During New Year’s, Deil got invited to celebrate with Little Mo and some people from his old school. The bunch was boisterous, spilling along the streets like unmarked roosters making a racket. However, they were not the only ones. Many people – mostly youngsters – filled the open space, merrily laughing, chanting, and sparkling in the cold night, their excitement palpable in the air.

Deil huddled in his jacket, fighting the impulse to hop up and down. It had been freezing for the last few days, but like the foolish pup he was, Deil came out wearing both jeans that exposed his ankles and thin, springtime shoes.

Little Mo was in a great mood and wanted to help himself get into an even better one. The karaoke bar they went to let him order alcohol from under the counter. Since his brother was a regular here, no one batted an eye at this behaviour.

"Everyone who ever said I'm nothing without my big bro, come and bow down. If I didn't have a big bro, would any of you be drinking right now?" he shouted, hands squeezing the microphone.

The answer was, yes, they probably would.

Of course, no one offered the courtesy. They hit play for an upbeat song trying hard to pretend no one had heard anything.

Aggrieved, Little Mo came to pester Deil, "Deil, am I a joke? Tell me honestly…" He threw his arm around Deil sulking at the corner, obviously drunk but clear-headed enough to lament his failure, "Do I look like a pushover, is that it?"

Deil pushed him away with a palm to his face. "Get off. You're not a bigger pushover than they are." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Leave them on their own just once, and wait ‘til they come kissing up. They're all from the same bunch."

Everyone behaved exactly the same in this group: acting up with nothing to back them. What did bragging solve when they were only playing for a show? As people said, birds of a feather...

Little Mo nodded solemnly. When he was tipsy or drunk, he liked to nod even if he didn't mean it. Deil lit a cigarette, still leaning forward. It made the two of them seem like they were discussing something important, so the others gave them a wide berth.

Someone crooned into the microphone, but yikes, they sounded horrible.

"Did you look into what I've asked?" questioned Deil.

It took a few seconds for Little Mo to register what he heard. "Ey, I've asked around." He finally nodded his head in a manner, it seemed, he actually meant to. "Lennox and his boys don't really have a fixed place, they come up here and there. There isn't even a cafe they usually frequent...” Little Mo sighed. “The high school is off grounds."

Hearing this, Deil sighed as well.

"Why are you so obsessed with them?" Little Mo started hiccuping. "What will you do once you locate them?"

"Talk," replied Deil, impassive. He really was pretentious in his forced coolness.

Truth be told, he had not planned that far ahead yet. First, he wanted to find those assholes – scare them off a little, lest they’d want revenge after their butchered trial of the motorcycle incident.

"I don't know what you're thinking, but..." Little Mo said, uncharacteristically sombre, "Ever since that day you saved me from a broken nose, I promised to owe you one. Until I pay that back... ey," he roughly scratched his head, "ask away."

Deil turned his head and stopped talking altogether. They sank into silence, but that did not mean the others around them had the same reservation. All the shouting and laughing, coupled with the spinning lights, made Deil press on his eyelids with the heel of his hand. It was too loud in here, with no air to breathe.

Looking at his phone, he saw a message come in from his father:

––Time to come back. Tomorrow, we're visiting your grandparents.

Deil could imagine what state his father thought he was already in, ordering him back in hopes that no matter how unseemly he must be at the moment, once he went home he would somehow become presentable until tomorrow morning.

Deil stood up, leaning down to tell Little Mo, "I'm off. I won't be around for a few days, so don't look for me. Also, don't drink any more tonight."

Little Mo waved his hand, slipping down into the gaudy sofa. The boy had been zoning out since the two stopped talking, dozing off.

Before leaving, Deil stepped back to add, "Call me if you hear something."

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Family visits to Deil's maternal grandparents were never an easy thing. The elders loved their grandson, no question about that, and they fairly liked their son-in-law as well – at least in the past, they did. A well-mannered and clear-spoken university professor, born from a family in pursuit of higher education, breeding scholars, journalists, and theorists. Professor Shum had always been a clean-cut, straightforward and gentle man. The elders were happy to wed their daughter to such a person, gladly taking him into their family. Not long after their marriage, Professor Shum and their daughter delighted them with an adorable grandson.

But everything changed on the fateful day their beloved eldest daughter died.

Five minutes past ten, mid-morning, the professor and Deil made their way off the highway nearing the agricultural little town at a steady pace. Last night, his father was surprised at how alert and obedient Deil had been, coming back shortly after he sent a message, restrained and behaving like old times. He rendered thanks to the heavens, even making dinner for the two of them, truly an exceptional occasion.

In the car, Deil turned all the way to the side, staring out the window without seeing. White-capped mountains closed in the background, and rime sprinkled the billowing fields. Deil felt sleepy, ears plugged in, listening to music.

Father and son ate moderately for breakfast, leaving lots of space for lunch and dinner. Usually, when visiting the elders, they did not only have lunch together but dinner as well. Sometimes, his grandma nagged them until they stayed the night. The elders nursed a good relationship with their grandson, despite how sparsely they managed to meet.

Turning into the house's yard, Professor Shum detected Deil's grandma with just a glance. The older lady had been waiting outside next to the big wooden beams of the veranda as she watched the road.

"Deil, we're here," his father shook Deil’s shoulder. "Help me unload the presents." There was a pile of stuff to carry inside – two boxes full of imported fruit as well as local, health products such as tonics, tea, and hand-crafted soaps. A pair of foot bath massagers. Professor Shum also prepared personal gifts such as cashmere scarves and books – putting a lot of care into choosing every item.

"Ah, what is this?" Grandma said while watching them make several trips, but secretly, she was quite pleased. "You shouldn't have.”

She called inside the house. "Pa! Come out! They are here."

Everyone gathered in the main room.

Deil's grandfather was a serious, headstrong man. However, these parts of his personality did not dampen his good nature. He had been a blue-collar worker before retiring and took great pride in his job. An honest and self-respecting man without an ounce of shame, working to provide the utmost for his family. He passed down these sentiments to his children.

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Grandpa smiled, coming out after washing his hands. "Deil, hurry and sit down. It's too cold outside," he called affectionately, then brought a tray with warm tea to the table. Deil’s father immediately moved to help him. Grandpa said, "Thank you, my son."

The elders either called Deil's father the professor or my son – as in our son-in-law.

Tea was a passion of the elderly man. They sat in a semi-circle and waited to taste the warm beverage while Deil's grandmother asked idle questions regarding their travel and everyday life. "Was the drive tiring? These parts... there was a huge snowstorm a few weeks back. We were almost buried in! The town needed several days to manage the incoming roads."

Deil's father answered accordingly, “No, the drive wasn't so bad. The roads were relatively clean,” and so on, but it became obvious he only ever talked about the two of them. Every us or our carried a succinct meaning, as in, us two: me and my son. Grandma's mouth thinned into a line hearing these answers, but she tried to brush it off with a wobbly smile.

"My grandson, when did you get so big?" she asked and held Deil's hand in both of her own. "How's school? Did you adapt with ease?"

There was a tacit understanding between the adults in the room. They would not talk about why Deil had to transfer schools mid-semester and in the last year of junior high at that. Everyone waddled around the topic like it wasn’t anything unusual.

"I guess," Deil said, then looked back at his grandmother. There was a beat of stilted silence.

"He's alright," his father cut in, "You know him, really smart. It won't be a problem to fall into line with the new school's educational system."

"Well said," Grandpa interjected. He slowly poured tea into all of their cups, the fragrant smell of jasmine permeating the room. "What about the end-of-term exams?"

"They were okay," Deil continued with a bit more life in his voice, "It's not that difficult. The curriculum is more or less the same no matter where the school is. If they follow what's in the books, how hard can it be."

At the end of filling up the cups Grandpa's hand slightly trembled, so he took care of how he put the pot down. Seeing this, the professor asked, "Father, is your spinal pain back?"

The elderly man waved it off, "It's nothing new. Sometimes it shows itself, that’s all. There are better days too."

"He's downplaying it. I already told him to look for a chiropractor or have massages." Grandma said, exasperated, "It's like water off a duck's back. He doesn't listen. He thinks morning callisthenics is the answer to all things bad with an ageing body."

"And you think I'm old when I'm not."

"Well,” Grandma paused, “you aren't exactly young."

Even after the initial chatter, Deil’s father could not let the topic go. He pulled the elderly man out as they made their way to the study, asking with concern, "How about I order one of those massage chairs?"

"We wouldn't know where to put it. Do you see any space where it would fit?" Grandpa's voice dimmed along the hallway.

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Lunch was at one, and dinner was at six. Deil's grandmother left to prepare the rest of the food. His grandparents had surely been cooking since yesterday. Grandpa had cooked everything else by now, but the soup was Grandma’s duty to make. Before she left the main room, she turned back to ask, "Child, do you want me to bake some potatoes for you? Are you hungry?"

“Not really,” Deil smiled, “I think I’ll manage until lunch.”

On one hand, his grandmother treated him wholeheartedly. On the other hand… she wished the boy would turn back to the way he was a few years ago. “Tell your grandpa that you’ll accompany him for a walk. He’s been telling me he wants to visit your mother for some time now. Go with him. I’ll have a talk with your father about something.”

Visiting his mother carried little personal meaning to Deil; after all, he had not known her. It was impossible to remember, so it was impossible to feel an attachment. But it was not like that for the parents. So this visit your mother was more prominent than the I’ll have a talk with your father.

In the study, his father and his grandfather were sitting across from each other with a small table between them. They both seemed laid back and comfortable, chatting amongst themselves. When Deil relayed the message, Grandpa asked, “The professor won’t accompany us?”

Deil’s father swallowed his tea before saying, “It’s not a problem. I went last week. If Mother wants to talk to me, it’s only proper for me to stay.” He turned toward Deil. “Deil, keep your eyes on your grandpa and come back safely. Be careful not to catch a cold.”

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In the cemetery, they slowly made their way between the snow-capped rows of granite, one partially stooped and old, one carelessly slumped and young. Deil’s lanky legs made his steps light, while his grandpa’s were weary with age and heartache.

Once they arrived before the tombstone of his mother, Deil unwittingly let go of the elderly man’s elbow and stayed behind.

Grandpa smiled down at the cold stone before him and greeted just as warmly as he previously greeted his grandchild, “My dear daughter, your son and husband are visiting today. I came with Deil.” He turned back to look at the youth standing a few steps away. Deil didn’t know what to do, so bowed his head low.

“Child, help sweep the snow,” said Grandpa.

Deil broke out of his frozen stance and moved to sweep the flakes of snow off the smooth surface. As he was tidying the tombstone, his grandpa chatted out loud like there was someone listening to him other than his grandson. On the head of the grave, a half-frozen and shrivelled wreath of flowers lay which Deil offered to dispose of.

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This part of the cemetery resembled a big loop around the central plaza, which was actually a park with a cluster of big chestnut trees and stone statues. Deil went around the bend in the road, looking for a disposal can. It was quiet and cold, and he felt his heart resemble those same exact feelings. Deil had only been eight months old when his biological mother died. He did not remember her. He also did not know how to get close to someone others only talked about, but he never had a memory of meeting.

How could he miss someone he never remembered meeting?

It would have been nice knowing you, Deil thought whenever he got dragged out here. That was the only thing he could think of wanting to say to his mother. He felt like an empty bottle every time he came here, like something was expected of him he could never fulfil.

After getting rid of the wreath, Deil smacked his thighs and rubbed his hands, then pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket. He had smoked more and more in these past weeks, and even in his own eyes, it was nothing but a ridiculous and weak attempt at commanding something out of others he never had to begin with. Nonetheless, it became harder to stop with every new stick stuck between his teeth, its smoke drifting in the air.

He walked around smoking and when he finished, went back to his grandpa. The elderly man sat on a bench, still chatting. “Grandpa, you’re gonna get sick sitting there,” said Deil, exasperated. “It’s too cold now. Let’s go back.”

The youngster bent down and helped his grandpa up, making their way back towards the gates. On the way home, they talked in soft tones. It was evident that the short walk in the middle of winter had tired the elderly man out profoundly.

“I’ll help you lie down before lunch. There’s still time to rest.” Deil led his grandpa into the bedroom at the back of the house. Since it was a traditionally constructed home, they could immediately go to the room from the yard without having to trek all the way through the house from the front entrance.

The yard wasn’t that large, and the double wooden gates stood slightly ajar. If anyone paid any attention, it was easy to see from any room of the house that the two had come back. Deil took care of his grandpa and went out. He looked up to the sky which was overcast and grey.

From the kitchen, the sounds of harsh sentences flitted out.

“Didn’t I tell you not to marry her?” Deil’s grandmother was saying, “I understand it’s not easy to raise a child, even more so when you’re alone; I never said anything about you finding someone or being in a relationship but look at what happened? She still had a kid! Someone of her flesh and blood. How could you think a mother would ever abandon their child?”

“I never expected her to abandon anyone!” Professor Shum was still respectful with his words, but there was an edge in his voice, “We had talked about this the first time she seriously considered getting committed to our relationship, of becoming Deil’s mother.”

“But she’s not Deil’s mother! How could she be? Abandoning him like that! It’s a choice between two children, and she made to choose her own.”

It was obvious that the two had been at it since the time Deil and Grandpa left. So this was the talk Grandma wanted to have.

Deil tiptoed closer and sat down to the right side of the door. He reached inside his pocket and pulled the packet of cigarettes out. He wanted to plug his ears like he did when he’d been little but then it would be impossible to hear what the adults were saying. So he took deep breaths instead and kept on listening.

Inside the kitchen, Grandma thumped on her chest with a tight fist. “Can’t you see he’s suffering? It’s been how many years now… three? Until when will this continue?”

“Danna is in a hard place now. She can’t come back. It hasn’t been that long since––”

“And what about Deil? Is he in a good place now? Is this a good place!? He had not seen his mother––” Grandma tried to rein her voice in, “He hadn’t seen that woman for years. Just two months ago, you called to tell me my grandson got beaten up so much he had to be taken to the police. He needed weeks to recover. Had to transfer schools. What’s going to happen next? Son, I’m scared for him.”

The professor stayed silent. God knows he was scared as well. He wet his lips and slowly said, “Maybe.. maybe it’s better now. Since he started at the new school he…” The man sighed. “I’ll try to talk to him, but... he refuses to answer her calls. I can’t bring her back now; that won’t help anyone.”

In the yard, a gust of wind stirred up the snowflakes, tumbling and rolling them in a soft arch.

“Aren’t you tired?” the elderly woman asked, the fire gone from her voice.

“I’m just trying to understand her.”

“You should try and understand your son.”

Listening outside, the packet in Deil’s fist was crumpled and completely flattened out. He did not move a muscle. Did not make a noise.