The notification which chimed in woke me up. I felt my head throbbing before remembering how I drunk myself the eve. My eyes squinted in pain as the morning light reflected the whiteness of the ceiling. At last, after further complains and moans, I looked up at my phone to read the incoming message.
"Let's meet up" it wasn't Hermione, but the old man.
"ive a hungover right now" "isnt it too early anyway"
"Not for drinking" "I wanted to buy a new piano for Maria" "Might need some help"
"fine" "where s the meet up?"
"Bout to send you the location" "Hurry up"
"dont you have work?"
"Who cares"
I sighed as reading the last text; I wondered then how could he still have a job. If I were his boss, I would've fired him a while ago. The link for the music shop where we were going to meet up came a minute or so later. I went to take a shower, put on another suit, grabbed my keys and my phone, and finally stopped along the way in a café since I was starving. The shop wasn't that far from my place, and I arrived there in no time. But the old man was late; I realized we never decided on the correct time. So, after an hour, during which I look up at the prices of the different instruments in the shop from the storefront, he casually walked up to me as though nothing happened.
"Fuck you, old man," I casually said. "My days are counted and you still manage to be late."
"Ain't my fault if we never agreed on when," he replied, without even a fake apologetic face.
"Let's go in, anyway; you've wasted enough of my time."
"Lead the way."
I somehow wanted to punch Terence, but that was just the general vibe that he irradiated. We went in and he started to prompt the clerk on the pianos available on sale, while I watched them; I didn't really know why the old man had invited me, he could've done his errands alone. Or maybe, he didn't want to do them alone. I innerly shrugged before going to the guitar section without anybody even noticing it. There was a time when I was fully dedicated to guitar, and it was a short while after I met with Hermione; my recent reminiscences might've given me back the desire to play. I took one of the acoustic guitars, the one which seemed fine by me; I started playing with Oasis' Wonderwall.
An employee passing by showed a disdainful expression, which I supposed was due to the infinite number of jerks who played that song for testing the guitar. At least I didn't play Smoke on the water, I almost remarked to the employee. Hermione gave me the first motivation to continue guitar because she wanted me to learn how to play various songs. The first one she asked was Never meant, talk about a Midwest emo girl. I played the latter. The employee scorned me again when I changed the guitar's tuning.
I carried on for a while; the fact I couldn't stop was a good enough reason to buy it, so I went to the clerk at the counter. I saw the old man mindlessly nodding to another employee, probably talking about how good was the piano before them. Before I even knew it, I was already putting the guitar in its case, a gift from the shop. On his side, the old man was already finished too; he was writing something on a scrap of paper by the counter when I found him. He curiously watched me, particularly the case on my back.
"You bought it?" he asked.
"Yep. Wanna hear me play?"
"Later maybe. Let's get out of here for now."
We went to my car. I put the case in the trunk as Terence sat in the front seat. I thought he was waiting for a ride to go somewhere else, the pub perhaps.
"And where am I supposed to drop off your ass?" I asked.
"Actually, I don't know." I sat before the steering wheel as he talked. I felt some seriousness in his tone. "How many days remain you?"
"Three with today," I replied.
"Yeah, I thought so. I just wanted a last drink with my friend."
"I still have plenty of time, you know. And if I really did fix something, I'll carry on living."
"I thought about it too, lately. My relationship with Maria improved a little bit, or a lot according to my exaggerations," he still seemed to have something to say.
"And?"
"Can you really fix something? I mean, of course you could fix a broken glass or your TV, but you still can tell it was broken. Me having a better relationship with Maria doesn't erase all the shits I've done, and same goes with you, right?"
"I get it, old man. But it ain't just about me dying; Eda will grow up without a father, and Hermione will live reasonlessly. Even if I weren't to exist, I still would be thinking of the two of them. So, we at least gotta try."
The old man sighed.
"Well, I hope you tried," he finally replied. "Y'know what, let's just stop in the middle of nowhere and get drunk."
"I still have a hangover. But I like the first part, how about we buy something to eat instead?"
"Doughnuts?"
"Fine with that," I replied.
We reached the nearest bakery and bought ten boxes of doughnuts. The old man snickered as seeing me approaching the car, struggling with the unreasonable amount of doughnuts in my hands. I stuck the latter in the rear seat and we headed over the town's outskirt. As I drove, the old man started humming old songs; I gave him my phone to play whatever tune was passing through his head. He played his songs awfully loud, but I couldn't complain since I found them quite good. After more than an hour, we stopped at the edge of a dry road; the sun wasn't melting the asphalt, no rather, it was drying it. It looked like these deserts on TV; crackling land, and instead of the infinite gold of the sand, it was the infinite gold of the dying cornfields.
More than that, the sun was awfully bright that day, as though it wanted to kill the earth with its heat and replace the humans on it with warm shadows. I took out the 120 doughnuts, which I made sure were all different, and we got out, sat on the burning asphalt as eating them in the silence of the Midwest. The sky was awfully blue; the sun might have killed the clouds beforehand. No car went by, and if one were to, I thought they would think we were lost or our car broke. Or more realistically, they would just pass without even sparing a glance to these desperate-looking men. The old man said nothing; he just ate with a content face.
I took out my newly bought guitar from its case and began to play. I tried playing again the songs the old man played, sometimes helped by the internet, and he'd hum. At some point, my ass started to bake, and I sat on my car's hood, still playing the guitar. From that seat, I could see the entire sky; I wondered how high it was. I was disappointed when I learned from quick research that the border between earth's atmosphere and outer space was about 62 miles from me. I laughed as realizing we could've reached space instead of a road in the middle of nowhere; I told it to the old man too, and he laughed a little bit.
With that many doughnuts, I was about to puke and never eat one again. We didn't even finish half of what we bought. I gazed at the remaining boxes with disgust. I told the old man to get back in the car to go back to town; I wanted to find some homeless people and give them the boxes. I remembered some who were under a bridge around the town's outskirt, so I drove there as the old man played not only old songs, but he began to play a compilation of Tchaikovsky, then of Liszt. I noticed how much we lazed around when I saw it was already mid-afternoon. But we really did nothing for a while. I went out when we reached the bridge and gave them almost all the boxes; I kept one for myself.
I suggested to the old man we could go feed the birds around the park, which was prohibited. He let out laughter and considering he was ok with it, we went to the park. Fortunately, there were fewer people than ordinary there, and he had no problem finding a bench next to a pond infested with ducks and swans. The latter became ecstatic when we threw some crumbs in the water on which the murderous sun inflected its wrath. Almost blinding. Though, the shadows cast by the several swaying trees protected our eyes in their darkness. At last, when the box was empty, we just sat there, watching the birds fighting over crumbs.
Some moment of silence later, my phone chimed in a notification.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry (≧≦)" where did she find these symbols? "I totally forgot we had a date" "I was busy with something"
Well, I had forgotten too anyway. I went with a reply to show I remembered.
"dont worry" "its fine" "i had something to do too actually"
"Wanna come over now tho?" "Eda is having a sleepover with a friend from school"
I was free until my death. I looked up to the old man, who was gazing at the shining pond.
"I gotta ditch you now," I said.
"Hermione?" he replied.
"Bullseye." I started to walk away.
"That's it? No tearing goodbyes or something like that?" I stopped my pace and turned before being blinded by the sinking sun.
"Who says it's the last time we meet?"
"I know you'll be spending these two last days with Hermione. Even right now, you're doing that."
"Guess you're right. Goodbye then, it was nice to meet an old man like you."
"Heh," he laughed. "It was nice meeting a kid like you, goodbye."
"Heh," I finally replied.
Without even looking at me once, the old man stayed on his bench as watching the evening's arrival as I went farther from him. The shadows which were cast earlier by the swaying trees were amalgamating themselves with night; as though hypnotized, he was probably finding consolation in the scenery before him. I went back to my car and drove to Hermione's place. That reminded me that I still didn't accomplish the promise I made with Eda; two days left, and I was about to leave this world as teaching a little girl to never trust promises. I should talk with Hermione, I thought.
Next thing I knew, after being lost in morbid meditations, Hermione was opening her door; I was overwhelmed with the scent of oil paint that I was so accustomed to in the past. She was definitely painting.
"Having fun with painting?" I greeted.
"Huh," she stuttered. "It's not finished yet, but I want you to tell me how it is this time."
"Alright. You're almost done?"
"Something like that, I guess. It will be a surprise," she smiled as saying that. "Come in anyway,"
She took my hand as we went in, before leading me to her room. It was as small as the apartment, and with many notable things; first, there was a typewriter on her desk, while hundreds of tube paints were scattered across the floor. Her bed was hastily made, her drawers, half-opened; her room was chaotic. But the most striking thing there was the easel with a canvas on it, straight in the middle of her room, and turned in such a way that no one could see what was painted on it. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to see her painting, but since she seemed a little bit unconfident about it, I wasn't about to trespass her desire.
She dropped dead on the bed, making it seems messier than ever, before patting next to her to urge me to sit there. I awkwardly sat next to her laid body before hearing a sigh from her.
"I'm beat," she moaned. "You know, I painted for like twelve hours."
"And you don't even wanna show me all that effort?" I joked.
"Come on, it's not finished yet," she complained.
"By the way, what's your final answer about the motel-thing?"
"Why not?" she merrily answered. "When do you wanna go?"
"Tomorrow maybe, I'm kinda in a hurry too. I'm gonna be busy later."
"That's quite sudden, but we could manage. Oh," she sighed. "I gotta make Eda's luggage."
"And don't forget about yours. So, what's our date today?" I asked.
"I don't know," she shyly replied. "There's some ice cream in the fridge, some beer too."
"You drink?" I asked. I never saw Hermione drink.
"It was for you, I guess. But don't overdo it," she warned. "If you could grab them from the fridge."
I stood up and went to the kitchen. And after taking the ice cream, about a liter of it, and the pack of beer, I searched for spoons. Then, I went back, and as though never tired, to begin with, Hermione jumped from the bed and took the ice cream and the spoons, before laying on the bed again. I sat next to her too and opened two cans; I wanted to drink as little as possible. Somewhere in my mind, I didn't want to anger Hermione. She happily dug her spoon in the pot, and I followed her. It might've been the first time she was drinking beer because she cringed as tasting it; I laughed a little bit, and more when she stubbornly tried to finish the can. She took another one, then another one; soon enough, she was drunk.
I guessed she wanted to impress me; it already happened when we were younger, like when she tried to eat some chili and ended up almost suffocating. The drunk Hermione, gleefully wriggling without reason in the bed, was laughing as absurdly. I laughed too.
"And you're drunk," I said.
"I'm not drunk, I'm just happier," she replied.
"Little liar, and why are you happy?"
"Cause you're here. I missed you, y'know," she said as would a drunk man when he tries to fake sadness.
I rushed my hand through her hair as she finished her sentence. She closed her eyes and started to giggle like an idiot, a happy idiot. Then, suddenly, she got hold of my arm and pushed me on the bed, before chuckling again. Her sleepy face was before me; I could smell the scent of booze from her mouth with every laughter escaping from there. She look straight at my eyes and smiled fondly.
"I love you, y'know," she confessed with no embarrassment.
"What're you saying?" I joked. "You're definitely drunk."
"No," she stubbornly shouted. "I definitely love you. Gotta piss though."
I laughed as she stumbled to go to the toilet. Now alone, the presence of the canvas grew heavier on my mind; I wanted to see it so badly. And I didn't even know why, but I felt that I had to see it, I had the feeling that it would reveal the truth before the masks, any truth. I looked at the doorstep and heard the tripping pace of Hermione; I could quickly take a look, I thought. I still waited and ignored my thought, but it became unbearable. And stood up, not caring even if I wasn't sneaky, and I turned the easel.
I shouldn't have.
I knew that painting, and the last time I saw it, I tore it to scraps. It was the same painting that Hermione showed me the last day we met; it was a scene from my backyard at the time. It wasn't that peculiar, but we'd lay on the grass and watch the sky there. My hands began to shake when I realized that it was that painting, even if it wasn't finished. I wanted to tear it down again; I felt it like an urge. I felt extremely miserable, and an alien rage infused my blood. I wanted to scream the loudest possible and beat my head on the floor to kill myself, hoping the blood would erase the canvas. But fear soon stopped my delirium.
"How is it, Eddie?" I heard from behind. Hermione was standing by the door.
As hearing my real name, shivers ran down my spine. I wanted to curl up in a ball and never exist.
"You tore it down the last time, but what do you think now?" she continued in her drunk tone.
She knew it. It was Eddie, not Ed. I was fucked.
"NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!" I shouted like a mad man. "You aren't supposed to know it! How do you know it's me!?" I grabbed her shoulders and shook her as screaming.
"Eddie! Stop, it hurts! Please!"
I stopped and she looked at me; I could tell she was afraid.
"I know it, Edward," she mildly said out of fear, averting her eyes. "I knew it since you gave me the cattleya." I shut my mouth. "Even in the body of that asshole, I still can tell it's you, it's definitely you, Edward, right? And even if it's not you, let my fantasies alone, I want it to be you, I missed you so much, so much. I cried so much when you died; I cried so much as realizing I couldn't meet you again. Let me think it's you, Eddie."
"…It's your old friend Eddie," I replied as averting my eyes from hers.
Now that she knew, not only I was fucked, but all the fear I felt when I was once alive came back; like a coward, I couldn't face her and apologize. The urge to escape came. I hurried to get out of her apartment. So, without a word, I shoved her and headed to the door.
"I'll be waiting for Eda and you at 8."