Chapter 5: Memories

They sat in a dark green room with a beige carpet that covered the ground. The space was small enough that it could cause claustrophobia if one stayed in it too long, and this effect was compounded by the two full bookshelves perpendicular to one another in one corner. Jack sat on a sofa chair with his legs tucked in tightly against the cushions. His left hand rubbed the top of his leg, while the other clenched onto the surface of the fabric. He raised his right hand and wiped away the tears falling down his cheeks, revealing a large red scar across his palm. Mrs. Richards sat only a few feet away from him, on a chair with a wooden frame and leather cushions. Her face remained somewhat expressionless, despite her eyes showing otherwise.

“It has to be impossibly hard to explain that to someone, especially after so many years since it happened, so thank you for letting yourself open up to me like that,” she said, “I’m not going to sit here and say I understand what you’re going through, or that I can relate, because I can’t. What I can say is that I’m here sharing the pain with you, and I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Jack grunted.

“Not in the way that everyone always says it when you tell them your dad is gone,” Mrs. Richards replied, laying her hand on his, “I’m sorry on behalf of the universe for letting this happen to such a good kid.”

Jack’s eyes flooded once more. “It isn’t the universe that did this,” he said.

“It isn’t your fault, Jack.”

“Yea right, then whose fault is it Richards? Hm?” Jack countered. He retracted his hand, turned his palm towards him, and glared at it. Jack was disgusted by the scar, and frequently looked at it as a reminder of what he had done. He wanted to believe it wasn’t his fault, but accidents happen was never a good enough reason to make him feel better.

“It’s no one’s fault, it was an acci-”

“Accident, yea, I know,” interrupted Jack.

Mrs. Richards put her hand back on her lap, looked into Jack’s eyes, and said nothing. They sat in silence for a few moments before Jack wiped the remainder of his tears and sat up straight. He peered at the clock that hung above the doorway; 4:42 PM.

“We have time,” Mrs. Richards nodded.

Jack looked back down to her and smiled. He closed his eyes and funneled air through his nostrils. He could feel every bit of oxygen expand his lungs and push out his chest. Jack enjoyed moments like this, not only for the relief of the action itself, but also for the simple fact that breathing felt like one of the only things Jack could control anymore. He opened his eyes, and although he felt sad, the tension in his shoulders had dissipated.

“He told me that he would take me to a bar on the day I turned 18,” Jack said smirking, “he said he wanted to get me as drunk as possible.”

Mrs. Richards recoiled.

“I thought it was ridiculous when he said it too,” chuckled Jack, “what I realized though, was he didn’t want to get me wasted, he wanted me to see how superficial it all was. He wanted me to feel how terrible being hungover is. To understand how ridiculous people are for spending so much money just to feel terrible.”

Mrs. Richards laughed. She had a distinct snort that happened every third exhale, and it made Jack laugh even harder.

Jack’s smile dissolved as he looked downwards. “I guess now he can’t show me,” he muttered.

Mrs. Richards straightened her posture and crossed her legs. “Well, why don’t I take you?” She said.

Jack’s face lit up. “Respect to you Richards, but I just don’t think it would be the same without him there, y’know?”

“I hear you,” said Mrs. Richards as she stood up and walked over to her desk in front of the bookcases. She reached into the top drawer and pulled out a small plastic container. “Atleast let me give you your birthday present.”

“Aw you didn’t have to do that miss,” said Jack as he stood up, grabbed the jacket he had wrapped around the chair, and walked over to her.

Mrs. Richards stepped back around her desk and extended her arm out to Jack “Oh please, you’d waste away without my baking.”

“Fine you got me, I’ve been waiting for this since new years,” Jack confessed.

“Jack that was only a month ago.”

“I swear those were the longest four weeks of my life,” explained Jack as he juggled the container between hands to put his arms through the jacket’s sleeves. It was long and made of leather, like that of a trench coat. So much so that when Jack went to buy it, Phil had warned him by saying “people with trench coats give me the hibbidy-jibbidies!” Jack, however, believed that it was just similar enough to a trench coat to be as cool as people he saw wearing them in movies, but not so much that it made him look creepy. The thought always pattered along his mind when he put it on.

“Now get outta here and make sure you give one of those to your mom for me, got it?” said Mrs. Richards.

“Yes Mrs. Richy,” mocked Jack.

They walked over and stood next to the door, smirking at one another. Jack lept forward, wrapped his arms around her, and squeezed tightly. Mrs. Richards laid her arm against his back and rubbed in circles. Jack felt his back loosen and his breathing slow down. Although she smelt like a mix between flour and a paper mill – scents that are normally quite displeasing to him - it comforted Jack. They didn’t say a single word. They separated from eachother Jack opened the door and exited into the hallway.

Mrs. Richards stood in the doorway and watched as he walked away. “Jack,” she called to him. He turned his head, mentally checking what he may have forgotten in the room. “I… I’m proud of you,” Mrs. Richards stuttered as if she were leaping over some invisible boundary.

A smile grew on Jack’s face. “Thanks miss, for everything,” he said. Jack put his left hand in his jacket pocket and turned around. He tucked the plastic bin of pastries close to his side like it was a briefcase full of gold, walked through the hallways of his old public school, and left through doors to the parking lot. As he exited, his face nearly flinched from the cold. His nose began to leak and sniffle. Although the air was freezing, it was one of the most refreshing breathes he had taken in a very long time. He walked up to the only car sitting in the lot. There were a few parking spaces towards the front of the building, and although they were closer to Mrs. Richards’ office, it meant walking past the playground – the same playground that witnessed many of Jack’s first days of school with his father – so he always parked in the back. Jack opened the door to the car and sat down. The interior bared a stench of leather, dust, and cigarettes that walloped Jack in the nostrils every time he entered the vehicle. Jack stuffed the plastic container into the bag that was in the back seat. The bag was the same he had used throughout the majority of his schooling years, albeit with a lot more duct tape around the edges. He turned the key in the ignition as he prayed that the engine would start; a ritual he performed every time he used it. As the front of the car roared to life, Jack turned the heat on all the way. The seatbelts were torn and ragged, which gave little-to-no reassurance of safety in any accident, but he pulled it over his chest regardless. As his foot poised to step on the gas, his phone began to ring.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Hey Jackie, it’s me,” the voice said. Despite it being the voice of a woman, the tone was quite low, and each syllable scratched through the speaker. “I ordered some pizza, it’s probably cold by now but just toss it in the microwave. I’m going out with the gal’s for the night okay kiddo?”

“Sounds good, thanks,” Jack replied.

“Alright well I’ll see you when I see you. Take care of my car, and give my sis’ an I love you, will ya?” she asked.

“Will do, talk to you later,” Jack said, hanging up the phone before his aunt could wedge in a reply. Jack threw the phone onto the seat beside him and gripped the steering wheel. He squeezed it as to avoid punching the dashboard. It bothered him that she forgot his birthday, but Jack knew keeping it to himself was better than forcing her into some last-minute gift that meant even less than it costed. Jack turned the radio to his favorite alternative-rock station, raised the volume as high as the heat, and puttered away.

***

They sat on two blue sofas across from each other. They were dingy and worn, but otherwise quite comfy. The chair’s wooden hand rests were carved by past occupants, some with their initials, others with obscene objects The backs of both couches laid against two pure-white walls. The coffee table between them was a large block of cedar that was hollowed so it could be used as a place to store board games and things to read. The floor was made of tiles as white as the walls, but had black dots all over them, as if tiny rocks had been embedded in the ceramic. The floor had a thick plastic-like glaze that laid over it, reflecting the light from the fluorescent tubes above. The little nook they sat in opened into a much larger room, with many hallways staggered with doors one direction, and a large bar-sized desk the other. There were two nurses sitting behind the desk, their eyes scanning through computer screens. The wall perpendicular to where they sat bore a large window, looking over the city of Berkton. The little sunlight left in the sky shun threw the glass, illuminating a few magazines, two cups of tea, and an opened plastic container filled with cookies, all of which laid on the coffee table. A young man in a black coat sat across from a woman in plain white shirt. Her left hand gripped the bottom of it in a tight curl, while the other laid on top of a hard cover book. The cover of the book was a plain black, but the corners had been frayed, which exposed the dense fibers underneath. The corner of a golden emblem poked out from under the woman’s palm and was completely illegible, but below it was inscribed with the words “The Twelve Steps of Recovery”.

“How bad is it this time?” Asked Jack as he leaned over the table and grabbed another cookie.

“It’s not so bad,” answered Charlotte as she stared down at her lap, “withdrawals are never easy but I’m managing just fine.” Her hair was messy, her arms and legs were curled inwards, her skin lacked its flush redness, and the bags under her eyes were much worse than the ones she got when Jayce used to come home too late. It would be generous to say she looked like she wanted to crawl right out of her skin.

“Mom.”

“I’m doing horribly,” Charlotte’s voice raised, “is that what you want to hear? I feel constantly uneasy, I shake without reason to, I can barely sleep, the food here is straight out of a trashbag, I can barely see my own son, an- and,” her voice stopped abruptly as she closed her quivering lips. Glossy eyes looked up at Jack, the majority of which were consumed by the size of her pupils. “and I miss your father so much,” each letter wilted as they left her mouth; every word was like a flower planted in the middle of an icy tundra.

Jack’s stomach churned. He felt a sagging sadness deep inside of him. Memories of the three of them together fluttered through his mind, before reality sank in and he was brought back to the pale box where they sat. As he looked up and locked eyes with his mother, his heart sank deeper and deeper, like someone had dropped an anchor attached to his very being. A few of the nurses who overheard at the front desk scurried out of the room as to avoid their own inevitable tears. In fact, during all their talks, none of the other patients, and rarely any staff stayed in the room. They sat there in silence, staring at each other with wet eyes. For those few seconds, neither Jack nor Charlotte shed one tear. It was as if they were in a mutual agreement to spend those moments in a silent respect, for Jayce’s sake; they knew he would’ve wanted them to try and hold back the tears, to try and keep fighting no matter what. Charlotte broke first.

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“I-I just want him back, I just, Jack I can’t, I-”

“Mom, breathe.”

After a moment of whimpering, Charlotte’s tears stopped. She closed her eyes, inhaled, and slowly let out a long breath. She opened her eyes, grew a smirk on the corner of her lip, and said “that’s my son.”

Jack felt his heart swell. He bit his lip as to force every bit of strength he had to remain tearless.

“I’m sorry Jack,” Charlotte said peacefully, “you deserve better than this.”

“It’s okay, it isn’t your fault,” Jack was struck by his own words as they left his mouth. The irony in them became abruptly clear, and immediately had an epiphany. “It’s not either of our faults,” he continued, “we just both wanted to run away from the things we feel.”

Charlotte said nothing but reciprocated with a nod and a smile. She cleared her throat and wiped her dripping nose, as if to put a wedge between what had just been said, and what she was about to say. “Enough sadness for one day. You want your present now? I warn you, they aren’t as good as her cookies. Nothing is,” said Charlotte, as she popped one into her mouth and began to chew.

“Hell yea I do!” Jack jumped excitedly.

She reached behind her back and pulled out a doll. It was Jack, in the size a bit bigger than his hand, made completely of yarn. It had two large blue buttons stitched for eyes, and bushy dirty-blonde hair. It even wore a tiny pair of beige khaki shorts and a T-shirt with his favorite band name – The Squandered Toads – written over top.

“It’s a little freaky, I know,” said Charlotte, “but they don’t let us very far outside of this place, so most other gifts would have just been what I’ve bought you before.”

“It’s, well, hm,” Jack stammered, “I don’t know whether to be creeped out or honored.”

They burst out laughing. “It’ll grow on you, I promise. Once you get past the whole ‘it’s staring at you’ thing, they are quite adorable,” Charlotte explained.

“How did you even do this?” Asked Jack

“Well, there’s this woman who came in around the same time I did, and she had a bunch of these. So, I asked her to teach me how to crochet stuff like this,” explained Charlotte, “I figured it could be a symbol of how although I don’t see you often, I always see you in here,” Charlotte pointed to her head, then to her chest.

“Well thanks Mom, it’s actually pretty sweet,” said Jack, patting himself on the head in doll-form.

“You’re welcome,” Charlotte replied.

Charlotte peered around the room, and then checked around each corner to see if anyone was standing in the hallways. A couple nurses, one doctor, and one patient they nicknamed ‘Spacey Stacey’ stood at the end of one hallway. Stacey had adopted that nickname for good reason; she was always off in her own little word, and she often talked about how cities should be made to fly. “There’s this one guy,” said Charlotte, sipping her tea, “who needed to get the alarm clock taken out of his room because he’s convinced the government is watching us through them.”

“You’re kidding!” Said Jack.

“I wish I was,” Charlotte shrugged.

“Unbelievable,” Jack shook his head, laid back in his chair, and put one hand on the back of his neck, “are we bad people for finding that a little funny?”

“Perhaps we are,” said Charlotte, “but in case you haven’t noticed, we’re all a little crazy Jack. If we don’t find what’s funny in it, life would be that much more boring, wouldn’t it?”

“Yea that’s a good point,” agreed Jack.

“Well you better get going sweetheart, I don’t want you driving home too tired,” said Charlotte as she stood up and spread her arms.

Jack stood up, walked over to his mother, and planted himself on her shoulder. A few more tears leaked out of Charlotte’s face and onto Jack.

“Happy birthday Jack, I love you.”

“Thanks Mum, I love you too.”

Jack swayed back and tucked his miniature self under his arm. He grabbed the plastic container, before saying “Richy gets livid when I forget these here!” and jogged out through the cold metal doors. He always tried to say something witty and leave in a jog. That way, he wouldn’t see his mother’s reaction to him leaving. The same bittersweet feeling always struck him on his departure; he was happy to see that his mother wanted to be better, which is more than most addicts can say for themselves, but he hated leaving her there, even if it did mean she would be away from the drugs. Jack pondered this notion, and the emotions that came along with it, for the duration of every trip he took back Small Pine.

***

In a vast sheet of pine trees lay two large logs parallel to each other, embedded in the forest floor. They were enveloped in blankets of moss and fungi, and demanded an approach to anyone who wished to know whether they were fallen trees or uneven land. Carved into the bark were the letters ‘P.C.’ on one log, and ‘J.P.’ on the other, the initials of the young men occupying them as if they were thrones built by nature. Flame flickered in a small pit surrounded by a circle of rocks between Phil and Jack, who were holding sticks tipped with marshmallows over the fire. Phillip Crowley was still stocky as a young man. He maintained the same length of brown hair that flowed to one side, but it was different from when he was younger; the hair products he used caused it to flow in the shape of a crashing wave that glistened in the firelight. In high school, Jack was convinced that Phil was in some sort of secret order of hair. Every year Phil would find a new brand of hair products and apply twice the amount as the previous year, like he was climbing some hierarchy of hair gel. In contrast, Jack cut his hair relatively short compared to when he was in middle school. It faced upwards at the top of his forehead, but still consisted of bushy clumps that were now a dirty blonde. Although he was not as large as Phil, Jack had a natural bulk he had grown into. He was also a few inches taller than Phil, and never let him forget it.

“A doll?” asked Phil as he methodically rotated his stick.

“Yea, a doll,” answered Jack, pointing to the cloth head that was poking out of the top of his bag that sat to his right, “honestly it isn’t so bad, kind of sweet actually”

“Sweet?” said Phil, “sweet is like Goblin Eradicators four, or a new phone, or even a new car.”

“I know,” stated Jack.

“Or a new tv, or a new pair of shoes, or-”

“Enough!” Yelled Jack.

Phil flinched. He jumped a clean inch off the log, losing grip of his stick and dropping it at the foot of the fire. He frowned at his marshmallow, which was now covered in ash and burnt to a crisp. He looked up at Jack, who was scowling at him.

“Maybe she doesn’t have the money for stuff like that, ever think of that? Maybe she would get me all those things if she could, but people don’t get paid for using drugs, do they Phil?” Jack demanded.

“No,” said Phil, “I didn’t think about it Jack, I’m sorry.”

Jack sat in silence. His heart raced, and anger flowed through his veins. He wanted to keep yelling, not just at Phil, but at the entire universe for what it has given him. His father is gone, his mother is broken, his Aunt barely cares, and his friends, well … actually his friends stuck with him through all of it. Anger dissolved into melancholy as he stood up, walked over to Phil, who was cowering in fear of getting punched in the head, and sat next to him. As his stickless hand crumpled his pantleg and squeezed it into a sweaty ball, he turned to Phil with glossed eyes and said, “Thank you.”

Phil’s face warped with confusion. He began to worry that he just made his best friend’s brain snap in half. “F-for what?” he asked.

“For understanding when you act like an idiot,” a smirk grew back on Jack’s face.

Phil burst out laughing, straightened his back, flattened his hand, and raised it in a salute. “Sergeant stupid, at your service!” he announced.

“And for following me and my dad through the forest,” said Jack in a somber tone, “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

Phil’s stature lost all integrity. He looked at Jack with a deep sense of sadness. Then, an overwhelming feeling of pride rushed through his body. There was a million different ways that Phil could – and wanted to – tell Jack how proud he was to be his best friend, but even those million different ways didn’t put it into words properly. So, he sat there staring, before giving the most subtle and assertive nod he ever did. He wrapped his arm around Jack’s back and Jack wrapped his arm around Phil’s, as they both turned their heads back to the flames. It was times like these that Jack knew he would never forget. He could imagine what recollecting this memory would look like in his imagination years from now, and even how it will feel to remember it. In contrast to Jack’s metaphysical thoughts on his own future memories, Phil sat staring at the marshmallow still on Jack’s stick.

“Are you gunna eat tha-” before Phil could finish his question Jack shoved his stick into Phil’s hand as he shook his head. Phil lit up like a toddler who just woke up to exactly what he wanted on Christmas. He took no chances, placing the end of the stick directly into his mouth, engulfing the marshmallow whole.

“Am I interrupting something?” The voice of a woman came from behind them. It was soft yet assertive, like a cloud that hasn’t yet decided if it’s going to become a thunderstorm. Jack and Phil pushed off each other so quickly that Phil lost balance and rolled off the log. He sprang back up in some karate stance he once saw in a movie, and opted to chew the marshmallow even faster.

“Sit down you dope, it’s just Praelia,” said Jack in an attempt to hide how scared he was, “Prae, you’re going to scare the soul right out of us one day you know that?”

Phil lost his martial stance and sat back down, shaking his head. “Is it some sort of tradition to terrify your friends in Europe?”

“Your souls seem just fine to me,” Praelia giggled, “and no, there is no such traditions, I just like seeing your face Phil.”

She walked out of the shadows and into the light. There was a particular elegance in her stride, one that did not lend itself well to the idea that she was weak or conceited, rather that she was extraordinarily aware of her strength and wit. In fact, during their years in high school together, whenever Phil underestimated her strength – and decided against thinking before speaking – Praelia would flip him right onto his back. She would then kneel down to him and say, “You can have your feet back when you start using your head!” Neither Jack nor Phil understood how that remark ever made any comical sense to her, but Praelia found it hilarious. As she walked closer to the log, crimson red hair danced in the light of the fire and the moon, all the way down to her hips. The hair around her face was tucked behind small and delicate looking ears, revealing a fair face of bronze complexion. She had rounded eyes, a small, pointed nose, and thick red lips. Her laughs revealed a vibrant white smile as she sat down next to her friends.

“Here, this will make up for me risking your soul,” said Praelia sarcastically, “happy birthday Jack.”

She pulled out a small, black container from behind her back, and set it on Jack’s lap. Jack would normally say something clever about how she didn’t need to get him anything for his birthday, but he was honestly looking forward to what he would get from them. He pulled off the top of the tiny box, the inside of which was lined with a red velvet. A small pocket watch nestled in the middle of it, but it was odder than a pocket watch conventionally looks. The metallic frame seemed to be some mixture between gold and bronze that made it look rustic despite being quite shiny. Behind the hands of the clock was the numbers depicting the time, but the numbers themselves were not laid overtop of the usual sheet of white; they were on a transparent film. Jack could see a multitude of gears, cogs, and springs, that rotated and jittered with each tick. Praelia and Phil sat proudly, in anticipation for Jack’s reaction.

“Wow, this is-”

“Isn’t it super awesome!?” Phil interrupted Jack, “happy birthday man.”

Praelia curled her brow towards Phil, “let him react on his own, Phillip.”

Phil pushed his face together. His bottom lip frowned in an annoyed acceptance of her request. Praelia knew he hated being called Phillip, and only used it on specific occasions to make the proper points.

“Guys, this is, but how did you? Thank you,” Jack tripped over his sentences as he pressed his fingers along the glass window on the front of the watch.

“Turn it over,” said Praelia.

Jack looked at her, confused. He looked back to the watch, and slowly flipped it over. The back was also made of a transparent glass, but instead of seeing the mechanism of the clock, there was a picture; the photo was of Jack and Jayce when Jack was younger. Jayce used to take him to Berkton to watch their favourite sports teams, and after every game, win or lose, they would take a picture together wearing their team’s jerseys. Jack remembered this day vividly. It was in Autumn, and his dad gave him a leaf as a token of their team’s victory. When Jack asked him how a leaf was so important, his father gave him a smug smile and said “not just any leaf Jack, this leaf is the most orange an Autumn leaf can get! Not too red, and not too yellow. It’s the little things like this that remind us that even the things we think aren’t so great, can be, but only if we believe they are.” Around the outer rim of the picture was a gold frame that had an engraving which said, ‘Time Forgives All, and Forgets None”. Jack winced as if he had been punched in the gut. He felt an overwhelming fusion of melancholy and recollection. Bittersweet emotions swept into his body and swelled his heart. Despite his attempts to almost bite straight through his lip to hold back the tears, they began cascading down his face. Rather than coming from their normal pool of despair, however, they came from a source of warm catharsis. Every droplet felt like it was sent straight from the sun to wipe his soul clean. Jack felt the anger, the guilt, and the shame, all softened as he swept up the tears with his scarred hand and let out a deep breathe. These bitter feelings still remained, but he realized in that moment that they were but one side to a coin, one which flipped as he did the pocket watch. Jack laid bare the joy, peace, and hope, and he let them dance and sing in his mind until a smile took up nearly half his face. Praelia and Phil said nothing, but placed one hand each on both of Jack’s shoulders.

A light crackling sound came from behind them. In an instant, Praelia spun her head around and glared past the moonlit mossy trees and into the darkness. “Did you hear that?” She said.

Jack was still entranced by the photo of him and his father, while Phil turned to Praelia.

“What?” Phil asked as he looked to her, perplexed.

“That crackling sound,” answered Praelia, “like a branch or something breaking”

“Praelia we’re in a forest, it was probably just a squirrel or something,” said Phil. He crossed his arms with a smug look on his face. “If you’re going to try and scare us don’t do it with the sound of breaking twigs in a forest full of em’!” He continued.

Praelia shrugged. “I suppose you’re right, I’ll just have to try harder next time!” She said as she turned back around. Her voice was exaggerated.

Jack looked up to her, confused by her selected tone. Her eyebrows were raised high enough that her forehead was compressed into her hair line, she was biting her lip, and her eyes were widened as she peered at the ground, as if she was contemplating something that frightened her. Jack and Phil had known Praelia for over 4 years, and not once had they ever seen her display fear; not until that night. She rotated her head just enough to lock eyes with Jack and Phil, and in a voice just quiet enough that they could both barely hear it, she whispered “We are not alone”.