Ecclesiastes

This is a link to the song that comes up later. Not necessary, but I figure it a nice element.



The trees surrounding the freeway became a blur as I drove up the last bit of windy freeway to Beacon Hills. I’ve been driving for the past four hours, and I’m ready to be done; my car followed my mood as the trees became more and more blurry and the asphalt disappeared underneath my tires. Water trickled down onto my windshield – despite learning in, and sticking to driving in LA, I can handle the rain. The droplets, although few, fell hard onto my car as I rocketed toward the exit to get to the Argent’s house; I was parked in their driveway in no time.

Chris and Allison walked out of their house as I lock my car. They smile at me; the rain bounces off their black coats and white, white skin. We quietly, and awkwardly, stare at one another until Chris breaks the silence and says, “Well, it’s been a while since we’ve all seen each other.”

I nod, “It’s been a while since I’ve been in Northern California. Or the Bay, whatever this is considered.”

Allison smiles at me and says, “You look cold.”

I laugh and cross my arms over my chest. I left my home in LA wearing dark teal, high waist short-shorts, copper colored gladiator, ankle sandals, and a matching copper crop top. Taking my sunhat off, I reply, “It is pretty chilly here.”

“Let me show you to your room. A U-Haul of your stuff came yesterday; the workers unloaded all your boxes along the walls of your room.”

“Fantastic,” I smile weakly, “Now I don’t have to lug boxes around in the rain.”

Allison walks me to my room while Chris goes back to whatever he was doing. Allison, surely considering herself helpful, starts to unpack boxes of clothing with me. She puts dresses and skirts on hangers and lays them neatly on the bare, California king mattress in the huge room provided for me. I look over my shoulder at Allison while hanging up my dresses in one part of the large walk-in closet attached to the room. “Is your room this big?”

She smiles somewhat awkwardly, “No, Uncle—your dad paid for a remodeling.”

“I see,” I sigh and go back to hanging up my dresses and skirts. Allison helps me fold and put away my casual clothing in drawers, and hanging up dresses, skirts, formal, and my designer clothing. We are mostly quiet in this unpacking process, but Allison quietly gasps at my packed up jewelry collection. I smile a bit awkwardly at her and ask, “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she quickly shakes her head, “I’m just impressed about the amount of gold you have.”

I laugh and put on a few of the thick, golden bangle bracelets. “It’s mostly Egyptian gold.”

“The import tax must be mind boggling.”

I laugh and flash her a genuine smile, “Once he accepted and legitimized me, your uncle took me to Khartoum, then Jebel Marra, then the Red Sea, then up to Egypt because he couldn’t take Sudan anymore.”

Allison laughs awkwardly.

“He bought me a lot of Egyptian jewelry to make up for not really bonding with me.”

Allison smiles awkwardly, again.

Allison watches as I slip the gold bracelets off; the gold highlights the golden flecks scattered about my light mocha skin, but I figure all the copper I’m wearing is flattering enough. Allison and I unpack and put away for the next few hours. The evening creeps up on us very quickly; Allison checks the time and says, “Oh no! I was supposed to meet someone half an hour ago!”

I smile at her, “You can go. I’ll do the rest by myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, go meet up with whoever’s waiting for you.”

Allison’s awkward smile turns into a genuine one. “Alright, I’ll see you later.”

I nod and continue putting all my things away.



I wasn’t sure how I would feel about Allison when Bernard shipped me out here for the remainder of the summer, and really, for the next academic year, but she seems cool enough. They both seem cool enough as they left to do their own thing – whatever the hell that means for a chilly Wednesday night. But I won’t complain. I pulled out my guitar from its carefully packaged case and set it on my bed. I quickly call out their names to make sure they’re gone before I put out the super small trunk with my bong in it. I carry both things downstairs and outside to their patio. They’ve set up a few classy, matching, metal lawn chairs and a small table near their in-ground pool; I pulled a seat up toward the stairs of the pool and sat down. Not sure of how much time I have, I quickly grind two fat bowls and get to smoking them; I do my best to keep my coughing to a minimum and clean up as well as I can.

My legs are too relaxed to properly walk, but I can’t have this shit out when they come back, so I make my way back up to my room as quickly as I possibly can and slide the trunk under my bed. I wash my hands and then take my time walking back to the patio. I lie down on the cool metal and hang my head over the top while randomly strumming the guitar, waiting for a note to inspire me. The stars twinkle here and there in the dark night sky; crickets rub their legs together as if to tell me to hurry up with a tune; the distant sounds of dogs howl, as if they await whatever I can pull off.

I sigh and strike a cord that sounds stable enough to build off of, so I start to tap my toes and hum, waiting for the lyrics to come to me. Time passes and I feel a sharp, shivering sting in the base of my neck that spikes down to the small of my back. My fingers pull violently at the strings of the guitar, but I quickly relax and ease back into a soft, steady beat. My body relaxes against the cool metal once more, so I again dip my head over the top of the chair, but now I start singing out, “We drove right past the exit/And nobody even said a thing./’Cause the light in your eyes/They started dancing for my brain.”

More stars twinkle above my heavy lids; crickets quieted down; the howls grow louder.

“’Cause I know/You’re all about the world and when it’s ending/And I know, yeah/’Cause you whispered it right to me.”

My high starts to fade a bit, but my relaxation keeps me buzzing hard.

“Just where the hell were you?/I’ve just been siting here counting ghosts./And you look scared again./Just sing it out loud, it’ll sound like this: oh oh, oh, oh oh…”

My senses start to heighten and my high comes buzzing right back; I can feel the sensitive parts of my teeth, the tightness of my gums, the spit on my bottom lip; I can feel the cool metal like it’s a cage to support my flesh; I can smell pool water as if I was in it; I can hear the howls erupt out of the chest of near-by dogs and I shiver at the possibility of danger.

“They spoke it quite softly,/I can’t come west until the spring./But all I could hear is you,/Because my head it’s been spinning. And I know you’re all about the world and when it’s ending/And I know, yeah/’Cause you whispered it right to me…”

My fingers feel both numb and burning. My strumming has remained consistent, yet I feel like I’ve played into a forest fire. The stars shimmer in the sky above and the fabric of the night looks like it’s rolling back and forth like a tidal wave.

“Just where the hell were you?/I’ve just been siting here counting ghosts./And you look scared again./Just sing it out loud, it’ll sound like this: oh oh, oh, oh oh…”

The music of the crickets has long rejected and abandoned my noise, but the howling is so close I can practically feel the breath of a pack circling me. My eyes tilt downward to see a pale, handsome face, staring at me in absolute awe while kneeling at the base of the chair, hands clutching the sides of the metal, as if for worship.

I’m much too high to see the potential danger in the face of this beautiful stranger, so I continue on singing. “I don’t hang this cross for him,/I hang it for my mother’s grin. If I wasn’t so far away,/ I’d ask my pops if he’s free today./But everyone, everyone here looks like they’re on their own./I like your style./I like your style./Let’s just have some fun.”

The handsome boy at my feet tips his head back and howls, and then all the howls are in sudden unison until one, piercingly loud howl interrupts all of the others and quiets the scene. Except for me. “Yeah, I’ve just been sitting here counting ghosts.”

The handsome boy tilts his head to look at me again. His eyes are a glowing golden and his face has bits of beard that weren’t there before and his teeth look like weapons. I take a moment to look at this white shoes, black jeans, and a white, button up shirt that's open enough to see a bit of chest hair on a bed of cream-colored skin. Thin, peach lips part for him to noiselessly gasp. I quickly look at his broad shoulders, his strong, square jaw, his slightly crooked nose, his high cheekbones, his blue-grey eyes, and his curly, golden brown hair before sighing and leaning forward a bit to keep staring at him.

“And you look scared again.”

He starts to carefully climb onto the chair and climb up to me.

“Just sing it out loud, It’ll sound like –”

He gets ripped off of me by a pair of large hands. I tilt my head to the right to see the boy being squeezed as a restraint in the arms of a slightly older guy. A man in his thirties stands behind and to the right. He stares at me while handing Allison a harp—like instrument. I see Allison gulp as I continue playing my guitar. She walks up to me and says, “I told them you don’t know anything, but they want you to play this anyway.”

I slowly put down my guitar and sit up. I yawn and look at her from beneath my drooping lids. “What is this for?”

“My, my friends.”

I lean into her while going for the harp and whisper as low as I can manage, “Are we okay? Do you really know these men?”

She smiles at me then nods before saying, “Trust me. Just a quick strum.”