The Eyes of September

Part One: Caged: The End

Esau - the bully

Judah had talked him into it. Following the night at youth shelter he had been an unshakable parasite, popping up in the dorms and dining halls, following Mirrin to work, coaxing, conniving. Esau had had enough.

He planned on cornering him about it until he had an argument with his parents that demoted his previous troubles. His father, for reasons unknown, had called to check into his progress at college. Esau told him to pay my bills and stay out of my life and things had become unhinged. The insults were not new - problem student, trouble-maker, bully - but the maliciousness his father said them with was, as if over the course of that one phone call he could extract his revenge for years of failed parenting.

Following this his mother had called. Willing, eager, anxious to make amends. He doesn't mean it, darling. Lies. She was always defending, never conceding.

Esau hadn't wanted much from his parents. Just an apology, and maybe a curt I love you. Over the course of his entire life they had said it far more to his brother, and to his dead little sister, than they had ever granted it to him.

Striding across the greens on his way to the business building, he felt his phone vibrate. He clenched his hand tighter around it. At times - times like this - he wished he could shatter it, feel the intricate gears and wires snap under pressure. But he couldn't. With a grunt that became, from his throat to his mouth, a snarl, he brought the phone to his mouth and said:

"Don't call me."

"Is that," Judah said, crooning, "any way to talk to a former best friend?"

"Shut up. You don't call me, either."

"Wait - don't hang up, please, please -"

In the shade of the marble columns, Esau stopped. Students stemmed from the half-open doors; the hallways beyond were dim, insulated, and cool. The grass was yellow-green and all the windows on the first floor were cracked open. Murmurs, debates, floated around his ears.

On another day, it would have calmed him, tempered his rising pulse. But he had his father and his mother and student loans, and financial responsibilities, all resting on top his shoulders, one boulder on another until the load became a column. He slid his phone closer to his mouth. If he was going in late, he would need to have his books out, his mind ready - even if his thoughts were far, far away from Finance 101.

Sliding the brown-backed textbook out of his bag, he said: "Why shouldn't I hang up? Why do I need to help you? I got you a night at the shelter. One night more than one, which was more than I said, and if that was really why you contacted me -"

"Well," Judah said, "it was. And it wasn't. But it was. Can I explain? Um, are you, on your way to class? Or studying, or whatever?"

Esau squeezed the fingers of his left hand together. His skin went red; color burst back into his fingertips when he released them. "I have class."

"After class?"

"Look," he said, "is this some stupid question?"

"Ah, no. Nope. This is actually...important."

"Drexel Park. Three o'clock. You're late; I'm leaving."

Two hours later, after a long - and mindless - session of math figures and useless explanations, he emerged into the sunlight once again and started off towards the park. On the corner of 32nd Street and Powelton Avenue, it flanked a neighboring university; it was a greater walking distance than he would have liked, given that his legs were cramping and his temples were throbbing, but he wanted Judah a suitable distance away from the life he had developed for himself.