Riddle Me This

And he sits in his chair and stares out the window
He doesn't even get dressed for the day
He walks around in a bathrobe with a cup of coffee
That he's spiked with a bit of whiskey and rum
And he reads the headlines but not the articles
Has dreams of tulips but doesn't ever buy the bulbs
And when he looks at you with those sad sad eyes
Have you ever stopped and wondered and asked why

Because the oldest riddle a woman asked of a man
Is what has four legs and then two and then three
Now I know the answer and I think you do too
But you still have to ask him if you ever want me

And he tells such sweet stories of his time far away
When the world was a sweet and far better place
And he loves to read books with old far away titles
And watches his shows with an eye for the details
And watched you and the other with an eye for the details
And then shakes his head with those sad sad eyes
And you know he'll keep shaking no matter how hard you try

Because the oldest riddle a woman asked of a man
Is what is above and below the water and doesn't get wet
And though this one is silly and a bit about weight
You still have to ask him if you ever want to forget

And he makes such small comments that he thinks are all fine
But he hurts you and hurts her and hurts him all the time
And yet you still love him, defend him again
Because that is your role his protector and friend
But he's already on his third leg and you know this is true
That soon he'll be gone and it'll be just you
I'm sorry my dear but I hope this isn't news
It is the way of men to fight and win and lose
And when for the last time he shuts those sad sad eyes
Is it only then my love that you will realize

That the oldest riddle a woman asked of a man
Is how do you let go when you think you can't
And how can one love supplant another
You still have to ask him if you want to keep your father

The Orange Envelope

He pulled out the chair, dusted off the top of the worn, wooden surface and sat down. He lifted the lid with an aged creak and let it settle against the wood of the board. The ivory gleamed with dust as if the keys hadn’t been played in years, even though he had only played a few days previously. That was how everything felt lately. It all felt so wrong and old and worn out. He cracked his fingers and began to play.

But he wasn’t really playing. He pounded the keys, purposefully avoiding the pentatonic scale–– purposefully avoiding melody or harmony of any kind. He pounded and pounded the keys until it felt like his heart and soul and anger were all beating and reverberating in the air around him.

“What the bloody hell is that noise?” She yelled from below the staircase as she looked up towards the foyer where the piano was located.

“Trish.” He heard the other voice.

“Robert, don’t touch me! Listen, I don’t care that he’s just trying to cope! We all are trying to cope as best as we can but he doesn’t have to go and throw a temper tantrum like a little baby.”

He sighed and let his long, dirty blonde hair fall across his face. He let the keyboard lid slide shut. He slumped back in his chair. He waited for the worst of the fight to be over before he went back downstairs. He knew why this was all really going on. He had felt it the second his mom had laid that orange envelope on the table.

* * *

Downstairs the lights were mostly out throughout the house. She sat at the table and looked up as he walked down the stairs. Just like him, going and making some noise until somebody pays him attention. He just didn’t seem to want to face the fact that they were really going to have to deal with this. Their lives were going to change. and there was nothing–– no amount of playing or banging or noise making–– that would stop that.

“Sebastian, why don’t you just grow up.” She hissed at him under her breath as he walked into the kitchen. The light bathed them and the table in oily, yellow light and made everything else beyond the light seem even more blue and depressing.

He didn’t answer her and that just made her all the more angry. Not viscerally angry. More just frustrated at him. It helped to be able to channel some of her anger at him and his poor choices. His last few weeks of skipping out on school and failing his classes hadn’t helped the situation any bit. The situation.

Her eyes fell on the orange envelope on the table before them. His eyes followed hers and his back stiffened visibly. In part she blamed him for aggravating the situation but deep down she didn’t know if she could ever feel that she could forgive her mother for bringing the orange envelope home.

Not that it was her mother’s fault either. But somehow. Somehow her mother being the one to bring it in and lay it down on the kitchen table made it her mother’s fault. Because before that their house had been a safe place. Nothing bad could find them. And then her mother brought the orange envelope.

“Now then, I’m glad we’re all finally here. It’s been the devil trying to get you all together so we could have this talk.” And as her mother stopped talking her father cleared his throat and looked at her expectantly. Hopelessly.

She wished she could reach out and comfort him, but she didn’t know how, even if she really wanted to. And while there was a part of her mind that was logical and told her that it was actually her father’s fault, somehow she couldn’t just blame him. She felt more that she had to defend him against the other two. Her mother and her brother. The room felt like it was made of ice cold marble. No one said anything.

“Well, as you both already know––” her mother began, motioning towards the orange envelope.

“This is sick!” He stood up–– her stupid blond haired brother–– and was yelling and making a scene like he always did.

“Bastion, sit down!” She hissed at him.

“No! You’re all... all.. so sick!” He clenched his fist and for the first time ever she wondered if he might hit her. “How can you all just be so normal! So rational about all this! There is nothing normal about this! And yet you all carry on like it’s okay and perfectly alright!”

“Well, someone has to be rational about this.” Her mother. “And since you obviously don’t want to be that person we aren’t going to force you. But if you don’t have anything else to add to the conversation then kindly shut up and sit down!”

“Now, dear.” Her father’s turn, “I thought we’d agreed––”

“Robert!” Her fury on him now, “Don’t you dare undermine me. Not now. Not again! We agreed!”

“Yes, dear. And we agreed that we would let the children be a part of it. And that means letting Sebastian have his say too.” Her father placed his hand on her mother’s arm, who wrenched away and sat down again. She couldn’t believe that her mother could be so cruel sometimes.

The silence settled on them again. None sure whose turn it was. Sebastian was sulking like some big baby. Even though he would protest and say that he was old enough to move out next year and that he was too old for a curfew. Still, times like these just proved how immature he still was. The silence between her parents was like an armistice, but she wasn’t sure which side had won. So it looked like it was up to her to get the ball rolling. The sooner the better.

* * *

When she spoke he nearly jumped out of his skin. He had been waiting for Trish to speak and when Alice was the one to break the silence it caught him off guard. The way that Alice was looking at Trish almost broke his heart. He wished he could stand up and take his little girl in his arms and tell her everything would be alright and that it was his fault and not her mother’s fault and that she shouldn’t be angry at anyone but him. It was all his fault after all. There was no one else to blame. He had done this.

“So, mother.” And there was venom in the air, “You were saying?”

“Thank you, dear.” Judging from Trish’s response it was easy to see where Alice got her venom, “We love you both and we hate that this has to happen. Especially with your brother in his last year of high school, and you just ready to get married and everything. And this is the last thing either of you wants to have to go through. But sometimes life is full of unexpected turns.”

His eyes fell on the orange envelope. It was his fault. He had done it. He had caused it. Everything had been fine as far as they had all thought, but then he couldn’t just be happy with what he had. Many people had been happy with much less. Was he being ungrateful? Maybe he could still turn it back, change things. But the way Trish was sitting, the way she kept her distance from him like he was some kind of disease, that was what made all of this not only unbearable, but told him that there would be no going back. He sighed. She seemed to take a sharp intake of air, as if he was trying to steal the very air out of the room.

“I’m sorry.” He sighed as he leaned forward and placed his face in his palms.

“Not this again. Robert! You promised! You said you’d be able to keep it together in front of the children!” She was livid with rage as she stood up, “Well, until you pull yourself together I’ll be in the other room!”

“Dad, I’m sorry.” It was Alice, wrapping her arm around him, “No one blames you. She’s the one who––”

“No.” He brought his bloodshot eyes level with her worry lined ones, “She’s right. Your mother is right. Don’t you dare blame her for this.”

“But Dad, she––” But he placed a finger on her lips.

“No. Not a single word against your mother. You hear?” And he tried to sound stronger than he felt as he made his command, “Please. For my sake.”

“Fine. If you’re gonna take her side then there’s really no point anymore, is there!” And he knew that deep inside she would be hating herself for being so melodramatic, for making the same kind of exit her mother had made, but that didn’t stop her from standing up and marching out of the kitchen.

He looked over at his son. The last little part of his family that was left here at the kitchen table with him. Sebastian was slouched back in his chair, his hair in his face, arms crossed. He didn’t need to say anything. Robert knew that look. He knew exactly what it meant. The lights may be on but the doors were all locked. He leaned back in his own chair and closed his eyes and let his head rest against the wall behind him. Just the two of them in their own personal, silent agonies at the kitchen table.  With that orange envelope in the center of the yellow pool of light.

* * *

She massaged her forehead, trying to release the stress that seemed to live right under her skin and pound against her skull day and night. She had barely had a moment to herself to think lately. All of her responsibilities and commitments aside, she had to deal with all this rubbish that Robert had brought home with him. And now, like always, his problems had become her problems and she was the only one left to clean up his mess. It was true, having a husband was no better than having a third child.

From downstairs she heard angry stomping and knew it was Alice. She wondered if she should look over. Alice would have to pass her door to get to her own room. She could look over and try to make her daughter understand that it was her who was the victim here. But no, she wouldn’t. She didn’t make it this far in life by looking for handouts. Instead she simply sat and kept looking out the window as she heard the creak of the floorboards behind her. In the window’s warped reflection she could barely make out the dark blue shape that lingered in the hallway. Alice.

But before she could turn her daughter had gone. And then there was the slam. How dare her daughter behave like this, taking Robert’s side in this when she was clearly the victim here! No, she told herself, none of that victim mentality nonsense. If Alice was going to be melodramatic and take sides and hate her, then there was nothing Trish could do about it. She couldn’t control her daughter’s feelings. Once she stopped and thought about it, she wouldn’t want to.

She stood up and walked out. She paused at the door that led to Alice’s room. Inside she could hear a muffled scream. Alice hadn’t done that since she was a little girl. But she wasn’t a little girl anymore. Soon she would be married and off on her own with her own family in her own life and have her own problems to deal with. And then when she wanted to cry or scream she would have to go find a quiet place to do it because she wouldn’t be allowed to do it anymore. Not where anyone could know that she cried. Trish sighed.

She walked down the creaking stairs. Robert and Sebastian were still sitting there. Neither really seemed to have moved since she left. And she almost felt foolish enough to blush for her outburst and for stomping away like that. Looking at the two of them sitting there, she wondered if Robert even knew the extent of the damage. The fact that Sebastian had broken it off with his longtime girlfriend because he didn’t even know if he still believed in love. Of course, she reasoned with herself, that was just the last few drops of adolescent melodrama working its way out of his system. In a few years he’d be fine. They would all be fine. So couldn’t they keep things the same way and still be fine, the thought slid into her mind uninvited.

Her lips felt dry and she didn’t know what to say. Should she clear her throat? Should she even sit down. Maybe stay standing. This was ridiculous. This was her house and her kitchen and her table and her family and she shouldn’t feel like a stranger. Like the bad guy. Maybe she was too busy trying to defend herself. Maybe they were right about her. Maybe she was the bad guy. And what was the point in admitting that to herself? It still wouldn’t change anything. Maybe nothing could change it. Maybe there was no way for them to stop the chain of events that were now in motion. No way to go back against the orange envelope sitting on her kitchen table.

She sat down and Sebastian looked over at her. When he talked, with words, he was never very good at communicating what he really meant. And often. Very very often. he would end up making her and everyone else mad. But he had a  way with his eyes. He could tell you whole books with his eyes. He could make you feel what he felt with those eyes of his. And the look he met her with, right then and there in the pool of oily yellow light surrounded by the inky blue house. She felt all her walls and defenses come tumbling down. But she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t break down. She didn’t know why she had to be this strong. But she would be. Only a single tear escaped out of the corner of her eye, tracing a wet line down her cheek as she watched him stand and leave.

* * *

He pulled out the chair, dusted off the top of the worn, wooden surface and sat down. He lifted the lid with an aged creak and let it settle against the wood of the board. The ivory gleamed with dust as if the keys hadn’t been played in years, even though he had only played a few hours ago. That was how everything felt lately. It all felt so wrong and old and worn out. He cracked his fingers and began to play. And this time he played a song. A swan song. A song for the orange envelope on the table.

The Interview

He leaned back and drew from the cigarette, letting the ashes fall onto the carpet. His eyes darted down to the carpet and back up to the man sitting in front of him. The man was old. Far too old. Much older than Geoffrey ever wanted to be. Which made the man seem wrong. He didn’t like seeing people who were older than he ever wanted to be. Because they made it seem like he could someday be that old. No there was only one way to deal with them.

“Do you have a wife? Kids? Grandkids?” he asked leaning forward. He loved details. He was all about them.

“We’re not here to discuss me, Geoffrey. We’re here to talk about you.” The man said, sitting back against the chair.

“Well. Wadda need to know?” He gave his crooked smile. If this guy was a perv even in the slightest he’d fall for it.

“Well, for starters let’s start with your family.” He did not even blink.

“Well, not much to tell really.” Geoffrey took a longer drag this time. “Father left when I was young. Had to take care of myself. Mum had a whole string of boyfriends. None of them ever seemed to see.”

“See? See what.” His tone wasn’t curious. It was almost. Bored.

“To see what a bitch she was until it was too late!” He wanted to throw the cigarette. No. He wanted to set the old man on fire.

“So, this is all about your mummy issues is it?” No, he would set the old man on fire.

“Sure. Is that the answer you were looking for? Well I’m glad I could help.” He rose and turned to go.

“You’re not helping anyone. Not me. Not yourself. And you’re fine with that. I know.” The old man’s words made him freeze. “But at least you can help me get back at her.”

“What do you mean?” He turned, “I don’t follow.”

“You’re mother. You can get back at her. Prove her wrong.” He was almost smirking now. “Show her you’re not a screw up like she’s always thought.”

“Well, that’s it then.” He sat back down and made eye contact that was very dangerous. “You’ve gone and figured me out. If I can prove mummy wrong then everything will be fine. Long as I do as I’m told. Right!”

The old man grinned cooly, “Of course it wouldn’t be that simple. But you see the minor benefits from accepting our proposal.”

He stood again and crossed his arms, “Is that why you’re here then, is it. About the proposal.”

“You would be a most valued asset. Almost priceless.” The man spoke it with a whimsical air.

“You’re lying.” Geoffrey’s eyes turned ravenously.

“Well, of course I’m lying. Don’t be stupid. The second you embarrass us we’d kill you on the spot of course. We have people for that.” And he genuinely seemed to smile at that.

“So, why bring up my past?” He set his jaw. “Your own sick fantasies?”

“In a manner of speaking. But go on. What did you do at school? How did you cope, I mean.” The man adjusted his glasses and looked down at the folder as if reacquainting himself with the file. “Says here you attended St. George’s Preparatory School. That seems rather posh.”

“It wasn’t.” He jerked as he said it, “It was just another place where people found your weaknesses and broke you. But they never found mine. No. I broke each and everyone of them first. I was First Boy by the end of my first year.”

“That seems to be a lot of firsts. So, what happened?” The man seemed bored, “Did they find your weakness.”

“No. I was expelled. For setting a teacher on fire.” Here the dangerous smile creeped over his face again, “Bloody tosser should have known better than to try any of that pedastic stuff on me.”

“So, it was self defense?” The man raised an eyebrow. Almost as if he had expected more.

“Sure. If self defense meant months of planning ahead. If it meant, setting up the trap, leading your prey into it.” He was almost licking his lips as he said it.

“But not everything went as planned?” The man closed the folder, “Geoffrey we know that you were sent to prison for it, under adult charges no less. As far as the facts go it seems pretty clear cut.”

“Oh. Does it now?” He said, smiling again as his dirty blond hair fell into his face, “Please. Enlighten me.”

“You were abused as a child. You already had a genetic predisposition towards psychosis thanks to your family’s medical history on your father’s side. Had he been allowed to raise you things may have gone differently. But as it stands you went to a terrible school, did terrible things, went to a horrible prison, and became a horrible person. And now you have nothing left.”

“Why wasn’t my father allowed to raise me?” He said, walking back and picking up the heavy glass colander before pouring a glass of the clear vodka. “You said. Your file said he wasn’t allowed. Go on then. How come?”

He paused, “Well, it was quite complicated. But in essence the court not only gave your mother full custody but a restraining order as well. Since your father’s mental health was... questionable at the time. However, you should know, he did everything he could to regain contact. For years.”

Geoffrey sat down, “And finally he did.”

He watched as Geoffrey lit a cigarette with the massive silver lighter, “What do you mean, he did? I wasn’t aware– that is, our records have no mention of later contact.”

“Oh sure, he did. Showed up right at my house. We sat down had a drink and a good laugh.” A smile spread across his lips, “Caught up on old times.”

“But that’s not possible!” The man frowned over his glasses. “When did this supposed meeting take place?”

“Oh, you won’t have to worry. See, after he came and we had talked and had a few drinks.” Geoffrey tipped the glass over soaking the table and the old man’s suit, “I doused him in lighter fluid and set him on fire myself.”

The lighter lit up the table in flames that traveled across the metal surface towards the old man who merely sat where he was, flames licking up at his suit without touching it. As he kept looking across at the victory that melted into confusion on Geoffrey’s face, a smile crept over his sharp teeth.

“Flame retardant suits. Never leave the house without them.” He grinned. “You’ll have to be quicker if you’re gonna try to kill you’re old man, me boy.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Geoffrey said, glaring as the flames reflected in his eyes, “This was just the appetizer. I’ll accept the proposal. You’d better be ready because the main course is coming.”

“Really? A dinner metaphor?” The old man smirked as he put away the folders that hadn’t been burnt, “I expected better from you. Honestly, you’ve really been a disappointment.”

As the old man walked out of the room Geoffrey’s chest rose and fell as the veins on his neck bulged out and he gritted his teeth. He roared as he threw the still burning table over in a heap of sparks and fire. He slid to the ground in the fetal position and started to cry.

* * *