Keeper

Chapter 51

That night I dreamt of a world where there were no such things as soul mates, where a little charm worn around your neck was only seen as jewelry.  It was all strange, honestly—odd, very odd.  I couldn't tell if the realm came off as a sort of distopia or a bizarre kind of wonderland.

That morning a thought struck me . . . would I even know who Harry really is if he hadn't noticed my pendant?  It made me think.  Would he still just be the guy with the bad reputation?  The guy that went to jail?  Would I ever know why?  And would I know Sawyer?  Or would he just be the tall water-boy on the football team I saw once or twice at the last game?  And then I decided on an answer: of course I wouldn’t.  Everything would be different.  And I continue to think.  It’s all I know how to do.  Think.  I think about everything: the day, the month, the year.  I think about the existence of human beings and how our number can basically grow and diminish within the single blink of an eye.  And I think about the world.  I think about it’s disfunction, it’s atrocities, it’s neglect, it’s beauty.  Then I think . . . what is even is beauty?  All in the eye of the beholder, I suppose.  But then I think—what if this said beholder happens to be blind?  Would the Harry in my dream still like me even though our charms seize to exist? Would Sawyer?

I inadvertently changed the channel of the T.V. to some science fiction movie about a rhinoceros with elite perseverance and an undying desire for the raw flesh of attractive people.  Not really my ideal concept of a Saturday night, but nonetheless I don’t budge from my spot on the sofa until I hear my mother unlock the front door.

“What are you watching?” She asked from behind me, her presence clear as she stood by the very back of the couch.  She leaned over.

 “Just some horror movie based around a rhino,” I said.  Everything becomes quiet for a minute so I decide to elaborate.  “You know, a rhinoceros; the grandiose hoofed species of mammal.”

 "I know,"  She laughed.  "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah of course I am," I said, sitting up straighter on the chair made of a thick fluff.  I struggled to get comfortable.  "Why'd you ask?"

"You don't seem alright," She says.  "Last time you ever actually did something in the living room, you we're maybe thirteen years old.  You and your friend, Layla, got in to this little nasty fight.  There were tears.  I bet you remember it, but, you wouldn't be down here if something wasn't up.  I almost know that for a fact.  So what is it, huh?  What's eating you up inside?"

“You know how you and dad aren’t soul mates?” I asked.  She nodded without hesitance.  “Do you ever like—wish you would’a?”

 “Would of what?” asked my mother.

 “Met your soul mate instead.” I answered, my voice soft.  She nods, but then quickly switches to shaking her head.

 “No,” she answered, no subtleness in her voice whatsoever.  “No, I never wish that.”

 “You never think about it?”

 “Well, of course I’ve thought about it,” she said.  “But that’s it, they're just thoughts.”   She then proceeded to narrow her eyes at me, though her gaze never met the terms of intimidation.  "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," I said, my voice a mere whisper.  I looked down at my hands.  "Curiosity's just got a hold on me."

By weekend’s peak my mind was fried; cooked; sautéed—each one fitted the situation with great depth.  The information I had received just days before pecked at my brain until it felt like almost nothing was left over.  I was almost positive that there was nothing that remained.  My thoughts went devoid and it took my conscious along with it.  Friday night I had tried reading a new book, one I had picked up at a small yard sale I had been to nearly a year before, but somehow I couldn't get the words to register past my eyes.  I would get to the first line, blink, forget everything.  Repeat the sentence—forget it again.  They just wouldn't click in my head.  I would put down the book, and then pick it up again.  Grab a glass of water, come back and try again.  I tried again and again and again but all I could think about was—Harry has a twin.  A twin brother.  The whole thing is honestly unfathomable—why had he never brought it up?  Why hadn't he tell me there were three of our pendants out there, an extra just floating around?