Silent Talk
Chapter Two
His body felt numb all over again. His arms hung heavy. His mother wouldn't come, she was angry that he could so easily let go. The woman he loved couldn't bare another wait if all that arrived was a black package of silence. He stood alone in a group of strangers, speechless. The priest's lips spoke words without meaning, mirroring the tears of the strangers around him. He walked away learning and experiencing the nothing his father had left him.
He sat at the vacant corner of the diner, accompanied only by an untouched mug of coffee and a newspaper. He stared at the seat across, almost as empty as him, so incredibly empty. A gaping hole ran through him. He felt lost. He looked over at the newspaper, littered with red circles. What good was a writer if he was stuck in the copy room, or cleaning the floors of a dojo?
An older man, a bit younger than his father walked into the diner, looking around. The man's eyes met the back of his head and could recognize him with just the shape of his hair whorl.
"Hey," the man sat and sighed out, "How you holdin' up?"
"I've been alright, just started looking for another job."
"The workshop's open to volunteers, we can't pay much but its something to do and fun at that."
"I don't know, I'm not super hands-on like dad was."
The man's eyes lit up with curiosity, "Well he built it but it was mostly for me, wood and metal weren't his forte. That's actually what I came here to show you.", he signaled to his truck outside.
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"Found this while organizing our materials closet in the workshop. Got a bunch of stuff we could sell and your cousin almost put this in the pile.", the man hands him the box.
"What is it?", he starts to pull out journals and looks through.
"They're...your father's"
He looks up, astonished. He was so sure that everything was gone. His father hated pictures, and always thought of keeping souvenirs as 'garbage collecting'.
"He...never told me..."
"That makes two of us. He was adamant about keeping his writing secret. Obviously I knew, but I didn't see him as the type to keep it. When we graduated from high school, first thing he did was take his gown and cap and toss it in the garbage, 'where it belonged'."
He chuckled, "Sounds like him."
The man smiled and watched him excitedly examine each page.
"I gotta run, your cousin's waiting with all that stuff back at home. Let me know if you discover anything."
He sat at the vacant corner of the diner, accompanied only by an untouched mug of coffee and a newspaper. He stared at the seat across, almost as empty as him, so incredibly empty. A gaping hole ran through him. He felt lost. He looked over at the newspaper, littered with red circles. What good was a writer if he was stuck in the copy room, or cleaning the floors of a dojo?
An older man, a bit younger than his father walked into the diner, looking around. The man's eyes met the back of his head and could recognize him with just the shape of his hair whorl.
"Hey," the man sat and sighed out, "How you holdin' up?"
"I've been alright, just started looking for another job."
"The workshop's open to volunteers, we can't pay much but its something to do and fun at that."
"I don't know, I'm not super hands-on like dad was."
The man's eyes lit up with curiosity, "Well he built it but it was mostly for me, wood and metal weren't his forte. That's actually what I came here to show you.", he signaled to his truck outside.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Found this while organizing our materials closet in the workshop. Got a bunch of stuff we could sell and your cousin almost put this in the pile.", the man hands him the box.
"What is it?", he starts to pull out journals and looks through.
"They're...your father's"
He looks up, astonished. He was so sure that everything was gone. His father hated pictures, and always thought of keeping souvenirs as 'garbage collecting'.
"He...never told me..."
"That makes two of us. He was adamant about keeping his writing secret. Obviously I knew, but I didn't see him as the type to keep it. When we graduated from high school, first thing he did was take his gown and cap and toss it in the garbage, 'where it belonged'."
He chuckled, "Sounds like him."
The man smiled and watched him excitedly examine each page.
"I gotta run, your cousin's waiting with all that stuff back at home. Let me know if you discover anything."