Inconstant Moon - Default Font Edition (11 page)

Amelia nods, “Guess she's a fast worker.”

Hanging her bathroom bag on its hook, she shrugs off the purple robe, revealing an equally purple nightgown. Kicking off the clashing slippers, she drapes the robe on her desk chair and climbs into bed, switching on the reading lamp.

“Let's hope it's a one time thing.” Liz suggests hopefully.

“You know it wasn't that bad with Eric slinking around because at least we know him, but I'm not so keen on running into total strangers when I'm wandering around in my jammies.”

Liz nods, “Lets see how it goes.”

“I just hope it doesn't turn into a parade,” replies Amelia as she picks up her book. Thinking, it was a parade when Elsie was with Eric. It's only gonna get worse now she's not.

The LEDs on the alarm clock show 3:00 a.m.

Maggie is laying on her back in bed, staring at the ceiling with red rimmed eyes when she hears her cellphone vibrate on the night table. She grabs it and rolls onto her side to talk into it softly.

“Hey baby. No that's Okay, I was awake. How was it?”

She listens to his stories for a while. Then it's her turn.

“I'm just having a bit of a hard time sleeping.”

She listens, then, “No way, I wasn't worried about you and the strippers.” Maggie listens to him talk a bit, then she says, “Yeah, of course I trust you. I mean you're my guy and all but more important is you know I'd kill you stone dead if you stepped out on me.”

Stuart talks some more, and Maggie giggles. “But it's not gonna be forever. Even if I was there no way would I be going to a stag with you.”

Maggie listens some more, then smiles sadly, “Yeah, I was thinking about her. You know me too well.”

She listens again. Then, “No, she doesn't want anybody to know, but yeah, I told her I'd tell you. You know she's right. If people knew they'd treat her different.” Maggie brushes her eyes.

“Hell, I know I do. I try not to . . . no, not even Katie. Just talk to me . . .” Tears are running silently down Maggie's face. “Yeah, I wish you were here too, babe, 'cause I could sure use a hug.”

Adam sits at the wheel of his car outside the record store. He drums his fingers on the dashboard, waiting impatiently for the store to open.

The problem is that it doesn't even look like there's anyone inside yet. He glances at his watch, then gets out of the car and goes up to the door. White painted letters tell him the hours of operation. The store doesn't even open until ten. That's ridiculous. And people wonder why there's a recession on.

He'll be late for class if he stays and waits.

Ruin his perfect record.

A surge of anger prompts Adam to punch the wall by the door in frustration. The impulse is instantly regretted as skin breaks and pain shoots up his arm.

Clutching skinned knuckles he stuffs his wounded hand into the protection of his armpit. Clenching his teeth he paces back and forth in front of the unhelpful storefront. Eventually the waves of pain subside.

With the pain level dropping to manageable, Adam returns to the car and opens the door with his right hand. He climbs in, being very careful not to injure himself further as he pulls the door closed. Examining his knuckles he notes the scrape will certainly leave bruises. But the skin is only broken in two places.

Adam shakes his head ruefully. What a stupid thing to do.

Reaching under the passenger seat Adam pulls out his first aid kit. A little rubbing alcohol, a couple of Band-Aids, and a few breathing exercises later, he's good as new.

At this point he decides to stay.

Going back for Web Design now will make him miss at least part of Computer Architecture after lunch since he'll have to come back. Better for his schedule if he stays. Some people cut classes all the time. Of course, those people don't have his grade point average. Still, missing half a lecture is hardly going to ruin his life. Maybe it's time he started taking control. Be the master of his own destiny. Adam smiles.

He pulls out his laptop, he could at least do some work from here. While it cycles through the start up Adam waves around his Wi-Fi finder. Not a whiff. He's surprised. Sure, Canada may have terrible connection speeds and some of the worst price gouging in the world, but it's not the UK so there is usually some open Wi-Fi to be had.

Except there does not seem to be any around here. This is the old part of town, and, well, really, this store still calls itself a record store. A thought. Maybe they sell records not CDs. He jumps out of the car and goes to peer in the window. He's relieved to see CDs in there. Still, it is old tech when you get down to it. Maybe they don't even know what Wi-Fi is.

It doesn't look like that bad a neighbourhood.

Just nothing looks very new, maybe that's it. Older businesses run by older people probably. He pulls into a parking spot right in front.

Driving around will turn up something. Settling the computer in the passenger seat he pulls the seat belt around to secure it, then places the Wi-Fi finder on the dashboard. Snapping on his own seat belt he starts the car and drives more downtown, keeping an eye on the finder.

The LED starts to pulse as he nears the library. Something to be said for coming to the library before it opens; good parking anyway.

Adam's watch shows it is only eight thirty. Well. He can at least get some work done anyway while he's waiting.

Maggie is sitting at the games table absently stirring her tea, ostensibly reading the paper when Oscar comes in with a steaming mug of coffee.

“Morning, Miss Maggie.”

“Hey Oz,” she murmurs without looking up.

Oscar settles across from her, taking in the circles under her red rimmed eyes that aren't meeting his.

“Maggie? Have I done something to offend?” he asks.

Maggie looks up, surprised. “Offend? No of course not. Why would you think that?”

“I don't know.” Oscar sighs. “You've been distant, and now you're unhappy to see me, so I'd thought perhaps your Stuart had an objection to our friendship, or some such thing.”

Her eyes are brimming with unshed tears, “Oh Oz, no, nothing like that.  Actually, Stu suggested I talk to you.”

Knowing he's on the wrong page, but it's not so bad as he feared, Oscar nods.   “I'll do whatever I can do to help, Maggs.”

Maggie blows her nose a then takes a fortifying breath. “I thought I could carry it myself but, I just can't. Someone I've been getting close to, am pretty close to, well, this friend is really sick.”

“Sick? How, exactly.”

“Very sick. Very very sick.”

“Oh my god not Katie,” blurts Oscar.

She shakes her head, “No, no. Not Katie, Oz, it's Krystal.”

“What's wrong with Krystal?”

“She has a tumour.”

“Oh, dear lord, I don't know what to say.” He reaches over to squeeze her hand. “This is why you've been so moody?” she nods, not speaking, struggling to get under control.

“It's fine Maggie. Take your time.”

Maggie says, “She was having headaches, and nausea too. But her family only moved here a couple of years ago so they don't have a family doctor. She had to go to a clinic for a referral, and it took a long time before they could get the tests scheduled, and, well, they took too long. The problem is a brain tumour, and it got too big.”

“Too big?” asks Oscar, not quite getting it.

“Too big to take out. What they call inoperable,”

A gasp from behind grabs their attention. Maggie and Oscar turn to see Jake in the doorway, his face slack with shock.

“Oh Maggie.”

Oscar beckons Jake over. “You might as well join us lad. Come on and sit down.”

Jake moves slowly across the room and pulls up a chair. He stares at Maggie, clearly stricken. “Maggie, that can't be right.”

Maggie pushes the cup of tea she's been fiddling with over to Jake. “I'm afraid it is.”

“But Maggie, you don't look, I mean, I'm so sorry.”

Maggie doesn't really know the freshman very well, but his eyes are full of pity. Then she realizes he must only have heard the tail end of the conversation and thinks she's the one dying.

“It's not me, Jake. I'm healthy as a horse, it's a friend of mine who's sick, not me.”

Oscar cocks an eyebrow. “That's what comes of listening at doors, misunderstanding and innuendo. Tsk, tsk.”

Jake starts “I didn't . . .”

Maggie turns to Oscar, “It's not his fault, Oz. Obviously this was not something we should have been discussing in the common room. It's my fault. I wasn't thinking.”

Jake suddenly looks if anything even more upset.

“Oh, Kate! Oh how awful for poor Nick.”

Maggie says, “Stop.” She takes a breath. “Look, it's not my secret, but I see it'll drive you nuts if you don't know.”

Jake says. “It's driving me nuts already.”

“Here's the deal; I will tell you who my unlucky friend is. She doesn't want people to know, she wants to live her life the way she wants. She doesn't want pity. So you don't tell anyone, not your mother, your girlfriend or your priest. Okay?”

Oscar chips in, “It goes no farther, right?”

Both stare intently at Jake who says, “I won't say a word.”

Maggie says, “Okay, then.”

Jake leans in close to hear, Oscar scans the entrances and the upper balcony of the women's part of the Res above, making sure there are no other inadvertent listeners.

Maggie says, softly. “It's Krystal.”

“Krystal.” Jake is stricken. “No way. I mean, oh shit.”

Maggie nods. “You can't tell anybody though.”

“I wouldn't.” Jake shakes his head. “I didn't . . . I mean, I thought she was a bit goth, I never thought she might be sick.”

Oscar stands up, and puts on his sternest face, which surprises them both, since he's usually scattering blarney. He looks different, this burly serious man with smouldering grey eyes.

“So, this is a secret, right?” Oscar's eyes bore into Jake's, who nods fervently. “Just know that if this sad tale makes the rounds whoever spread it will answer to me.”

Maggie appraises Oscar carefully as he crosses surprisingly muscular arms over his broad chest. This is a different Oscar, actually a pretty scary Oscar.

Jake nods, wide eyed. “Yes, Oscar.” and he gets to his feet. “Uh, I've got a class.” Jake can't leave fast enough.

Oscar sits back down. Maggie looks at him, biting her lip, beginning to giggle. Oscar relaxes and laughs along with her.

“Where,” asks Maggie, “did you learn to do scary like that. That was amazing.”

“Count yourself lucky, you've never had the pleasure of my sainted sister.”

Maggie cracks up, a mixture of laughter and tears pour out of her in glorious release.

Ethan walks into the photography lab where Jake sits at a workbench, running a slide show on the large wall mounted flat screen.

It is a series of high contrast macro shots of really surprising things. Ethan's not sure what many of the images actually might be, but all are clean and sharp, yet with a pervasive aura of decay.

Not for the first time Ethan is overawed by young Jake's skill. Talent. genius. Whatever it is, Jake is good.

Ethan slips quietly into a chair by the door so as not to disturb Jake's series of photographs. Now it looks to be shots of some kind of fabric, nicotine yellow with a loose weave, maybe antique lace because it looks like it's crumbling to dust. Then there are images of some kind of fungal growth on what might be tree bark with an almost luminescent undertone to the lighting.

But the images that speak to Ethan are a series of metal connectors, ball bearings, and what he thinks might be the links of a bicycle chain. His favourite is a low angle shot of a rusted out bolt protruding from some kind of sheet metal.

What makes the image so interesting to Ethan is the refracted halo of light from above. Ethan's not sure if the light is the sun or a clever lighting effect.

The screen goes black and Ethan asks, “Are they natural or have you been dipping into Photoshop?”

“Straight up, Ethan. I'm a purist. I don't do Photoshop.”

“That's cool. They're really good Jake.” Jake looks a little uncomfortable under the praise, so Ethan continues, “You're probably wondering why I've called you here today.”

Jake nods, “What's on the agenda?”

“Professor Mol wants a slide show that can run during the Christmas party. You know, kind of a year book effect.”

“Taking portraits of everybody? Not my kind of thing.”

“That's not what she's looking for, Jake, she specifically said she doesn't want formal portraits. She wants a vérité kind of look and she liked my idea of a mix of sources. You know, web cam shots, cell pics, black and white, out of focus, blurry stuff, whatever. She said we should be canvassing the whole student population for contributions of their favourite candid shots of their friends.”

Jake smiles as he thinks about it. “Sounds like a monster amount of work. But you know, it might be fun, but we'll need heaps of storage. More hands too.”

Ethan flips open his laptop and logs into the Christie Photography Student wiki. Logging in under his Teaching Assistant account he starts a new page called 'Candid Submissions,'and says, “How about this, then. People can upload their candids here then we can go though and pull the cream and assemble it all into a mammoth slide show. That's gonna be the gruelling part.”

“Well, yeah, but first you've gotta get everybody's attention. Paper the campus with flyers, maybe make a Facebook fan page?”

Jake asks, “So what do we wanna say in our flyer?”

“How about ‘We Want Your Pictures’.”

“Too boring, Ethan. How about: 'Star Quality'”

“Okay.” Ethan nods, “Better. You have any ideas about people we can dragoon into helping? How about Q?”

Jake rolls his eyes. “I know he's your friend and all, but Q doesn't seem to be straight very often. We'd be a lot better off with Boris.”

“Okay, yeah. And Natasha.”

Jake watches for Ethan's reaction as he adds, “And Liz too.”

“Um.” Noncommittal, Ethan looks away. “I don't think so.”