Ohioisonfire

Austin's P.O.V

Alan refused to make conversation with me for the rest of the day, which albeit annoying, was also a blow to my self esteem. I didn't appreciate the fact that every glance sent my way was a glare, and every mouth movement a frown, no, I didn't appreciate that fact at all. I did my best to ignore it, but frankly, I was pissed. Weren't we supposed to be...friends? If not that, co-workers. Whom definitely shouldn't be treating each other this poorly. Truth of the matter is, I didn't know why I was so angry to begin with. He was just another person, and people weren't exactly my specialty; but still, something about the situation threw me off kilter. Perhaps, it was because of the recent string of events that sprouted memory loss, that reaped dire consequence on my emotional state; that much was for certain.

“Sir?” a calm voice stirred me out of my revere, the voice belonged to an elderly woman who looked perplexed, for a reason I did not know.

“Yes, ma'am? Is there something I can get for you?” I asked quietly, leaning down far enough for her to be on eye level with me, she ducked her head sheepishly as she peered around my shoulder.

“Would you like to dine inside?” I asked calmly, the older woman shook her head and placed a gentle hand on my arm.

“No, I couldn't. I was just wondering, does a man name Alan work here?” she murmured as she continued to hide behind my frame, I smiled politely.

“Yes, he does. Would you like to speak with him?” I raised an eyebrow when she frantically shook her head,

“No, sorry to bother you...” the woman made for the exit, but I grabbed her arm lightly.

“Tino?” I called back into the room that was buzzing with customers, the dark haired man sent me a curious nod.

“May I go on break?” I asked hesitantly, knowing his answer very well could be no, but to my surprise he gave me a thumbs up and got back to work.

“Ma'am? May I speak with you? Outside, perhaps?” I questioned as I gave her my most gracious smile, the frail woman sighed but nonetheless allowed me to follow her around the block to a small cafe. We sat on the outside furnishings, despite the near frigid temperatures that shot chills throughout my spine. The woman seemed unfazed.

“You must promise me that you won't tell him of this conversation.” She insisted as she placed her hands delicately in lap, I pursed my lips in sheer lack of understanding, but agreed to hold my tongue in his presence.

“Alan's a very sick boy, sir.” the woman's voice dropped fairly low as she laced her fingers together,

“Austin, Austin Carlile is my name. May I ask for yours?” I stuck my hand across the cast iron table, and smiled when she shook it firmly.

“Call me Grace, Grace Ashby...I'm...Alan's mother.” I nodded my head in mock understanding as I rubbed my bare arms in attempt to regain some warmth. The woman, Grace, offered me her scarf which I took reluctantly. As I wrapped the long wool around me, she began to relay her story.

“Alan always rebelled against his father and I, whether he was conscious of it or not. I deeply worried for him, prayed to god that maybe he would find something to cure him...” I opened my mouth hesitantly.

“Is he...really sick?” I asked carefully, not trying to come off as confrontational. She exhaled loudly, and nodded her head in conformation.

“Yes, well, maybe not literally. He was always such a sad child, always told his father and I how much he hated himself, and how he wished he had friends...he was mentally ill, that one. Sadly, we had a fall out several years ago; and we haven't spoken sense.” I was taken aback by how much emotional was...absent in her voice. She spoke in a matter of fact tone, not one of a mother who was indeed worried for her child; something sickening turned my stomach.

“His father died last month, that's all I've come to relay, but I don't want him to know, actually. Now that I think about it, he let his father down his whole life, he never did anything right; he never made good grades, never joined a sports team...he never did anything his father could be proud of.”

Leaning forward in my chair, I placed her scarf on the table and looked deeply into her eyes, which were much more bitter than they had been moments before; I felt my pupils dilate as the sun broke through the dark clouds.

“Shame on you.” I spat out coldly, only then did her composure snap, only then did I see her eyes go wide and jaw go slack. I grunted, “perhaps, Alan may not be a perfect person, but he is your child...how dare you turn your back on him. Granted, Alan and I aren't on the greatest of terms, but he is a human being, and should at least be treated as such.” I bit my tongue as I realized the irony leaking through my teeth, didn't I laugh at him earlier? Didn't I laugh at every joke made at his expense? I truly was no better, but perhaps this conversation would direct me in a more humble approach when speaking to him. The tole the memory gap had taken on me had been startling, I was a shadow of myself; because I was afraid; but being afraid is not an excuse to breed hatred, and hostility.

“You're sick too,” Grace mused as she rashly jumped out of her chair and glared down at me.

“Join the club,” I retorted with a snort, and a vicious glint of my teeth, why was I so angry?

“How dare you speak to a woman in that tone of voice, didn't your mother teach you to mind your tongue?” Sparks flew in my brain, connecting wires of feral proportions, ones long sensed abandoned by the learning of speech, love, and compassion; I turned my back on human 'nature', and instead did what any wild halfhearted beast would do, I kicked the cast iron chair out from under me and came to stand square with her. The woman took a step back didn't back down as I let out a guttural laugh, why couldn't I stop myself? Why was I so angry?

“If you were smart, you'd leave and forget you ever came here. If you want to keep what's left of your cold heart then I suggest you keep your banter to yourself. You should know not to be hostile when cornering a wounded animal.” I recalled how many times my dad, and mom had taken me hunting. Their tone of voice always dropped to a low, careful, and almost kind octave. They always told me, an animal is more dangerous when it is hurt, and to never be bitter towards it if I wanted to keep my life. A wounded animal had nothing to lose. When it boils down to it, humans are animals too, animals who are capable of being just as protective...but why? Why was I being so protective? People weren't my thing, how many times did I need to repeat it to make myself believe it?

Grace was gone when I looked back down, the snow was falling in heavy clumps and to my surprise, I had a good half inch on my skin. Which was utterly frozen, and beginning to turn an awful hue of blue. Passerby’s gave me cautious glances as I desperately looked around, trying to remember what had happened. My phone was vibrating insistently in my pocket, so with unsteady, painful movements of my fingers, I grabbed the small device and held it close to my equally chilly chest.

12 Missed calls.

6 text messages.

But that didn’t churn my stomach as much as the time did, 6:45 P.M, I had been standing in the same spot for nearly 5 hours. I gasped as I clutched the phone tighter and desperately took a step forward, but my legs caved in before I could get a foot ahead. I went to cry out as I met the pavement, but instead, a cold puff of air came out, followed by a hoarse moan. Why was I so angry, again?