Always Be Near
His evening wasn't soundless; other than finding himself, his mother, and his father in an entirely different apartment, forgetting they moved; Chris awoke, boxes still in the corner of his new bedroom, to the sound of his mother knocking at his door. Asleep only for an hour, his phone showing eight-thirty. Outside the window, the road below is heard, with many trucks and cars passing. He stepped heavily to the door and opened it to find his mother and father dressed; his room was darker, as the light in the small hall lit the back of his father's grey hair. Since his parents skipped breakfast and lunch to finish moving, they asked if he was still up to eating dinner with them. Smiling lazily, I guess something wouldn't hurt, he thought. “I'm alright,” he said, hoping his dragging voice didn't sound mean. “But, do you think to get me -,” Then he stopped. He figured if he asked anything his father would instruct him to get ready. Chris, afraid, then said, “Actually, today was a long day, I'll just sleep.” Then added, “Have a good time though.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” his mother said proudly. His father remains quiet.
His parents then nodded and walked towards the front door. However, before Chris could close his door to get back to bed, his father said strictly in a whisper, “I should've asked him to at least unpack his boxes…,” and closed the front door.
Back to his bed, sitting, a feeling of liberty faded. The boxes in the corner looked at him harshly in the dark, revealing an uneasy anxiety. Someone on the road then honked, as the yelling suggested they, too, had important duties to attend to.
Chris, 16 years old, only helped carry, using a dolly, seven large pieces of furniture up the entrance of their new apartment and towards the elevators, yesterday afternoon. During that time, after nearly grabbing everything from the living room of their previous house, he found available time to transfer his clothes, boxes, and cubby drawers for his wooden cabinet, make his way up the elevators, and set it in his new room. A whole activity in itself; his father, rarely quiet while instructing Chris and his mother.
Once his parents no longer needed help to carry the furniture, instead small pieces like DVDs or plants for the table, Chris thought taking a nap and watching movies on his phone would suffice as a reward to himself. To get used to the place - settling in, he said to his mother.
Looking over at his phone, eight-thirty-five, he unpacked two boxes out of three and folded them neatly. He took them down the elevators and down the hall to dump them outside and walk back in. I think the dumpsters are downstairs: my dad would be happy if I told them where it is. I wonder if Trevor is awake, he then thinks and clicks the seventh floor to go to apartment 7C.
Trevor was two years older than Chris and had lived in the apartment for three years. Meeting in the elevators, while Chris helped carry his father's boxes, they exchanged profiles, and Trevor invited him to come over as soon as possible. Since today was Friday, perhaps, Chris thought, walking out of the elevator, I could ask to sleep over at his place next weekend. It's been a while since I generally talked to someone as young as me.
He hesitated before knocking on 7C, and hearing footsteps coming to the door; a mat, saying, ‘welcome home’, laid in front. The door opened and Trevor was holding his phone. A blue hue covered his face since his apartment lost power. “I just saw your text,” Trevor said, smiling softly. “Come inside; I'm not gonna be surprised if our power stays out for another week.”
Chris followed Trevor to the living room as fake candles lit on the shelves near the door, revealing standard family portraits and books. I need to get back to reading at some point, Chris thought, I don’t know how well I can now. Some candles sat on a table, and some near smaller tables by a couch. Of course, he noticed the place layouts looked exactly like their own, as everyone's apartment had the same hall going to two bedrooms, the kitchen on the left, and the large balcony facing towards the front door. “Where are your parents?” Trevor asked. He disappeared in the dark left of Chris and opened a fridge to bring out two cans of coke.
“They went to go eat somewhere, I didn't feel like going,” Chris said. He was glad to not stumble on his words. Trevor then handed Chris his can. Unsure how to appear in front of Trevor, Chris stood against the living room wall. “I tried going,” he then said, as though he needed to explain himself, “I could already predict he's going to say something about how I eat.” Did I need to tell him that, Chris thought anxiously. He followed as Trevor gestured towards the small diner table; Chris’ parents owned one that was dark brown while Trevor’s was black. They sit down, and at the same time take sips from their can. “So I'm guessing you're still hungry?”
“I guess. But I'm fine,” Chris said.
“Are you sure? I happen to have some leftovers. I think my father would be okay if you ate his food from last night,” Trevor said. “I could warm it up.”
“It doesn’t matter. It's cool,” Chris said. He looked over at the shelf by a TV, holding DVDs and books: this one was made out of plastic and metal, while theirs was wood. He saw some literature classics and felt injustice on himself.
“You can take some; my dad insisted he’s watched all of them,” Trevor said. He puts down his coke and gets up and walks over to the shelf. Chris thought about asking, ‘What about the books?’ but instead said, “Your dad is here?”
“No, he’s at work. But I told him you were coming over. He said it was fine,” Trevor said. He pulled one DVD case out, looked at it as though recalling memories, and shoved it back with the rest. Then, with a thought, fearing if he said it it would be too harsh, “I wish my dad let people come over,” Chris said, surprised at himself.
“Yeah,” was all Trevor could say. He turned back around, remembering he still had coke left in his can and went to the couch. “You could have that whole bottom section.”
“Won't your father -”
“It's fine,” Trevor began, “Those DVDS belonged to my mom. My dad is just trying to get rid of some stuff - free up some space, you know.”
“Oh. I guess I’ll take a few,” Chris said. Then with his can, “but later,” he said, and took another sip; Trevor nodded and followed Chris' example.
There was a strange mourning Chris recognized. He tried to connect this feeling with something familiar and found only his father amid his memories. Like the time he tried to teach him how to drive, how horrible it became after two days with his yelling; or when his mother would leave the room, when his father lectured him on his grades, his competence, and attendance at school. And even if, though he mastered whenever his father was triggered by some impulse to lecture - even if he, perhaps, was used to the feeling of this - looking over at the DVDs - there came moments on how, someone like Trevor, can so easily ask someone to come over, without hesitation if anyone in the house could disagree. And questioned if freedom like that was right. “I’ve wanted to ask you something?” Chris said.
“Hm?” Trevor said, already putting his can down. After swallowing, “Ask away.”
“I wanted to ask if it’s okay if I come over again. Maybe sometime this weekend?”
Trevor looked over at the DVDs, then at the front door. “I guess that would be okay, but I’ll have to let my dad know first.”
“Cool,” Chris said awkwardly. Horribly, he tried taking another sip of his coke, but realized there was no more to drink. “I guess I should get back. My dad always wants me to be near.”
Trevor giggles: “But you are near.”
“Not near enough,” Chris said. He threw away his can, searching his way through the darkness of the kitchen, and came back to look at what DVDs to take. He tried to gather the courage to ask about the books but failed to speak the words.
He grabbed a few DVDs and said, “I’ll come back later and come grab some more, but this will do.”
“Wonderful,” Trevor said. He leads Chris down the hall and towards the door, opens it, and lets Chris scoot his way, then closes it after saying, “Good night.”
Chris walked to the elevator, holding several cases of movies. He pressed the button quickly and jumped in once the elevator opened. Once the doors open again, he runs out and down the hall of the second floor, and walks into his apartment, fearing his parents are already on their way home. He goes into his room and hides the DVDs under his bed. I’ll just say I borrowed them from school, Chris thought, and went to the last box in the corner of his room, emptied it, and quickly walked out of his room to dump the box in the dumpster. I should’ve asked if I could have some of those books instead of the DVDs - but they're probably his, he thought depressingly.
