Syllables

Sunset Conversations

It was a mild summer day and the sun had just set behind the pink, red, yellow and white blossoms when the unbelievably optimistic lad and I stepped through the back door outside into the Butlers's rosarium. Stripes in warm colors were painted all over the sky and even I had to admit this was a beautiful scenery.

"Now that hell has expelled us two sinners, what happens to be the name of my fortunate companion?"

I ignored the obvious brashness of his phrasing, though the weird feeling that this was slightly lifting my mood remained. "Scott. Well, Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald to be precise, but only mother calls me Francis and I could defenestrate her every single time. Now, what about the annoying optimist next to me?"

With a wide smile, the annoying optimist replied: "See? I knew I would succeed in trying to remove your veil of dark thoughts. I'm Ernie, fifty-eighth son and thirtieth Ernest of the Hemingway family."

My eyes widened. "Fifty-eighth?!"

Ernie laughed. "Nope, only third. I'm still the youngest one, though, and there really were 29 Ernest's in the recorded history of our bloodline. My brothers both went off to build a career over in New York, and my parents like to have their peace and tranquility, so I thought I'd visit good old Zelda in St. Paul."

"Saint Paul! That's where I live! Are you and this Zelda... like..."

Shrugging, he sat down on a bench enclosed by a bed of roses, yellow, petite specimens. "Engaged? A couple? No, never. She's just an old friend of mine, we grew up in the same hometown in Illinois and I have known each other forever. You'd like her. Anyhow, Scott - or do I have to say Mr. Fitzgerald? I'm bad at being formal - what does someone like you do for a living?"

Ouch. Now the time had come. He'd leave. "Not... really... anything at the moment. However, I have ambitions to start writing professionally...", I was quick to add in order not to look too lazy and careerless. Well, I was careerless.

Despite my hopes (and, frankly, concerns), Ernie didn't leave. "I'm in exactly the same position, believe me. I've started millions of stories but didn't have enough motivation to stay hooked to a project."

I leaned back, enjoying this situation maybe just a little too much - I mean, this was a party, and yet I was sitting here with this near-stranger watching the sun go down and actually having a good time. This wasn't the typical down Scott I knew myself as.

But sometimes, we aren't the people that know ourselves best. I noticed that when Ernie said "You know, you're not as bad of a person as you think you are. I think you're just misunderstood." out of the blue. It was like this guy had put into words an emotion I've felt for a long time, but I hadn't been able to describe it before.

Scott, stop this, you barely know that person, I told myself. He could be anyone... anything, including a mass murderer. Deep down I knew that this most likely wasn't the case, but still I decided to dismiss this awkwardly intimate comment with a joke.

"You know, that's what H H Holmes, the psychopath and serial killer with the murder hotel at the times of the world fair in Chicago, said about himself before they hanged him."

It seemed to work; the philosophical look disappeared from Earnie's eyes and he broke out in laughter once again. This man clearly had too much happiness in him.

"Back to our pessimistic mood, are we, young dandy?", he asked jokingly before continuing: "It is apparent that neither of us has managed to assemble a complete book, so there's an idea: we could just cooperate on one. Chances are we'll finally finish this one and get our career started."

Still sort of flabbergasted by the fact I was actually talking to someone, I considered his suggestion. I suppose it made sense - and after all, what did I have to lose? "That sounds like a plausible idea, I guess."

Ernie grinned. "Great. My friend's address is 26 Hill Street, so I'd appreciate you stopping by some time this week. We can get started on that then. I'll be in Minnesota until the end of September (A/N: Wake me up when September ends... ok ignore me) before I go back to Illinois, that should be enough time."

His eyes had a dreamy expression, like he was happy and yet a little sad at the same time. I wondered what he was thinking about, but didn't ask. Some things you better keep for yourself sometimes.

Our conversation was interrupted when my mother came stumbling out of the building. She was obviously not just a bit drunk, as both her smell and her pronunciation testified.

"Francie, - hiccup - your dad wansa leave. We better - hiccup - do as he says or tom'rrow will be a boring - hiccup - nigh'." She giggled childishly.

I sighed, getting up. "No details please, thank you."

Ernie gave me an amused look before I followed mother through the building back to our car, where father was waiting.

When the car slowly started moving, mother asked me: "And who - hiccup - was that genleman back there?"

It was almost dark now. I watched the faint silhouettes of alder trees fly by.

"I think I may actually have made a friend."