Chapter 4
Arax
“Call me when you land, okay?” Daniel hugged me at the curb and handed me my wheelie. “I wish I were coming with you.”
“It’s only two days. I’ll be okay.” I smiled at him.
“I know, but I feel bad that you’re going to be alone.”
I knew he meant well, but like I had said to Daniel before, I needed the catharsis of being by myself when I did this. I bid him farewell and, after checking in, walked straight to the gate.
The flight was easy, and I arrived with plenty of time to stop by the motel to freshen up and put my things down.
I spent the rest of the day visiting some of my old hangouts.
I’d grown up here, so I had many memories.
Most of them were great and some of them were harrowing, but today it was the latter that was plaguing my thoughts as I walked along the familiar roads.
I turned a corner, feeling the crunch of freshly fallen snow underfoot.
I didn’t have to think too hard about the next destination.
My legs knew the way on their own. A large Craftsman-style home came into view, the last one in the row of custom houses.
It had been, at one point in my life, my favorite place in the world.
The dark-brown wood stood out in contrast against the whiteness of the snow.
The warm, orange-tinted windows glowed, burning brightly.
It was this particular feature I’d loved the most as a kid, coming home from school on a blustery day.
Just seeing the sight took away the coldness, even now.
My father had built this home for us himself.
I’d always felt his presence throughout it, even after he was gone.
There was a new family living there, making their own memories, while I was haunted by mine. I stood for a few moments in front of my former home before it became too depressing, and I had to turn away. It was hard coming back, but I needed to one last time, to say good-bye.
I grabbed a bite to eat, then made my way back to the motel to turn in for the evening.
I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned the entire night. I was restless, my anxiety about the following day at its height. I finally drifted off when the sun was rising, and I remember catching the golden hue of the rays just as my eyes closed.
The first of my bad dreams visited me on this day.
I woke up blinded by the light, the images from my nightmare still with me, so real they made me too afraid to move.
Slowly I trailed my eyes from one side of the room to the next.
The bare walls of the cheap motel had never looked so comforting.
I was safe. Safe to move… safe to breathe again.
I swallowed, but the sides of my mouth felt like sandpaper, scraping together as though an obstructed scream had dried up in my throat.
I didn’t want to think of it. The dream had been more horrifying than anything I had ever seen.
I’d never thought my imagination could conjure such atrocities.
I tried to put it out of my mind because I knew if I thought too long about it, the smell of bodies being burned alive would resurface.
I had felt their pain… their fear. The helplessness was a feeling I did not ever want to relive.
I got dressed and packed my things. I dropped my wheelie off at the reception desk of the funeral home.
Taking the urn carefully out of my bag, I found my family’s niche.
It was surreal to think I had no one left, and when I placed the urn next to the one with my father’s ashes, the truth made my heart immeasurably heavy.
The air inside the mausoleum was freezing. My fingers shook from the cold as I traced them over the etched names.
Arman Andranik Arevin. My rock… the man who made me feel like I could accomplish anything and everything I desired. He had been the best father and husband anyone could ever have. It had been almost ten years since I’d lost him, but his death still stung like it had happened yesterday.
Aylar Arta Arevin. Hers had been recently added, and my fingers retraced her name over and over. I had always had a rocky relationship with my mom, but I had held out for hope that one day we could find our common ground. Now that she was gone, she had taken the hope with her.
I got to the last name carved into the stone, and the weight in my heart increased tenfold.
Andranik Artaban Arevin. My twin brother.
Five years ago, he had gone out with some friends and never came home.
The loss of him had been a turning of the tide.
It had effectively saved me from myself, but to not know what had truly happened to him seemed too high a price to pay for my own salvation.
The deaths of my parents had been hard, and even though my mother’s was still fresh in my mind, the wounds they created were clean, scabbed over but healed.
Andy’s disappearance had been a bloody abscess, necrotic and infected.
While it, too, had since healed, the mark it left was ugly and visible, forever a reminder of a loss without the promise of closure.
I stood in front of the niche for a while longer and sighed deeply.
Two urns to three names. I was the last of the Arevins.
I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it refused to go down.
My tears were icy, stinging my cheeks as they fell.
The doors of the mausoleum opening brought with them a chill from the outside.
Three people walked in, bundled up in scarves and hats from the cold.
Their clothes were covered in a fine white dust. Droplets trickled down their sunglasses, indicating it had started to snow pretty heavily.
I was no longer alone and decided to brave the weather by taking a walk to clear my head.
I hurried by the trio and overheard the woman’s youthful voice call after me.
“Just so you know, it’s really starting to come down. My brother almost took a spill.”
I turned toward her and saw she was pointing at a younger man, who was walking with a cane.
I started to thank her, but the look on my face must have given me away.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” the older gentleman said to me sympathetically.
Instead I nodded at the simple gesture and smiled at the three before continuing on my way.
The cemetery was peaceful. Even though I was surrounded by death, there was a stillness I enjoyed. I walked for a while, taking in the calm before I grabbed my wheelie and waited on a bench for my rideshare. I was going straight to the airport. My visit was coming to an end.
Despite the emotional stress of the past week, I was excited to see Gwen. My original plan had been to fly down to LA and spend a few days sightseeing with her after her audition. Obviously those plans had changed. I’d be on a flight back to Spruce Grove later that night.
I was meeting Gwen at a small café right next to the Philharmonic, and I sat outside, facing the street.
No snow came to this part of Southern California, not even a drop of rain.
Grand Avenue was always bustling. Tourists, constant construction, and the infamous LA traffic all added to the high-energy feel of the city, which was the complete opposite of the humdrum day-to-day of Spruce Grove.
None of these elements, however, could drown out the high-speed train that was Gwen Seeley.
She squealed like a little girl when she saw me—her blonde hair flying, her big brown eyes full of laughter.
She was tiny, but she hugged me with the strength of ten men.
Gwen was the younger sister I’d never had.
Despite being twenty-one with an old soul, she was still excited by everything.
I think that was why I gravitated toward her and Daniel.
They matched my cynicism with their optimism.
Where I was low-key, they were outgoing.
I could still be boring and jaded, and they brought out my fun side.
We made a good threesome, of the non-sexual variety, and when Gwen moved away, we had cheered with her on her journey to bigger and better prospects.
In fact, to do so was an unspoken pact between the three of us.
She was attending CalArts, the best school out here for emerging artists.
I may have had something to do with this decision as well, leaving brochures in and around my music school when Gwen would come in for her lessons.
She had been accepted on scholarship. I’d constantly checked websites for opportunities to put her talents to use, and when I saw that the Philharmonic was holding open auditions for a first-chair violinist, I couldn’t hold back.
I submitted her. Gwen’s parents had never encouraged her to reach for the stars.
In fact, they had blamed me for, as they put it, the loss of their daughter.
I didn’t care. As someone whose father had always encouraged his children, I felt like I owed it to him to be to Gwen what he was to me: her number-one fan.
She was flourishing, and it showed in her smile and the light in her eyes.
Neither of which, however, were currently present.
Her hand trembled as she lifted her teacup to take a drink.
“Rox, I’m so glad you’re here! I’ve been so nervous! I just want this shit over with so we can get drunk right after!”
I grinned at her best laid plans. “Is your violin in tune?”
“Yup.”
“Bow is still in good shape?”
“Yup.”
“And you’ve been practicing?” I asked. “Not that you need it. You were born for this.”
She gave me a toothy smile. “I practiced the pieces this morning as a refresher.”
She was going to perform what were considered three of the most difficult pieces ever composed for the violin: Caprice No. 23 by Locatelli, Caprice No. 24 by Paganini, and Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto, the third movement.
“That’s it? That’s the only practicing you’ve done?”
She chuckled and blushed into her tea. “Yup.”
“Bite me, Gwen.” The girl was a genius. Where my talent came from hard work and countless hours of practice, hers came from just being her. I was jealous but proud. Gwen was as humble as they came, which only made me want to see her succeed even more.
She looked at her watch. “Fuck, we should go.”
I grabbed her violin case along with my wheelie, and we walked to the entrance of the Philharmonic.
“I’ll hang out here until it’s over, okay?
” I said when we walked inside the music center.
“I’ll get you good and drunk after.” I was joking, but then I got serious.
“Gwyneth, I wasn’t exaggerating earlier.
This is your calling. You know that already, but…
” I paused for emphasis. “It’s only one audition for one place, okay? No matter what happens.”
She nodded and smiled. “I know, and it’s why I needed you here, Rox. You’ve always made me feel like I can do anything.”
“Because you can,” I replied.
She gave me a quick hug and took her case from me, waved, and went inside the auditorium, where I was not allowed.
I tried my best not to let my thoughts go to a dark place while I waited. I had an unending number of days for that. I wanted to enjoy the little time I had with Gwen.
I heard the click of the doors and shot up from my seat. I waited for a few seconds, and when no one came out, I got a little anxious. “Gwen?”
Out of nowhere, a slight figure crashed into me with the momentum of a city bus.
“I got it! Rox, I fucking got it!”
My mouth dropped open and stayed that way until my gums started to dry out. “H-how?” I stammered, swallowing a few times. I knew Gwen was good, but I had not expected her to get an answer straightaway.
“They stopped me halfway thru Tchaikovsky and offered it to me! I thought they were going to very politely tell me to fuck off, but no!” She stared at me, and I realized her eyes had filled with tears.
“Gwennie,” I whispered. “Congratu-fucking-lations!”
She started bawling, hard.
“You really wanted this, huh?” I asked, putting an arm around her.
“More than I thought,” she replied between hiccups. “It hit me right as I walked in. I almost puked.”
I laughed out loud. “Save the puking for later. Where do you want to go celebrate?”
“Perch!” she replied instantly. “It’s a rooftop bar! It’s fancy, but I’m highbrow now, you know?”
I laughed again.
“Yes you are. Thank you for hanging out with us commoners.”
“Why aren’t you drinking?” Gwen asked while slurping down her third pina colada. At this point, I was less worried about her getting drunk and more about her going into a diabetic coma with all the sugar and alcohol she was consuming.
“I am,” I answered, tipping my whiskey in her direction.
“That’s still your first drink!” she shouted and eyed me suspiciously. “Plus, you’ve been wheeling around your suitcase all day like a homeless person. What’s up?”
I sighed. I had hoped that between her nervousness and excitement, the little details would escape her. “I’m on a flight back tonight,” I mumbled.
“What?” Gwen yelled, loud enough that people twenty stories below in the streets could hear.
“Dude, chill,” I said, a little embarrassed.
“I will not fucking chill,” she replied indignantly. “You’re leaving tonight? Why?”
“I had something come up, but I wanted to make sure I saw you.”
“Let me guess, that asshole Spencer,” she said, disgusted. Like Daniel, she also despised my now ex. Unlike me, she had grown up in Spruce Grove, and Spencer, being a local celebrity because of his sheriff dad, made him well-known to everyone.
“No, actually. Not him,” I answered.
“Then what? Why are you leaving me so soon?” She stared me down with so much anger, but it was the disappointment behind her eyes that made me break.
“My mom passed about a week ago.”
Her eyes went as wide as saucers. “Rox, no! Did she get sick?”
“No,” I replied. “Stroke. It was pretty quick.”
“I’m so sorry, Arax. I’m such an jerk.”
“No you’re not. You didn’t know,” I replied.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I can’t believe you came down anyway!”
“This was important! And still is. It’s a big deal.”
“I know, but…”
“Listen, tonight wasn’t supposed to be about me. I have plenty of time to think about everything when I get back. I needed you to have a clear head. It’s why I didn’t tell you, and it’s why I’m here, okay?”
Gwen closed her eyes and nodded. “When do you have to leave?”
“In a few hours.”
“Well then, let’s drink to your mom and to me, and try to make the best of it,” she said brightly.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said, clinking my nearly full glass with her empty one.