[ MT ]
[ Mature ]
Down The Drain
Constructed in his deep subconsciousness was a brilliant plan that had to be executed with tenacity, no matter what distraction may lay ahead. Even so, I couldn't help but wonder what secrets lay deep in my father, and if I could really acknowledge the bitter silence that he chose to envelop himself in, he wouldn't bother making it obvious. So I asked.
"Who's this friend you're meeting first?" I inquired with deep consideration. I wouldn't want my persistence to get in the way of father's cryptic thoughts. No response. Maybe he's brain dead after all, but in respect to his very own opinions, he had no choice but to reply. Surely, he could just ignore the young girl's questions and go on with his business, but he has been through that before.
"He's a good friend I've met a few decades ago," came the short yet narcissist reply. I stared at him for a moment, before continuing. Hopefully I wasn't pestering him, but a curious mind can kill itself over time. "Who?" Without a doubt it could've been one of his friends from college, but this wasn't the case at all. In fact, I was extremely curious as to who we were going to meet. He continued to ignore the little child I am, even though I was only a few months away from legally becoming an adult.
It's half past seven as the sun, which was out of view and shrouded by fog, slowly rose from the horizon, desperate to illuminate the land across Zypra. It was more like a "Fuck you sun", as the fog continued it's usual business in delaying most the flights. One flight that did make it through however, was the Royal Zyprian Airlines flight 522 from Dastin City.
Terminal 1 appeared as dead as the weather outside since it was practically empty. Its architecture was simply banal, to say the least. The 70s brought about development in Zypra, yet the government never bothered to update it's old architecture from those days. Nevertheless, the only living objects that did appear inside terminal were a few flight attendants, irate vacationers and a couple of janitors.
I produced a stick from the Salem pack Dad bought for me earlier today. Looking around, I noticed that no one seemed to care at all; I was only going to see if I could smoke inside this metal cage. Apparently I could. Definitely no fucks were given as I lighted up, only to gain attention from Dad, who seemed to be in a care-free mood. He took one from the pack, demanded for the lighter, and gave a few flicks before a majestic flame arose from the metal casing. I knew Dad well; he hasn't smoked in fifteen years, but looking at him sharing this father-daughter moment was intense. Dad seemed much more relaxed after he had finished that first cigarette. I clapped randomly, producing a smile on his face that was priceless.
Dad had a sleek body, which compliments his tall figure. 5' 7", last time I checked. What's more convincing was the dark brown overcoat he wore that extended down to his shin, which made him look like the Eiffel Tower. His pale face made her look quite photogenic, in which his messy unkempt hair fit the shape of his head quite well. Dad recently lost a fair portion of shares from his company, which ultimately led to the dissolution of the entire conglomerate that he had so desperately sought for financial assistance. The board's arrogance had found itself in a situation following the collapse of United Holdings, the corporation Dad set up a decade ago; he was forced to step down from office and sell his shares. Nonetheless, he never bothered to keep himself looking presentable, other than dressing himself quaintly in a fashion similar to his heyday.
Reclining backwards, I rested my head on the seat, but it was too late. I couldn't enjoy the lazy Sunday morning taking a nap without getting up once more just to shake hands with this kind gentleman Dad was going to meet.
"And who is this young lady accompanying you, Arterius?" he asked, batting his eyes in a conformist way. My stomach lurched. He must've thought I was a call-girl, one of Dad's discreet partners he shared amongst members of his company. One thing about Dad though, was that he never brought home a lady, not in mum's house, ever. I guessed it was his way of respecting her, and I also believe he had never slept with them, not once. He knew that he had a family of his own now, and screwing the order of things now was going to add further problems to his list.
"She's my daughter; Azure, meet Craig, Craig, Azure," he introduced, waving his hands around like a computer salesman showing off new hardware.
Snow. Just never-ending snow. An entire country engulfed in what had seemed the most worst storm of the century, was practically nothing but a regular winter shower for the residents here. I freezed. I freezed in the snow. I couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't release a single word. I just freezed myself over. I mean, clearly i'm not from this part of the country, nor did I adapt myself to it. My lips, face, my entire body was shaking. I laid naked in the snow, awaiting death. Perhaps it could be the most appropriate way of committing suicide.
I opened my eyes. I could already recognise the bitter cold. A window was open in the room; I realised I was still in Rayne's room. She disappeared elsewhere. I wondered where she could've gone besides the kitchen, but it didn't matter. I could not grasp the moment; nothing in my environment seemed to make sense. Everything surrounding me, even internally, was a big lie. Even the cat sleeping soundly on the mattress adjacent to the door was a lie. The photos gave off a miserable aura that dulled my conciousness further. I couldn't help but think that this was the last day on earth, and everything that I had hoped for was lost. Everything, even the soft staccato crackle of twigs outside to the persistence of the droplets of water emanating from the tap in the bathroom.
I searched for clues as to where she had gone off to; discovering an envelope on the end table next to me, I retrieved a letter-opener from under the bed and tore it apart. It was handwritten, something that Rayne had trademarked all these years that she kept as a social perk.
Two months, and I expected you to completely forget about me. Believe me, I was that expectant. Was it predicatable? I said to myself, "Like, she'll forget me in two weeks."
It was a month after your breakup, and I came around just like that. She was with you for one year, did you ever think of that? I don't know what you two did before, and you never talked about it. Ever.
I couldn't understand completely how you completely forgot about her. How did four months of me, become two months of missing me? If I didn't come around, would you still be thinking about her?
As for my honest opinion of what we had, It felt one-sided at times. How many times did we fight with each other, how many times have we apologized, and lived through regret and loss each time?
We both know the answer.
It's the week after I got through with us. I got laced in sick, and I told myself: "I'm not going through this again."
And I never will.
Whether the right guy or girl will lead you somewhere, or on your own, I'm never the right person for you. You need someone who loves and likes you. I'm not that person for you. I will never have a serious relationship in my life, so you should be happy that you still want one.
Days, weeks, months, years, it will probably be decades before I'll ever love someone again.
Whenever the tears seemed to abate, it would start afresh. The flow was constant, like a broken pipe in the suburbs, but I couldn't feel it. I couldn't feel the sadness that delved within. Was it an natural response that my body took upon receiving letters like these? Maybe it was. I seemed to cry almost often when receiving letters, be it saddening or enthusiastic. Whenever a family member sent me a card for Christmas, everyone knew that I would be in the loo, trying to cease the sobbing, but I couldn't. It would never end, at least until I fell asleep.
The city came alive, its jazz clubs and enumerable cafés dotted the streets, the dizzying lamps and cold pavement that gave a unique flavour to the city itself. Snowfall doubled, tripled overnight as the sun began to slowly illuminate the vast land. Father was still asleep, and the penthouse became a silent retreat. I booted my laptop, recovering a few of my files that sat neatly in stack on the shelf, before producing a pen needed to complete my history assignment. And so I began.
Explain the actions of the ALA and how they contributed to the Alsagan war in no less than one hundred words.
I slowly traced my hand across the motionpad, clicking on a few links before reaching a page that was a goldmine of information about the War in Alsager. Just what I needed. But wait, what's this? A 404 error? Fuck this question then.
The inflow of substantial revenue from both the tertiary sector and the industrial sector itself prompted deregulation, particularly in the financial sector, in order to prepare the country for globalisation. What were the new changes in government policies from 2011 onwards?
Fuck this shit.
Who was the first Zyprian Prime Minister and what was his immediate role after the civil war?
Oh, that one would be easy. Liam Hadsell. He's definitely the only politician that's still hot after all these years. And he did... wait, what did he do?
The Durden Treaty concluded the civil war, an agreement which heavily favoured Garimidia. State two possible outcomes should the Garimidian foreign policy alter the terms of the treaty and who it could've influen-
I gave my folder a nice shove to the floor as I angrily tossed my pen across the room. Perhaps it would be a good time to rest after such a tiresome all-nighter.. but I could use a small session on the laptop and the last cigarette for the day. And so I did.
Checking my inbox, I found a number of emails that were unread over the week. Surprisingly, only a few were entertaining enough for my consumption. One from Allyssa, and a few from Jonathan Hart, my history teacher. Fuck, I was going to fail History class this semester, but who am I kidding? Azure, the History major that would probably end up working a low wage job at the local supermarket.. in her forties with five children and a stay-at-home husband.. while living lavishly in her Dad's apartment as he works around the clock setting up his one thousandth company that would probably fail in the future. But no, I wouldn't want to go that way, or at least I could prevent the stay-at-home part. Maybe I could make it as a call-girl.
Hi, it's me, Allyssa, I'm just dropping in to say hello and everything. I want to ask about something though.
Did you fuck my boyfriend last night? Because I can totally forgive you if you didn't, I mean, that was a wild party last night and he's just too nice and everything, and I'm not jealous : )
Good girl Allyssa? That's new. Unless this is one of her tactics on trying to catch whoever her boyfriend cheated on. Best to defuse the situation with the truth then.
Lol no, sorry, it wasn't me Ally. I'm like, totally gay, unless you haven't noticed why I never hand with guys often. And for my alibi, you can ask my dad. I was doing my history assignment all night, so yeah. I miss you! xoxo
It wasn't long before I received another message from her that really began annoying the shit out of me.
Uhm yeah, okay, that's fine, thank you : ) And you stayed up all night at home? omg forever alone
Indeed I was. I shut my laptop down, forgetting that conversation ever happened, before emerging out of bed. This was probably the best time to retry the assignment once more. All I needed to do was answer one final question before I could get some shut-eye. I hope I could do this one right, and so I randomly chose.
What parties were assigned to the Joint Task Force and where did they serve?
This one would be easy. I read about it on one of the portfolios Dad kept in his office of one of those secretaries he kept under his wing. God, she was a hottie. I started to read aloud as I carefully wrote it down word by word.
"The Zyprian military served in the Alsagan War as part of the Joint Task Force alongside the Garimidian Armed Forces from 1994-1995. Carrying out neutral peacekeeping operations, Zyprian air units were known to be patrolling the skies over Vasaari on weekends alongside-
Wait, what the fuck did I just write?
"Carrying out neutral peacekeeping operations, Zypra withdrew from the war as the JRF was disbanded a year after deployment."
I guess that should be simple enough. Now, time to get out of bed.
Smoke begets more smoke. The sun rose majestically over the horizon, slowly but painfully melting away the sheet of ice that built-up on the balcony floor, forming miniature pools of water. It was the first time in years, and yet I instantly recognized the landscape before. I haven't seen Port Vale at this time of day before, mostly during the night where it was more seductive and charming. Perhaps the sunrise was indeed romantic after all. I could not help but imagine if Rayne slept over for the night and helped me with my assignment. It would be a beautiful sight to take in with her, but it has been long since we've seen each other.
Rayne had always been there for me. I remembered a particular day where we decided to visit the park. Albury was much more intoxicating at that time of the year, especially with her, who seemed to be much more happier than before. We both felt the same: deep in love, lost in the scent of daisies and roses; it was like an opiate wonderland. Pain was a stranger to us, physically and emotionally, and not a fuck in the world would change that. No one could. Until it got boring. Until the fights began to build, until the pain became the substitute, until she finally gave up.
Horrors akin to those inside me greeted her, though she became gradually more violent. She saw me as a scapegoat to all her problems, and yet it seemed to fit naturally in her opinion. She blamed me for everything. I threw my first butt of the day off the balcony, and lighted a fresh one. A few more wouldn't hurt.
It got worse after her vacation in Westling. I couldn't believe my eyes when I heard she was sneaking out of her dorm room for poker night, and it grew intense after I found her trying to leave bed. She was quickly expelled from college the following day, and opted to stay at home until she could find a new college; the opportunity never came to her, the opportunity to continue her studies. But she was fine with that.
The sliding door behind me have a slight 'woosh' sound; I turned to find my dad approaching me from behind, carrying a pack of Absolute cigarettes. He lighted the first one by mistake - instead of lighting the usual end, he mistakenly lit the filter, prompting him to fetch another stick from his pack. His face turned sour as he had wasted a perfectly well-cut cigarette. He reclined in his seat, letting out a quick stream of translucent smoke.
"Awake?" I asked, pulling a chair for myself. I tugged the ashtray closer to my body, depositing the ashes safely into the bowl.
"I couldn't sleep last night. I was busy thinking about today's interview.. Is there a way to make me sleep?" he asked, his eyes meeting mine. His eyes reflected my image; a young woman in her early-twenties with a dying passion for history and a disgruntled hobby of bashing the drums, which lasted for a year before dropping out of music for a little while. I wondered what music kids today are listening to. My half-dead brain finally reacted to his question, almost absorbing itself into the omnipresent scene before me.
"It could be that drink you had last night," I suggested. He thought about it for a moment, before shaking his head. "Yesterday's movie?" I continued, hoping to achieve a positive response, but he again shook his head. "Pre-interview jitters, dad." I concluded, which finally received an appropriate response. He was too nervous for this interview with the board of directors of this conglomerate he was going to start working for. He needed this day to be perfect, starting from the morning.
And it was the only time me and dad ever spoke this way again. Most of the time, we were engrossed in conversations about life and the knots on the rope along the way, the milestones we've achieved. Dad never seemed to be a fatherly figure to me; he was more like a friend who looked out. After the conversation we had that day, I continued my prospecting into Dastin State University, ending up in the Historical Department on a work pass from the Zyprian government. A few years later, I had my first apartment, my first promotion, and my first tax filing. Dad refused to give up on me, so he continued to fund my efforts on continuing to study and work in journalism, a passion I had withheld for so many years, I didn't polish the talent for.
Ultimately of course, life went upwards from there. I met Rachel, and after five years, married her discreetly in Port Vale and spent out honeymoon in Alsager, one of the places where I did a case study on for my history assignment. After that, we spent a year looking for a beautiful home in Southern Garimidia, and she ended up working in a company that belonged to the same conglomerate that Dad worked for.
The storm has passed, and the darkness has faded, but I'll always remember that whenever the next storm passes by again, that I'll always hope for the next lull to be more prosperous and uplifting.
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