jina laughed, taking his arm. "Stay for a while. Lena needs someone other than me to drive her nuts."
         Brown stopped in mid-zip, cocked his head to the side slightly as if weighing all his options. A second later he then nonchalantly shrugged and again unzippered his jacket in one smooth motion. "What the hell. But only for Lena, mind you," he added, grinning in her direction.
         "What have you been up to, Joe?" Jina asked, cutting him off before he had to time to switch the conversational gears again. After all these years he could still slide in sideways like that, his words molecule thin, cutting lengthwise and fitting right in between the smallest of cracks. "You and Tristian working the town over?" What made her say that?
         For a second something very serious flickered in Brown's eyes and Jina feared she had said something utterly wrong. But the old expression came back an instant later and Brown gave an exaggerated sigh. Leaning against the arm of their couch while Jina took up a position on the opposite wall near the phone, he said, "Don't I wish. I definitely wish he'd keep a tighter rein on his personal Merlins. They're like moving bus stops, I'm blessed with not seeing them for months and then suddenly bang! they're everywhere I turn." His eyes darted all around the room, though Jina couldn't tell if it was for comic effect or he really was looking for something.
         Jina also couldn't tell if he was really joking or not. "Do you mean Tristian's . . ." as a chill ran unwanted and jittery down her back. God she hadn't really thought about them in the longest time. Not since right after the party for sure. She had almost been able to think of Tristian's other life as an amusing side job, a source of off kilter stories and that was it. Of course if anyone understood how real any of it was, Brown was the person.
         "Yeah, lucky me, right," Brown said dryly. Not even pausing to allow comment, he ran on. "I ran into Jackie and we went for coffee at the cafe, you know just to sit and chat."
         Jina had to interject. "How's she doing?"
         Brown blinked, as if not sure where the question had come from. Probably wasn't used to being interrupted. She was about to repeat herself a little more insistently when he said, "Actually she's doing pretty good." These days you always had to silently add the phrase under the circumstances to every sentence like that. "I mean right now she's got a lot to deal with but I got the feeling she's going to be fine." He shrugged vaguely and slid his hands into pockets. "It's her brother, that's not easy to deal with. Especially with the way he went. But, yeah, she'll be fine. Hell," he laughed suddenly, "she's doing better than I am at the moment." And again Jina didn't know if he was kidding or not. She wanted to ask him but didn't know how to bring the subject up. Why are you pretending you don't feel as bad as you do? How do you say that? Was it even possible?
         "But so now the two of us, we're talking . . ." he forged onward without a break, dragging the tatters of her concern with him as he plunged ahead. "And next thing I know we've got one of Tristian's pals sitting there with us." The faint flash of a grin on his face was the sign of a man knowingly dropping the bomb and loving every moment of it.
         "What?" Lena said even as Jina exclaimed, "Get out of here!"
         Jina recovered the ball and dove in next. "How did Jackie take it?" Visions of the restaurant came to mind unbidden, which was no doubt the same thing going on in Lena's head as well. The memories from the time weren't as strong as they used to be, which Jina thought was a good thing until she realized they had probably simply been replaced by the events of last month's party in her sub-conscious. One nightmare steps aside to make room for the next guest. Running a bed and breakfast for the unwanted. On your doorstep they beg with Bambi eyes and wreck havoc once they get inside. Then just when you think you've got them evicted, someone goes and invites their friends. "Or did she just think it was Tristian?" If she was lucky maybe the thing behaved and Brown was able to play along like nothing was wrong and keep her from freaking out. If she even would. The girl might be of a better caliber than any of the rest of them had been. Next to her brother dying, weird stuff like Tristian's life probably offered a welcome escape. Inter-galactic happenings no doubt were a lot easier to deal with.
         "Ah, funny thing about that," Brown said, waggling a finger at both of them like they were his unruly charges. "Due to some wacky omnipotent whim, I was the only one lucky enough to see our table guest." He clapped his hands together and gave an impossibly insincere smile. "And wasn't that just special?"
         "You're not serious," Jina said, not sure whether to tremble in irrational fear or start laughing. Lena looked to be trying to make the same decision.
         "Oh I am . . . it wasn't," Brown told her, shifting his weight so he was sitting on the arm of the couch now, crossing his legs at the shins. He rubbed his face in delayed frustration. "I can't even begin to explain what it was like . . . my God, Jina, it didn't shut up the entire time, it was talking to people at other tables, talking to me . . . ordering stuff and sticking me with the bill . . . and the whole time I had to sit there and pretend that nobody was there . . . I deserve some kind of award for that performance. I swear, none of this is in my job description." He stopped, his face registering disbelief at his own words, before he looked up at the two girls and grinned. Holding up an imaginary pen and pad, he said, "So . . . that said, do I have two new recruits?"
         "Why would it do that?" Lena asked, chewing her lower lip in thought. Don't ponder the unponderable, woman. It's just not worth it. "I mean . . . that's not how it normally acts, right?"
         "We really only saw it that one time though," Jina reminded her. Lena blinked, for a second not seeming to know what Jina was talking about. But then recognition cleared her pupils and she nodded in agreement. Oh! Oh. Right.
         "No, she's right, actually . . ." Brown said. Nobody looked more confused than Lena, though Jina felt a mirror would reveal her not that far behind. She wanted to backpedal this conversation five minutes and try to figure out where exactly she lost track of it. "I don't think you ladies met the other one . . . there's two you know . . . the one you met tends to be a bit more rational, albeit a tad condescending. The other one . . . it has a strange sense of humor, that's all I'll say."
         "I thought he was nice," Lena murmured to herself, in a tone that suggested to Jina she hadn't wanted anyone else to hear. Louder, she said to Brown, "Why is it around here though? Is it something to do with Tristian?"
         Brown appeared to consider his answer for a long time before finally replying. "It, ah . . . I don't really know. Honest. God only knows and, no, that's probably not even true. Tristian may know, but I haven't seen him and my brief conversation with my nutty lunch guest wasn't exactly revealing, as you can imagine." He shrugged, resolving himself to ignorance on the matter. "Even if Tristian has a reason, it might not be the reason they're here. We've both learned from experience what they do and what they say are very different animals."
         "Everything is a lie unless they're telling the truth . . ." Lena muttered, her face intent. Feeling two pairs of eyes on her, she colored a little and explained, "That's what Tristian told me."
         For Jina, connecting the dots wasn't too hard. After all she'd been there when it happened. "It's Jackie, isn't it?" she mentioned, and received a very startled glance from Brown. Thinking he didn't know what she meant, Jina tried to explain. "Because of what she said to Tristian at the wake . . ." it suddenly felt like there were more than three people in the apartment. Jina swallowed through an oddly tight throat, feeling very warm. "It has to be. That's why it was with you and Jackie . . ."
         "I was thinking that, too," Brown said slowly. "But like I said, you can't be sure with them. It might have been simply to annoy me. There's no way to really tell." He had slipped off the couch and was pacing around now, hands clasped behind his back. As loose as his jacket was, the muscles in his back still seemed strangely tense, his shoulder hunched and trembling. He stalked past Lena, saying, "One time I remember I could have sworn they were going to teleport an entire peace negotiation team into space . . ." he pivoted on his heel and continued his straightline path back toward Jina. "When it turns out they stuck them in some kind of protective bubble just as a bomb went off. A bomb I was caught in, I might add . . ." Brown grimaced, but Jina really wasn't watching him. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Lena staring with wide eyes at Brown's back, looking like she was about to jump up and grab him. What was that all about?
         He walked past Jina, apparently oblivious to any stares, wrapped in his own story. "We knew you'd survive, they told me, when they found me in the hospital. Thanks fellas, I really appreciated the sentiment . . ." he'd moved past Jina now and she found herself studying his back as well, trying to see what Lena must have spotted. Maybe it was a large bug or something. The girl had some strange fears sometimes. "Keep in mind that my boss made it clear, just to sweeten the irony a bit . . ."
         Then Jina saw it.
         Oh. What the. Oh.
         "So you know, who the hell knows why they're here-"
         "Uh, Joe . . ." Jina said as she stepped forward, grabbing him by the shoulder and physically halting his pacing. "Joe," she said again, trying to get his attention.
         "Jina, what are you . . ." he said over his shoulder, twisting to try and look at her.
         Up close it looked even worse. She was reminded of blood and blade striking the hospital floor simultaneously. You can't turn off your life. Not even for your friends. "Joe, back here there's . . . what did you do back here . . . how did you tear your jacket like this . . ."
         "Huh, what tear . . ." he said, trying to slip free of her grasp. But it was too late. Jina's fingers probed the edges of the fabric gash, noting how jagged and irregular it was. A lip torn sideways. He didn't catch this on a branch, she thought. The ripped edges of the tear were stiff and darkened, as if by a formerly wet stain.
         "Joe, did you . . ." as her fingers poked completely through his jacket to touch the bare skin of his back. Through his shirt, even. "What did you do?" she asked again, quieter. Her fingers, when she removed them, were covered with scattered fine red flecks. Blood. Oh God, it had to be. What was going on?
         Without a word Brown spun around, his eyes betraying nothing but a submerged pain, the source of which could only be inferred. "Nothing," he said, licking his lips as if parched. "Nothing," he said again, the plea of the falsely innocent man.
         "Joe, what happened? Why is your back like that? What did you do to yourself?" She tried to keep her words even, her voice stern, but she couldn't help being worried. She'd already lost one friend this week, she didn't want it to make her lose another. Once they had thought Brown forever gone, without realizing the implications of forever.
         "It was an accident," Brown explained. "That's all." He appeared to be deciding between ducking behind the couch or chucking it all in and making a break for the door. "Nothing to get excited about. Just a stupid accident, okay?" He looked around, grinning nervously. "I mean, if you've got some needle and thread around I can sew it right back up, good as new and we won't even have to worry about it anymore-"
         "Joe, where's Tristian?"
         Brown and Jina both turned to face Lena, who had stood up and come halfway around the table. She seemed moderately surprised at first to see anyone listening to her but quickly recovered. Keeping her voice level, "There's too much going on now . . . nobody's heard from Tristian since the wake, his genies or whatever are hanging around and now you were involved in something that got you hurt . . ."
         "It's not like that at all . . ." Brown said quietly, intently. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. "It's not."
         "Then tell us what it's like, then . . ." Lena said with false charm. She seemed almost angry, which surprised Jina, because she wasn't sure what had set her friend off.
         Trying to ameliorate the situation, Jina said, "Joe, just tell us what happened, okay?"
         Lena had moved away from the table completely and was now standing closer to the phone, while Jina was standing opposite her nearer the couch, with Brown the constantly shifting tip of their triangle. Jina wondered if they were going to wind up flanking him and tying him down or something. Like that would do any good. He'd probably escaped from worse. As he said, people threw bombs at him. Two twentysomething women weren't going to pose too much of a physical threat.
         "I just want to know what's going on," Lena said, her voice calmer now.
         "We don't want to see either of you hurt, Joe," Jina chimed in, not sure if she was defusing or adding to the approaching fire.
         Brown was looking rapidly between the two of them, no doubt wondering when he had lost control of the conversation. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Really there's nothing much for you two to know. Trust me."
         "Tell us anyway," Lena said sweetly, taking another step toward him. "Since it doesn't matter, it won't matter if you tell us, right?"
         "Please, Joe," Jina pleaded one last time, sensing he was about to crumble. Whatever it was, it was weighing him down and he was looking for some kind of excuse to release it. He was keeping quiet for their sake, Jina realized. He didn't want to burden them with it. "We're big girls, we can take it."
         He laughed jaggedly at that, but said nothing else for a while. His face was pensive, taut. Finally, his frame seemed to deflate slightly and he half walked, half staggered to the couch. Jina stepped aside to let him sit down and he almost fell onto the cushions, almost sinking in completely, his eyes closed.
         Jina stood over him, trying to give him some space. Lena crossed the room to stand next to her, like they were keeping some kind of watch. But this was a man who was never going to die, Jina reminded herself, surprised at the gritty bitterness she sensed in her mental tone. Lucky bastard, some too aware part of her growled before she squelched the emotion. This wasn't the time or the place. There never would be. Not as far as she was concerned.
         After a minute or so, Brown took a deep breath, and then another. Slowly he opened his eyes, and looked first at Lena and then back at Jina. A weak smile spread over his face.
         "Ah, you two may want to sit down for this one . . ." He shrugged nonchalantly. "You know how long winded I am with stories."
         The two of them exchanged brief glances, before together sitting down next to Brown, as if by a silent signal.
         He lifted his head up to glance at them again, like he was making sure they were comfortable. Then he sighed again, laid his head back so he was almost staring at the ceiling and started:
         "Well, ah, you see it's . . . well I'm sure you know what it's like when you give people like me and Tristian ideas, right? . . ."