Matthias

MATTHIAS

By Ariana Kenny

Published by Ariana Kenny at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition

Copyright by Ariana Kenny March 2011

Table of Contents

Volume I Night Driving

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Volume II What Happened Next

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Volume III Everything in Between

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Volume IV The Other Story

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Epilogue

Volume I Night Driving

In those moments that change your life, of which we are unaware of until post reflection, there is darkness and uncertainty. We have no idea at all the shifts in our comfortable routines, our plans for all the things we were going to do, and there seeps in that dreaded fear of the unknown we are facing when the future holds a hand out for us to take. Whether we do or do not extend our grasp to meet it does not matter. Life is changed regardless. It is just what could have been that is the most daunting, and at the same time so very exciting.

Prologue

The woman wore an expensive figure hugging grey skirt and had a white pressed collarless blouse hinting from beneath her jacket. Her deep red hair was pinned up in a sweeping French bun, and she had moderate stiletto heals, which highlighted her olive toned athletic legs, and were patent black to compliment the briefcase she carried. As she strode across the car park floor, her heels clicked against the concrete grain heralding her advance towards the car for which she was headed, on the level below.

The contrasting sounds of the silence of the deserted car park and the echo of the rhythmic clack of her shoes was interrupted by the sound of her cell phone which rang out, a basic ring tone, nothing flashy, though this woman seemed all class.

Answering the phone, a smile broke across her face, whiter than possible teeth glinting in the florescent light as she walked deeper into the car park. The stairs were only about 10 in number, but brought her down in to a sunken area of the car park, and into the half light offered by cheap lighting, and worsened by years of a lack of maintenance. She laughed almost evilly at something someone on the other end of the line said, bit her plump lip gently, and batted her lashes. Behind her though, two men stepped out soundlessly behind her and started to pick up pace, treading so lightly she appeared to fail to notice their presence at all. Seemingly unaware, the woman’s conversation continued, her stride never changing, and she brought out her keys as she reached the last two cars on the level.

Finally flicking her eyes forward, she noticed a man come out from behind a four wheel drive next to the white sedan parked in the corner. He was dressed in black, standing firm in her presence, with a large set square jaw and thin lips, and on seeing him, the woman in grey slowed and dropped her hand that held the phone from her ear, to her side, leaving her arm outstretched to her side as she determined the situation in front of her.

Coming up from behind her, the tallest of the two men, who stood at about 6 feet tall and had been following behind her, wrenched the phone from her. Spinning around, she saw her phone was already being stuffed into his jeans pocket, a look of tormenting pleasure marking his face. For the longest moment, she took note of him, and his shorter, bearded friend before her eyes widened, and her face became deathly serious. She put her hands up. Now, there is no need to get violent. I have money, credit cards….

Holding out the briefcase as though it were an offering meant to appease, she slowly lowered it to the floor but the two kept moving forward. The shorter of the men sported a beard and remained stoic, his eyes never leaving her as he kicked the briefcase out of the way. That was when she began to walk slowly backwards, trying in vain to put some distance between her and them. She stumbled over her steps until she backed into the man who still stood by the car, and he seized her shoulders tightly. In instinctual reaction to the touch she kicked him in the shin with her heel causing him to howl in pain and the 6 footer to laugh out loud at his friend’s agony. Angered, the man who clasped her by the shoulders tightened his grip before throwing her on the bonnet of her car, setting the alarm off and pressing his body over hers.

As he prized the keys from her fingers and pressed the button to stop the noise of the alarm she bucked trying to free herself, but it only caused him to press into her harder. The woman responded by opening her mouth to scream, so the man, still pinning her to the bonnet of the car placed his hand over her face and twisted her arm back, forcing a sobbing sound from her instead. Only it didn’t quite sound right.

Looking confused, he lifted his body off hers for a moment. She wasn’t sobbing, she was laughing, but he pulled his hand away from her mouth to be sure. Though he twisted her arm further, she laughed all the more, and straightened up her body. In a sudden move he would have almost missed had he not still been holding her, the woman in grey turned around to face him, easily freeing herself. Using her now free arm she body slammed her would be captor into the car from where he slid off in a mix of shock and pain.

Turning to face the other two who were still standing, stunned in surprise, she smiled, unbuttoning her jacket and the top of her blouse. Drawing closer, the woman then ran her tongue across her lengthening teeth. They glistened white, perfect and too pointy to be normal. The shorter man took a step back, but she shook her head in response, faking a pout. Where are you going, thought we were going to have some fun here she accused, and in a flash she was behind him. Fumbling his footwork, he fell forwards, scrambling across the floor like a cockroach fleeing in the light. Unphased by the man’s efforts to escape the woman turned instead to his taller partner, clutched his head with one hand while she crunched his neck with her other as he grabbed helplessly at her. In an effortless move she brought his head to the ground, where his feet used to be, blood seeping out over the concrete.

Satisfied he wasn’t getting up, she looked towards the one who had held her against the car as he attempted to stand. Raising a blood spattered eyebrow she ran at him breaking his arm and his causing his legs to buckle out from under him before he even recognised that she had moved. Wasting no time, she bit in to his neck and drank deeply, a stream of blood trickling down his collar bone.

At the sight, an involuntary whimper escaped the bearded attacker as he rose to his feet properly from his clambering all-fours position on the floor. Once he found his feet again, he saw her smile at him from afar, a toothy blood drenched grin sweeping across her face. In a panic, he turned to make a run for it, but failed to move past his first step before running into a wall of a man that caused him to fall again to his knees. The bearded man looked up at the tall, fair haired man that looked down at him, amusement and threat awash his features.

Hey Ben, I almost thought I was dining alone tonight the woman remarked.

Wouldn’t stand you up like that sweetheart Ben replied as he smiled at the bearded man before he lunged forward.

***

A little while later, trying to wiping a drop of blood from her shirt, the woman in the suit smoothed out her clothes and picked up her briefcase. Ben joined her, wiping a smear of blood from her face before leaning in to kiss her. They began to walk towards the exit, but he paused to bring her body closer to his for a moment. I love when you take control of situations like that Violet, after playing the victim… Ben said breathing her in deeply, before leaning in to kiss her neck. She yielded to him, rolling her head back and ginning before she stared him in the eye and a seriousness came over her.

I hate pretending Ben. I think we need to get away from everything - just you and I Violet appealed.

What do you think your sisters would say, if we just ran away like that. What would he say. Ben countered.

I don’t care anymore Violet said straightening herself and turning towards the stairwell. Ben followed reluctant to comment further.

They walked away from the blood covered car park floor, Violet tossing the keys over her shoulder from where she stood by the steps. They landed on the bonnet of the Camry, causing a small divot to form and the alarm to start up again.

Moving from the car park to street level and then descending into the underground train station, Violet and Ben were intertwined moving in unison. Once past the ticket booth, they wandered towards a staircase leading to Platform 3, when a boy around 12 years old ran in to them. He looked worried, and was desperately searching with his eyes for something. Violet lowered to his level.

You lost? she asked, knowing the answer. The boy nodded silently. What’s your name child? she pressed.

Matt he responded, tears in his eyes now.

Matt, I’m Violet. Let’s find your parents she cooed placing a hand on his shoulder.

Ben tried to reason with her. Vi. We don’t have time to do this. She shrugged, ignoring him, but as it was, the boy’s mother came running through the crowd and pulled the boy to her, an older boy was by her side.

Thank you, thank you the mother gushed looking up at the couple. Violet smiled, and the lady extended her hand. Violet took it expecting a handshake, but the lady clasped her cold hand tightly, drawing it close instead of shaking it. The mother flinched only momentarily on feeling Violet’s cold skin, as she rubbed her hand in reassurance and gratitude.

My boys are everything she said. My Antoine, and Matthias. Thank you. You make a lovely couple. Bless You. Violet would have blushed if she could, in spite of her years of practicing indifference. Instead she pulled her hand away, and she and Ben proceeded towards the exit, as the mother held her boys close, the taller one rolling his eyes at the fuss.

Before disappearing, Violet looked back at the boy that had run into them, curious.

What is it? Ben asked looking back as well.

Nothing, I’m sure it’s nothing. she replied linking in under his arm.

Arriving at their destination, Violet and Ben walked a dark street approaching a graffiti ridden building with a small shop front window adorned by ducks hanging in the window. Having separated from each other’s side they created a gap between them by the time the man standing at the door of the building, dressed in a deep red shirt saw them and greeted their arrival with a firm nod.

Ben betrayed his concerns at seeing the man, by balking at going inside, but Violet kept her cool and urged him forward. Untrusting, Ben reluctantly followed her inside and the man in red shadowed them inside.

Once through the door, Violet and Ben proceeded to the back where a man dressed in rich green and black was waiting, with two more guards stood beside him.

Belil Violet said respectfully.

Violet the man responded in a heavy accent. You have been busy I see he continued on nodding towards her collar. Violet lowered her gaze to the spot of blood on the front of her blouse.

A girl has to keep her strength up. she smiled back at him. Even Violet knew there was something unsettling about the situation, though her confidence remained undestroyed. Why the welcome party. There’s nothing to worry about here. she offered Belil.

As if on cue, the two guards moved forward and seized Ben, his skin burning in response to cuffs forced across his wrists. A muffled yell escaped him as a bag was placed over his head and he continued to struggle. Violet moved immediately to respond, but fell to her knees as Belil spoke foreign words she only barely recognised and held up an amulet. She grabbed at her ears, and lowered her head between her knees.

Belil moved forward to stand over her. Strength seems quite relative in the grand scheme of things. Do you think because you spent a few decades more than me in existence that you can stand against me? Not while I master those things that you take for granted. He waved the amulet in the air, rolling it between his fingers before securing it to his neck.

Violet’s eyes widened in concern and she squirmed in pain on the ground. Her body failed to move as she wanted, but her eyes darted over to Belil who continued on. Violet, you should have known better. You should know to keep your distance, but then, you don’t strike me as someone of common sense.

One of Belil’s men pulled out a silver blade and placed in at Ben’s throat, at the base of the bag. It sizzled against his flesh and Violet tried to move again. Belil nodded his head, and the blade slashed across Ben’s neck. Violet closed her eyes against tears as she lay on the floor. Rage built past the grief.

I. Am. Going to. Kill you she gritted with great effort.

Have to find me first. Or find your way out. He smiled, and the last thing she saw was a bag going over her head.

Chapter 1 The Beginning

I used to be the kind of guy every mother wants a daughter to bring home. Well-behaved, did all the right things, saved, worked hard, and respected my parents. If anyone had asked me to describe myself it would have been quite ordinary. I blended in well and it was done on purpose. With an extravagant family and overbearing brother, the less attention I drew to people about myself, the more I liked it. People in general that is. There was always one person's attention that I wanted to keep - Sarah’s.

I nearly always wore a brown leather jacket my girlfriend Sarah gave me. She said she chose it to match my hair that I always kept cropped because she said she liked it that way. I had a decent savings deposit and worked a full time job, while studying, to save for my life’s plan. But I just finished my Art degree and was due to confer in two months, in March.

I planned to propose to Sarah in France, marry within a year, once I had a proper job, whatever that meant. Obviously we would need somewhere to live, and be 'happily ever after'. She is beautiful I thought as I flipped open my wallet to look at a picture of her on the inside. I couldn’t believe my luck in finding her. We had met through friends at a college party. I was sitting on the couch trying to look like I belonged when she passed out on the couch opposite me as music blasted and lights flashed. I usually avoided large crowds, but this party had been the place one of my friends had promised me was where all the single college girls were going to be.

When I had arrived all my instincts had been to run from the alcohol soaked velveteen and sateen clad bodies that bumped and grinded into each other. I had looked in vain for an opening into the small group conversations that had cropped up in the far corners and out on the deck, but finally, I had taken refuge on the couch in the corner and resigned myself to drinking until I was socially lubricated enough to not care about the superficial and ridiculous anymore. That was when she had sat across from me, her golden hair spilling down her shoulders as she struggled to stay upright.

Though she pulled out her mobile and fumbled with the keypad with an exaggerated look of anger on her face, she struggled greatly to text the right message and eventually gave up before shooting me an accusing look. You guys, you have no idea she had slurred. You make me so… There had been a long pause that greeted my confused expression before she put her head in her hands and fell asleep. After trying to find any friends she might have had, and failing, I had taken her upstairs to one of the bedrooms, and stayed with her until she woke up the next morning. We had been nearly inseparable since then. Except for her other friends who she met twice a week, and the yoga classes three times a week. The time apart had been good though. It had given me time to help with the books at my dad’s auto shop where my brother worked, time to read, to visit the museums and art shows I had grown so attached to over the years. It also gave me time to take care of ‘things’ for us.

Take care of things like getting tickets to France. I tapped my foot impatiently as I waited to collect the tickets from the travel agent across the counter, who wore a sharp suit and a big red lip-sticked smile. I gripped the tickets between my fingers, pleased with myself. I expected Sarah would be blown away. I could imagine her face when I presented her the tickets, biting her lip, elated, flushed in the face, and she would kiss me. That fine kiss which made the world stop for me. This was it, a final trip together before things really got serious. It took all my savings to plan the trip, ring included. It was supposed to be the start of my life's plan.

I can see myself in that moment like I’m detached from it: Walking out of the travel agent, slapping the tickets in my palm before stuffing them in the pocket of my jacket next to my wallet. I headed down the road and into the jeweler I had been spending time in once a month paying off the ring I was giving Sarah. As I walked to the counter, Grace, the woman behind it smiled at me. Johan she called towards the back, Johan! It’s Matt. Come to pick it up finally.

The friendly face of the shop owner who was my best friend’s father and had helped me pick the ring, came, jovial as usual, out of the back room. Matthias, how are you doing today? You know Michael has missed you. I spoke with him yesterday and he says you two haven’t seen each other in six months.

I know Jo. Since he started college and I have been so busy – it’s been hard finding time to get out there. I felt sheepish saying this. Michael had been my best friend since primary school and I felt I should’ve made more of an effort.

Johan continued on: Of course he could stay with you … He leaned close and whispered while looking in Grace’s direction… "But he seems too busy even to call his mother these days. I called him yesterday, told her he called for us…." Johan seemed irritated and I wandered how much was for show, and how much real.

He always has a couch at my place…. I responded.

Grace piped in, clearly having been an audience to the half attempt at subterfuge: "As if Matthew would want our son cramping his style with his fiancé. You just want him to visit without the trouble of him taking over our couch. And he calls in as often as he is supposed to old man. Just because they didn’t have phones when you were his age…" She smiled cheekily.

I put an envelope on the counter and smiled at Johan. I didn’t need to say a thing.

Ah you want the ring, of course. I have it right here. Johan produced a blue velvet box, opened it and pushed it across the counter.

Congratulations…. Grace beamed from behind Johan.

You will be very happy I am sure. Johan encouraged. You go overseas, and at some fancy restaurant, or walk in the park, you hold her hand…. And give her this….. how can she say no!

Grace lightly squeezed Johan’s arm You old romantic she smiled.

I have been accused of worse he chuckled. Usually by my wife he added in a lower tone. Grace gave him a fake glare and beamed her big smile at Johan and I before moving to the shop window to arrange pieces. I took the ring box, snapped it shut and placed it in my pocket next to the tickets.

Thank you Johan I said leaning across the counter.

Ah young love is a beautiful thing. You work hard, you are a nice boy Matthias. Your age – you can do anything and everything. I should be your age again.I paused to reflect on his words for a moment wondering what he really would do different, or the same. All those choices we have and make only to look back on later. Smiling back, I said my goodbyes and turned for the door.

As I left, Grace spoke up from the window she was dressing Tell us everything when you get back. I can’t wait. Before the door closed behind me I heard Grace in the background chastising Johan Why don’t you call him Matthew or Matt. You know he doesn’t like Matthias…..?

So then I headed home to see her, and with my navy Converse shoes bouncing down the steps to the train platform, I had no idea that my life was about to change meaning for me completely.

My phone rang and I answered. Immediately I rolled my eyes. It was my father verbalising his opinions on an issue. I held the phone away from my ear as his loud voice boomed passionately on the topic of my uncle asking me to run an errand for him, and my reluctance to call my uncle back to accept. When the tirade calmed, I replaced the receiver to my ear and ventured into the conversation. Yes dad, yes I know he’s family but I am going away this weekend….. What do you mean where? I told you, …. Sarah’s parents are there. Yes it is … serious. You know that, I told you already. Yes, I am sure. I am going to tell her about the trip tonight, and I’ll come over later, but I can’t help out this weekend. …..I know. I know family comes first, but…. I can’t – it takes like three days to drive out there. Uncle Theo will understand. It’s not like he can’t ask someone else at the dealership to take it. I decided to fake the call dropping out. Anyway, Dad – I’m losing you; What -can’t hear you, gotta go. I closed the mobile phone as I hit the last steps and the train rushed in to the station.

My family had immigrated with great hopes. I had one older brother, 5 uncles and 2 natural aunts, and about 100 cousins scattered across Europe and the Middle East. My uncle Theo is the only one who moved when we did, to live near us, while the rest of the family chose to stay overseas. My parents were also slightly confused culturally and emigrating gave them the fresh start they needed.

My father was at the time a sprightly Italian auto shop worker, and extremely proud of his wife, my mother. At every birthday gathering, he always said ‘she was the one’, and that he knew it when he first met her. My mother would blush and call him something in one of the many languages she knew. I wanted so badly to have part of that. Other than Theo, I think he had grown up feeling rather isolated. Once he met my mother his family came together and he loved us unconditionally and protectively. He had come over a farmer’s son, and to be at a stage where he owned his own shop, ran his business in the black and had one of his sons (Anton) working hands on with him was a huge generational issue for him.

I was just as loved of course, but he had issues with my choice of trade. No calluses, no scars, no dirt under the nails. It was foreign for him, but I had never taken an interest in cars, tools, or even in any sports for that matter (unless you count running away from school bullies). The only time I remember him proudly announcing something I had done across the dinner table was when I was 14 and he had caught me kissing Mary Bain from across the road. He had announced it mid dinner like I had won an award, he patted me on the back and I remember wishing I could crawl under the table and die a thousand deaths. He must have been relieved somehow, though why he was worried in the first place always escaped me. I liked science, I liked art, I liked the way the human condition could be enhanced, forwarded and exalted through the arts. I had tools, but they were just shaped differently to my brother’s. At least he let me find my own way – more or less without issue – though that probably came from my mothers strong cautions to let me be or she would curse him with some family magic trick she always threatened she had up her sleeve.

My mother made a great deal of calling herself Persian. Yes Persian. Mom had been weird about that forever. Whenever anyone asked about her heritage she advised them in a stately manner she was Persian. She felt this lent her more of an ‘up market’ appeal than saying Iranian, even though Persia had technically been Iran since 1935. Apparently it had been a big deal to my grandmother, and it was important to my mother now, so whenever anyone asked, I let them know my family was Persian. I had only ever once been pulled up on it and apologised citing my mother as the reason. I had received polite nods of understanding and a sneaky grin from another overhearing the discussion. When it came to parents idiosyncrasies, most people seemed understanding, and forgiving.

My poor Nani, my Grandmother. I only had one memory of her. Tucked away in some nursing home, darkened by age and poor lighting. She couldn’t even remember my father’s name, though he later suggested she knew it just fine, but chose to call him another name just to irritate him. I smiled when I thought of this. Visiting her in the facility back home had been a big deal for me at the time. I was only about six and my brother eight. I remember her asking us to come closer and sticking out her frail arm so she could feel across my brother’s shoulders, and then my face. She smelled odd, unfamiliar and I remember being scared and wishing she would just go away. I found out later that night that she had died and I had, in the back of my mind wondered if I had wished her death somehow because I didn’t want her near me. When I had told my mother that I feared that I had caused her passing my mother hugged me tight and told me that it was impossible. Clear as the night sky, I remember her reassuring me that if I had wished someone else’s death I would far more likely be struck down myself instead because that was how karma worked. Strangely, I did not find this comforting. It took about a week before I slept properly again.

At the base of the apartment building where I lived there used to be a cafe that marked the entrance. Focused on getting upstairs to see Sarah again I gave a quick wave to the guy who religiously made my coffee every morning who was wiping down a table in the far left corner of the shop. The key hit the lock perfectly, and I raced through the door and up the stairs because I just couldn't wait for the elevator. I walked through the door of my apartment and called out Sarah’s name as I reached to hang up my jacket on the rack. I didn’t hang it up though. Instead I strained to hear properly. I had heard heavy breathing, and then a sudden gasp instead of the usual ‘Hey baby’ that I would hear from Sarah. I rounded the corner from the entranceway curiously. There she was, beautiful, slim, sexual. Perfect. Butt naked. And there he was with his pants around his knees while she was bent backwards over the couch….

Oh My God she squealed. She looked at me with such a look of guilty mortification I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

The world turned and my stomach hit the floor. I gripped that jacket and walked straight out the door. It was indescribable. My head was spinning, my eyes stung and I was fairly certain I would throw up at any second. I heard her voice behind me in the corridor: Matt!. Matt!!, Matthew. I really am sorry I heard as I took the first two steps down the stairwell…. and I just kept walking down the steps, out the door. I stood outside in the fresh air with my eyes closed my head spinning, my lungs gasping for breath.

I was standing next to the tables outside the cafe when the coffee guy came out to clear a table. Hey man what's up? he said. I must have looked pale because he had a second look at me. Hey what's wrong? he asked more serious than first time.

I, I can't talk about it I just gotta get out of here and I took a step away. It was as though I didn’t say anything because he kept on talking.

OK, ok. I haven't seen Sarah for a while. Make sure you say hello for me. She is one good-looking girl my friend. Thought I saw her before, but I must have been wrong because she was with some biker looking guy. I wish I could find a girl like that he mused.

I stopped in my tracks and half turned my head back: Have her I said. I walked over to him and he sharpened his body, confronted by my invasion of his personal space. I took the jacket still in my hand, pulled out my wallet, phone, ring box and tickets and threw the jacket at him. Have this too I yelled, and finally, nonverbal I just walked off.

Chapter 2 Uncomfortably Numb

I knocked on the door of my parents house, and after a fluster of sound, my mother opened the door. She hugged me and my father passed me walking from one room to the other and patted me on the arm. She also looked flushed in the face and a great deal happier than usual.

Where's your jacket she said It's too cold to be without a jacket but there is great news, so come in she gleamed, Your brother is getting married!.

I looked into the other room and saw my uncle lazing in a recliner, throwing back a scotch, sitting with Anton who rose to his feet excitedly pulling a slim brunette from beside him. He looked taller than usual somehow. He wore an almost cliché white T shirt and jeans with tan Colorado ankle boots, unlaced. I always felt small next to Anton, even though I am not really short, but somehow he came off as GI JO and I was left as Peter Parker – without the powers. Anton, was in fact not Anton - his name at birth was Antoine, but after the teasing and bullying in primary school, by the time he changed to high school and grew nearly a foot in the summer holidays, he would only let people call him Anton. By the time he was 18, he made it official on his passport and never liked to be reminded.

Anton had been the sort of big brother that was impossible to grow up with without developing some kind of complex. He was good at sports, I was not. He never studied, but dragged his arse over the line somehow anyway. He never saved, he gave me noogies throughout primary and into the first year of high school until my mother ended the torture. My father felt it was character building that I should retaliate myself. I still have no idea what she threatened him with to this day that made him stop. He attracted girls like crazy and made any night out a party. I’d wished I was him since I was little. And here he was engaged, and I was not, happy, and I was not, next thing he would be having kids and I would be visiting his house for family get togethers surrounded by mini Antons. He would probably start his own football team with children he and his new wife, whose name I didn’t even know yet, had together. Then they would live happily ever after. No effort, no pain, just because it was bliss to be him. I must have looked dazed because my mother placed her hand on my cheek.

Matthias? she exclaimed in her lilting accent. Are you alright?

Yes – of course I sputtered.

Anton reached me by then and gave me a half hug before proudly declaring: Matt – this is Evie, we are getting married. She smiled politely and he punched me on the arm. He still had a touch of accent left in his voice, but it was barely detectable.

Aren’t you going to say anything brother? I had plenty I wanted to say. Some swear words were included.

That’s fantastic news I heard myself say instead. I am really happy for you – both. I tried to sound enthusiastic as well as honest. I think I failed on both counts. Welcome to the family I said as I leant in to give her a welcoming hug. As we leaned into each other I whispered in her ear: You still have time to get out. She laughed and everyone smiled as though I were being cute somehow, but I think I meant it.

Anton and Evie retreated back into the lounge room and my uncle raised a toast to me as I passed by the lounge room door and proceeded down the short corridor towards the kitchen. I joined my parents at the dinner table in a spot facing the kitchen as my mother had something boiling on the stove and was sure to continue the conversation half yelling from where she stood.

Where is Sarah? my father asked causing me to wince.

…and what did she say about the trip my mother asked clearly excited to hear more good news. She lifted the lid and started stirring madly, as she did frequently.

We broke up. the words stuck in my throat before I swallowed to steady myself. She broke up with me. I clarified. Her face fell and she dropped the spoon back into the pot to come over to hug me again, this time to offer comfort.

My father banged his fist lightly on the counter. You go back and tell her it is not going to happen my father stated.

I don’t think it quite works like that I smiled weakly. I appreciated his way of offering support.

Why not! You tell her you are the best person for her – she would be lucky to have you. He exclaimed as though that would fix everything nicely.

She already has somebody else Dad. I felt sick.

There was a long pause as he re-assessed the situation. Pursing his lips, I could practically predict what he was going to say. It is the study you do, it is not very…. He trailed off.

Masculine. I finished. We can’t all be mechanics you know. I love art. Some pieces especially can tell you a whole world just in a look.

What world? he replied clearly baffled. I reminded myself it was out of concern for me. This is the world! He gestured around the room and I rolled my eyes before he continued to a different tangent. He snorted and patted me on the back.

Retreating back to her cooking, my mother dragged my father by the sleeve to the kitchen with her as she interjected. You are too smart for her, too good, don’t listen to your father. She wiped floury hands on her black pants as she spoke. She lived in slacks and non iron shirts, my mother. A ‘revolution of the feminine’ she called it. 'Pants make better sense' she would say regularly. I remembered her wearing dresses maybe five times in my life. She was a good looking woman for her age, and had not let time expand her waistline like my dad. Mom kept working full time at the bank where she started after Anton and I had gone back to school, and now she was in charge of a credit department. Grandkids, before retirement, would get her to stop working.

Mom wore that warning look on her face as she looked at my father. Not one of alarm, but one of caution. The type of look I think Mothers must get sent to some school to learn after they give birth. Dad on the other hand wore a look much like a toddler – bewildered and confused as to what he had done to earn the painstaking, eye ball piercing look. He threw his hands up half heartedly as she whispered heavily as though I wouldn’t hear in the small apartment:

You let him be, he is a fine boy with a good heart. Stop being so hard on him. I overheard her say.

I am not hard on him, I love him, I want his life to be happy but he is so….. delicate. He should be more like his brother. I shuddered at my fathers reply. More like my brother, more like Anton. Sheesh. Mom hit him with the wooden spoon on the shoulder.

"Two