Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
-Khalil Gibran
The sky, painted a vivid blue, was streaked with brushstrokes of steamy, white clouds. The sun was just beginning its disappearing act into the darkening horizon. Trees, leafless, but not lifeless, sprouted from their places in the ground; leaning slightly in the ever-growing winds that were a sign of the winter that was yet to come. Bright orange shouted from the foot of the mailboxes that lined the street; this had been a gentle season for the mums. Smiling, I stared down at my chucks, which were strolling idly up the cement squares on the walk home from school. To my right was an identical pair, perhaps a bit bigger in size, matching my steps. These feet belonged to Seth, my ‘brother from another mother’, as he put it. We’d been the best of friends since birth, and the number of days we had ever spent apart could be counted on two hands. We were that close.
He was chattering on about a homework assignment we had received, complaining that the class in itself was an insufferable load of cow dung. But the conversation took an unexpected turn.
Smack.
My hand collided with the shoulder of his black bomber jacket.
With wide eyes he turned to look at me. There was the slimmest hint of a grin on his face.
“Aaow…”
“Oh shut up, Seth.” I kept my glaze on the ground and ignored him.
“I’m serious! You guys have got it made! All you have to do is ask him out.”
His mouth twisted into a cocky smile as he continued.
“He seemed thrilled that Mrs. Ivan made you his partner…”
Seth wiggled his eyebrows.
“He’s cute too.”
At that, the matches were lit at my cheeks.
Luckily, at that moment, we arrived at his house, which was a big brick colonial with black shutters and newly Windex-ed windows. The air was thick with the scent of fresh soil and the fallen leaves that blanketed the ground with half of the color spectrum. We stepped into the artfully decorated foyer and I was home.
This floor of the house was spectacular. The first door on the left was a small office with bay windows and red walls, and across from that was a dining area. The kitchen was a down a little ways, and the living room followed.
Suddenly a head popped out of the last door in the hall.
“Hey guys,” said a high pitched voice, “Home from school already?”
“Hey Mom,”
“Hey Zah-Lee,”
In a skin tight work out garb and high heels, Seth mother came striding down the hall toward us. Zah-Lee Shanks, who insisted on being called by her first name, and never ‘Mrs.’, looked entirely too young to bea mother. Especially the mother of an over six foot tall, hundred and fifty pound, hockey playing, mutant teenaged boy. Zah-Lee had a model type body, dark, curly shoulder length hair and was always wearing stilettos. She had a serious, but sweet disposition, and was originally from Cairo, Egypt, where she was raised until age sixteen, when she met he husband and moved to the Old Line State. Walking back to the room, she spoke over her shoulder.
“Seth, I have a painting to finish, the buyer wants it before he purchases his house in three days - don’t ask me why. Maybe you kids can order a pizza or something? I don’t have time to make anything.”
“Sure thing, Ma,” said Seth, following her to the doorway.
“Thanks,” She turned to me. “How are you, Amelia?”
“I’m good. You?” I asked.
She smiled a bit tightly and began to shut the door to her office. “Just fine,” Zah-Lee murmured through the crack.
And with a click the door closed, and the two of us set about to begin our evening.
“What is that?”
Seth stared incredulously at the sheet of paper he held in his hands.
“Seriously! What is that?”
I was trying to concentrate on my Algebra homework - really I was - when Seth looked up at me from where he sat at the foot of his bed.
“Listen to this. Meels!”
Any trace of adding and subtracting radicals that had miraculously stuck in my brain were erased. I looked up.
“Okay - listen - ‘compare Soviet communism to either Italian or German face-ism, examining the conditions that allowed its appropriate form of government to rise, the goals of the government, and the method used to maintain power.’ Dude, what is that?!”
“Sounds like history to me, Seth.”
“Hardy har har,” He gave me a disgruntled look. “I mean - communism and face-ism,”
“Fascism.” I corrected him.
“Whatever - they are completely different.”
“I think that’s the point.”
“Well, it’s stupid. Why do we even…”
“Let’s take a break.” I suggested. “I’ll look at your essay.”
He smiled endearingly at me. “Thanks Meels.”
I grabbed the paper from him, opened Word, and started typing. Seth began to prattle away, like the most youthful and energetic of parrots, as I tuned out the words, letting a little “Oh,” escapes my lips every now and then. Occasionally, I’d even nod. This would probably annoy most people to pieces, but it was actually comforting to me, for some reason. It was his voice I suppose.
I pulled up my playlist and clicked play. He stopped talking for a minute.
“Is it song time?”
I nodded, smiling. We have a daily ritual, where we just sit and put on some music, just to listen. I was an intense musician, so this was a must. That was just our thing. Immediately, our favorite song by Toto was blaring from my speakers.
“I hear the drums echoing tonight
But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation…”
A minute or so passed and both of our heads jerked up at the sound of the phone ringing on the floor below. Seth jumped up; knowing that Zah-Lee was busy slaving away in front of a vertical canvas, called “I’ve got it!”, and ran down the steps.
Not a second later, I heard “Never mind!” The sound of his elephant feet on the steps followed. Then I heard Zah-Lee’s heels clicking speedily on the hard wood floors in her rush to the hall phone.
I didn’t even have to inquire. The “Never mind!” and the look on Seth’s face had told me all that I needed to know. The caller had been Zah-Lee’s father, who lived in Egypt. He was a very moody man, I’d met him once, during his only trip to America when Seth and I were in third grade. He was a tiny little man, with thick, glasses, a face like a bull dog’s and teeth tinged like a lemon that has been at the bottom of the fridge for a few months. When he spoke in his native Egyptian Arabic tongue, his voice had the eerie quality of Vincent Price’s, stalled by several years of inhaling cigarette smoke.
I glanced at Seth, who had turned quiet. He wasn’t so much afraid of his grandfather, as he was afraid of the trouble he would cause. Of his entire family, Zah-Lee was the lonely one with whom he was on speaking terms. For many years, he lived a lonely and dark life in Egypt, waiting for the day that his daughter would undertake that promise she made to him when she left; that she would return to live with him, for good. Until now, that hadn’t even been in the question, but the little, disgruntled man was apparently in his darkest hour and needed help, and seeing as Zah-Lee was the only person he was speaking to, she felt to choice but to go and see him. We weren’t sure if they would be moving or not. Zah-Lee was a successful American artist, with a possibly more successful lawyer for a husband. She had a home, a family and a life here. I knew for a fact that she didn’t want to leave any of it. But she had other obligations, it seemed.
Suddenly, there was shouting from downstairs. Seth bolted upright and tore down the steps. I followed.
"قلت لكم! لا يمكن أن يأتي الآن! هناك لا الطريقة التي يمكن أن تصل والتحرك في الأداة الإضافية من إصبع، أبي. أنها ليست أقصى وأنا أعلم أنك تحتاج لي لكن... وأنا أعرف... لا يمكن أن اترك الآن، أنا آسف. "
“I told you! I can’t come now! There is no way I can up and move at the snap of a finger, Dad. It isn’t possible… I know you need me but… I know… I cannot leave now, I’m sorry."
There was more intermittent shouting that I couldn’t even begin to understand. Seth stood in front of me in the stairway by the phone, looking extremely worried. If Zah-Lee moved, it would mean he would have to go as well. After sometime, Michael, Seth’s father came home. It was dark outside. Zah-Lee still continued to argue over the Atlantic to her father. Soon, the phone was placed back on the hook, and Zah’Lee retreated to the bottom of the steps. She sat with her head in her hands, and Seth and I decided to leave her alone with her husband. Things did not look good.
The next afternoon was Saturday, and I had spent the night, as I normally would. After I finished both of our homework assignments for the weekend, we collapsed onto the raggedy couch in the basement to play some NHL on the Xbox. We’d been down there for a couple of hours when we heard more shouting from the upstairs foyer. We exchanged looks and were upstairs in a flash.
I had never heard Zah-Lee his upset before. It was severe. Her face was pale – she wasn’t wearing any makeup at all, an occurrence that happened maybe once a year, at the most, and her stilettos lay on the floor some ten feet away. Tears left tracks down her cheeks, wide enough for a truck to drive through and she wasn’t even speaking. She just held the phone up to her ear, nodding every now and then. Something was clearly wrong. I sensed she’d want some privacy, so I ushered him outside, leaving her to her phone call.
We sat in silence for a while, the knees of our jeans dampening from the cold, moist Earth. But Seth couldn’t say quiet for that long.
“What are you thinking?” He asked me.
I paused, pondering the question.
“I’m not.”
He looked at me blankly and said nothing else, the silence filling the space between us.
It was dark when the rain began. It left a layer of mist on the dull grass underneath us. The back door opened and Zaah-Lee called from inside. Seth stood, helped me up, and we went into the house.
You’d expect it to have been warm. After all we had just been sitting in forty degree weather for I don’t know how long. But it wasn’t warm, or homely in the slightest way. The house was cold, and eerie. It reeked of sorrow. I looked at Seth. We both knew what was coming.
Zah-Lee gazed up at us from where she sat at the kitchen dinette, through weary and sad eyes. I could read her emotions like an open book, all because of her eyes.
“Go pack,” she said. “We leave tomorrow morning.”
Seth stood staring at his mother. He didn’t move. He said nothing. He just tightened the already crippling grip he had around my narrow shoulders.
“Go. Now,” she said heatedly.
Seth started to say something but Zah-Lee tuned and swept out of the room.
Upstairs, Seth did not pack. He knew deep down that he had to leave, and he wanted with everything he had to help his family, but something pulled at him, dragging him back to where he belonged. He sat on his pillows, where the worn, sapphire quilt was pulled up to the head of the bed, and he had his knees pulled up to his chest. His thick, defined arms were wrapped around his legs like a child. I, however, was scurrying about, throwing clothes haphazardly at his feet. He just watched me, I couldn’t figure out why, but he stared at me, no matter which way I moved, contemplating some unknown force. Some unknown feeling. It almost scared me, but I tried to ignore the constant eyes on my back. Once I was content with the pile, which was now spilling onto the floor in a tidal wave of fabrics, I went over to the closet. From the very back, I retrieved a fabric suitcase, which I had decorated with metallic sharpies for him, and unzipped it. With the most carefulness and skill I could muster, I began to fold the clothes and place them neatly into the case for him, while he observed nearby. I began to think. We had only hours left to spend together. There was so much I had never told him. There was so much I wanted to tell him. And yet I didn’t think I ever could.
I’d worried about this for some time, but it was easy to forget when he was around. It was easy to forget pretty much anything when he was around. He put me at ease, my fire-fly’s light in the nighttime. But it would be very different now. Who knew how long Seth would be over in Egypt? There was no telling when he’d come home, when I’d see him again. What he’d do over there. Who he’d meet. There was so much I’d never told him.
And at this thought, the burning began behind my eyes. It was hot, stinging like I’d never felt before, and I was no stranger to pain. A single droplet fell, with such grace, such sorrow, onto the back of my palm, which had been too late in trying to conceal it. Seth was still watching.
We would grow up and live out our lives, and we would be thousands of miles apart, and we wouldn’t see each other for years. We would grow further and further apart until between us was a hole so large, so extreme, that we’d be perfect strangers, bashful and anew, looking down at our feet and talking to our shoes when we would next meet. He had known me better than I knew myself, for sixteen years, and what was that now? All for naught? The burning was a waterfall now, and I shielded my face with my hands, trying to stem the flow. I crippled, still standing and allowed let the sadness take over.
Out of nowhere, Seth was by my side. I could feel his arms embrace my small, quivering body, holding my shoulders to his rib cage. With one hand, he pressed my still covered face into his chest and rested his chin on the top of my head. Without even looking I just knew that his shirt was soaked all the way through – it had to be, my face was leaking like Hoover Dam had just split right down the center. But still, he held me, tightly and safely. This was home. How could he be leaving?
It was well past midnight by this time, and I was in no condition to go to my place. Not that I normally would have anyway. I tried to spend as little time there as possible. People have families that they are born into, and then they have families with members that they chose. My chosen family was most definitely the Shanks, I was like the daughter they never had, so I spent most of my days, and nights, with them. And besides, my parents would surely have had a right little fit if they saw me like this. Seth murmured to me, asking if I wanted to go downstairs, but I couldn’t answer. The breath had caught in my throat, and I couldn’t take the air in, let alone expel it. So he put one hand under my knees, and the other at my neck, and carried me down the two flights of steps to the basement, where we could have a little more privacy. He settled himself gently onto the couch, and continued to hold me, like I was his child. The basement was dark. The black screen on the TV stared eerily at us, almost gawking. I could smell the fabric softener on his clothes. I suddenly felt very tired. I looked up at him, my eyes heavy and swollen, and he met my gaze. His eyes were so lovely, a deep, rich, dark chocolate brown. They were large with worried, and there were shadowy bags resting underneath them. That was it. That’s all I remember; falling asleep in his arms.
A few hours later, Seth’s name, sharp and clear, rang out through the house. I hadn’t heard Zah-Lee shout like that in a very long time. Seth’s slumbering skull immediately shot up, from where it had been leaning on the back of the sofa. I rolled over, sleepily, and let him up. He ran up the stairs, waiting for me at the top. To greet us was his parents, thin, distressed Zah-Lee, and the also model like Michael, who had a tall, muscular body, light brown hair, and a sweet, smart disposition. He smiled tiredly at me, and told his wife to get in the car. He would take care of the several bags by the door.
“Hey guys,” he said to us once Zah-Lee was out of the house. The day was just beginning to lighten. There were smudges of purple and pink across the skyline.
“What happened?” Seth asked immediately.
“You don’t know?...” He paused. “You don’t know… Well, your grandfather had an aneurism last night. Your mother is in a state. She is worried out of her mind. It looks like he’s going to be alright, but that means that we are going to be out there for a while.”
“You mean we actually are moving?” Seth looked at his father intently.
“Yeah, looks that way…” Michael clapped a hand to his sons shoulder, cast a sad smile in my direction and made his way toward the suitcases, stacked up by the door.
I drove with them to the airport, as they would need someone to take their car back home. There were so many things running through my mind that I couldn’t process them all. The little gears kept turning and churning, sending faint, blurred images whirling around like a hurricane of color. I didn’t know what to do. There wasn’t much time left. He’d be jumping on a 737 in a matter of hours, and leaving behind a life that was all we had known, the only life that had bearing. But as we traveled along the highways, trees whizzing swiftly by, silence, thick and sorrowful, was all I heard.
There were too many people. Some were rushing and hurrying about, with flights to catch and meetings to miss. Others were dawdling, walking slower than a jellyfish glides, texting on their cell phones, and nearly running straight into the back of other lonely travelers. We left the car, locked and parked, in the drop off zone. I wanted to see them off; who cared about a stupid fifty dollar ticket? I’d pay it if I had to. My chucks squeaked beneath my feet on the hard, tile floor as I pushed along a little cart full of their belongings. I distinctly recognized the large hot pink bag that Zah-Lee’s makeup would be in. Seth’s fingers were intertwined with mine; walking along the sticky, damp corridors to the check in site. I put my sorry head onto his shoulder. I looked up. There was a sign that read: Boarding Passes.
“Okay,” Michael sighed heavily, “This is it, guys. Time to get a move on.”
Seth looked at me. I didn’t know what to say. He just wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pressed my head into his t shirt again. He held me for a long time, and I wished there was something I could have said, something I could have done, to make it better. The sadness was like fire behind his eyes. I could feel it, too, and it burned. There was so much I had never told him…
Michael cleared his throat loudly. Zah-Lee watched us; her eyes were puffy and cold. But the expression on her face was worse than her eyes. Seth released me and Zah-Lee rushed over and clutched me to her waist coat.
“I’ll miss you, Amelia,” She said, softly.
“You, too, Zah-Lee,” I struggled to keep my voice from shaking.
She let go after a minute and next it was Michael’s turn to hug me tight.
“Keep safe, now. You hear?” He gave me a warm, fatherly look.
“You do the same.” I told him.
Behind his glasses I could see a tear form in his eye.
The tender moment was over. Michael glanced down at his watch.
“Okay – we’ve got to move people! Our flight is in a half hour!” He began to shove at the cart in front of him.
Seth gave me one last hug.
“I’ll call you.”
“Don’t forget about long distance fees.” I reminded him.
“Stop it.” He murmured. I felt fingers at my chin, pushing my face up to look at him.
“I promise I’ll be back.”
I looked away, my eyes welling up with the waterfall to come, from the promise he could never keep.
He stared at me for a moment, and they were off. My family was gone.
I could barely make out the yellow lines on the road. Everything was blurred. The trees were clouds of sunset, dulled by the tears falling from the heavens, with none of their ordinary beauty. At that moment, the whole world reeked of sadness.
I got to their house and parked their car in the garage. I had a decision to make, and that was either go home and face my crazy, maniacal family, or stay at their house, hoping dearly that the Shanks would come waltzing through the door, with a smile spread across their faces, going, “Psych! You have been Punked!” I weighed my options. I decided to take my chances.
Taking the steps carefully, and slowly, I trudged myself up to Seth’s room. Having had only a few hours of restless sleep, I was beyond tired; I was the living dead. It was miracle that I didn’t wreck their shiny red Fiat on the drive home. I stood there, staring at the messy room, with its contents thrown about like remnants of coral and bits of rock on the sea floor. Dresser drawers were strewn every which way, some half full, some with nothing but a few pieces of lint or thread. Posters of some of our favorite bands stared cold and unfeelingly down at my small insignificance. The room was still quite full of Seth’s stuff – I had agreed to box up its contents and send it along in their rush to get to the hospital in Cairo. I didn’t mind. I would give me something to do. I didn’t know what they would do with the house, or the cars. They would have to figure that out on their own. I was standing in the home that I had lived in for sixteen years. It was a home of happiness and prosperity. The Shanks took me in, with open arms and open hearts. My family is definitely not a peaceful one. But Seth was always there, no matter what. When my parents divorced and got back together, twice, when my sister was born, when I wrecked my dirt bike and had to stay in the hospital for three days, he stayed. He even slept in that stuffy little, god forsaken room, with its ancient mounted tube TV and horrible hospital food. That was Seth. And he was leaving me behind. It wouldn’t be long before he met some Egyptian chick and forgot about me entirely. That waterfall was flowing full force, standing there, trying desperately to find that numb feeling. Finally it came.
The weights on my eye lids were tugging, pulling them lower and lower until I couldn’t take it anymore. Folding myself into a ball, I collapsed onto the bed, and within second, sleep had closed my tired eyes, so they shed not another tear, and my sobs were consumed by slumber.
Eventually I had to go home. Being in that house was only a reminder of what I had lost. What I never did. Louis E. Boone once said, “The saddest summary of life contains three descriptions: Could have, might have, and should have.” He couldn’t have been more right.
I waited for the pelting tears to stop both indoors and out, and when the precipitation had ceased, I began the short walk home. But it was different now. The world was a place I’d never seen before. It was harsh and cold. The wind pushed and pulled at my small body, whipping leaves and such at my legs, and blowing my hair into my face. The mums were bent and contorted, and they seemed to be withering a bit, from the cold. Knobby, crooked hands sprouted from the ground, dark and skinny, with arms jutting out at warped angles, grabbing for some unforeseen source of prey. This was a cold world, a harsh world, one that no one would want to inhabit. The heart of the world had disappeared, right out of its clenched ribcage.
The house was unfortunately not empty. My mother was sitting at the dining room table, assumedly updating her Facebook status. She ignored the fact that her daughter had just walked into her home, and continued staring blankly at the computer screen. But that didn’t bother me, I was used to it. It was considerably better than her usual choice of conversation.
Numbly, I retreated to the emptiness of my bedroom, to stare at the white walls in peace.
I spent the next three days holed up in there. I skipped school. I was off Monday anyway, and there was a half day on Tuesday, so what the heck? Seth did call me, twice a day, in fact, but since he was staying at his grandfather’s house, a stop was put to that quickly. It was apparently expensive to be conducting three hour conversations filled mainly with silence, twice daily. Who knew?
We didn’t really talk. Well, Seth did, of course, but I just listen to hear his voice. He was miles away in Africa; I had to do something to appease my aching soul. A few more days passed, I finally make the trek to school – I had to deliver his transfer papers to the office so they could take care of his absence. It was hard. But at least I’d stopped crying. I’d never noticed how strange we must have been to people. We only hung out with each other – until that first day, I’d never realized how few of the other kids I actually knew.
Weeks went by. Maybe, two or three, perhaps. I knew I would be forever scarred, but I didn’t feel like recovering. The key to getting over something you have lost is acknowledgement and acceptance. Surely, I acknowledged the fact that he was gone. I just flatly refused to accept it. I hadn’t spoken to Seth in days. He texted me a couple of times, but the rates went up outside of the US, and Africa wasn’t excluded from the fees, it seemed.
One day, it was a Saturday; I was strolling through the neighborhood, reminiscing the last day I’d spent with him. I remembered that I was supposed to box up his things, so they wouldn’t have to go through the hassle of a mover, and decided to make my way back to the house.
When I got to the door, I drove the key into its hole, and turned it. I entered the quiet house, it was too quiet. Eerie. I went to Zah-Lee’s office, where I dug out from her stash, some larger cardboard boxes. I hauled them up the steps and stood in the doorway to Seth’s room. This would be the last time I saw most of its contents. I sighed and got to work. Opening up on of the hunks of cardboard into a box, I went to his closet, where I began pulling out his clothes. They went into the box. His shoes went into another. I was just starting on what was left of the contents of his dressers when I heard a bang outside, like the closing of a car door. I turned my head curiously toward the sound. Out of habit, I thought back to my arrival that day, remembering that I had, indeed, locked the door.
But it seemed that didn’t matter.
The sound of tampering with the door knob could be heard through the open bedroom door where I stood. I began to panic. Someone was trying to break in, and I was the only one home; small pathetic me… The door finally opened; it creaked ajar, and closed with a whump. The footsteps wee loud and elephantine. I don’t know why I didn’t move. My heart, what was left of it, was about to implode, for all the work it was doing. I just knew whoever it was could hear it from downstairs. The police would find me lifeless on the floor, probably with a bullet in my chest, weeks from now; the home turned upside down, and all valuables gone without a trace. The footsteps silenced. I could hear nothing from the floor below. Mustering up all the courage I contained, I grabbed Seth’s hockey stick and headed, mouse-like, down the stairs. Gripping the stick tightly, I tiptoed around the corner, into the kitchen, where the burglar seemed to have stopped. I poked my head in to find that there was a pair of legs sticking out from under the open fridge door. They were black cargoes – typical burglar garb.
I crept up, slowly, silently, with the stick raised above my shoulders, like a baseball bat, and just as I was about to strike, the door closed by a fraction. Next thing I knew, we were wrestling, the hockey stick long forgotten. On the floor, he had my arm, twisting it into the most uncomfortable position. I contorted, weaseled out of his grip and locked him in a choke hold. His breath was hot and sticky on my arm. I looked relieved, and a bit proud, down at my burglar. Something was familiar about him. He had on a baseball cap, and was very tall – so I hadn’t gotten a good look at his face. But there was something. With a careful hand, I removed is cap and nearly had a heart attack.
“Seth!?”
I let go immediately. He crouched on the ground, trying to catch his breath. He gave a small nod, and massaged his, now red, throat. I looked at him. It was Seth alright. All six feet of him. His tan skin was still the same, and his jet black hair hadn’t changed either. And his eyes, they were still beautiful and brown.
I embraced him at once.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He stretched out his neck a bit and answered, “I was in the mood to get choked out, suffocate, and die a horrible, grueling death, so I figured I’d come home and battle you.”
I still just stared at him. The shock and adrenaline was making me crash.
“I’m home for good.”
Silence.
“My grandfather passed last night. He was put on life support, but there was no way to save him. Too much of his brain was already gone. They’re coming back after everything is all settled over there, but I couldn’t take it anymore.”
I was speechless. What could I say? Thank God that poor old guy died, so that Seth could come back to be with me. That is what I was thinking, but it didn’t sound very nice, so I kept my mouth shut.
“I will swear on my life that I’ll never do that again.” He said, a disgruntled look coming over his face.
“Do what?” I asked. He seemed to have recovered from the near strangulation.
“Leave you. That was crazy.”
He placed a hand on my shoulder. But it seemed that was too tender.
“Oh!” He exclaimed suddenly, “I got something for you.” He dug around in his jacket pocket and found a small cd case. “They sell this all over the gift shops over there. Isn’t that weird?”
I accepted the case from him. It was Love Songs by Toto.
“Remember the last song we listened to?”
I smiled and began to sing.
“It’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
There’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do…”
Seth joined in with his high tenor.
“I bless the rains down in Africa
Gonna take some time to do the things we never had…”
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