For the third time, I stare at the clock, hanging on my office wall. I was trying to be patient—waiting for the last few minutes of my shift to wrap up. It felt like it was getting longer with each minute.
I was in the last meeting of the day. Today there were four. All of them have revolved around the discussion of a new project that's been in the air. Something that a guy named Mitch Gordon was doing. It's said to be one of the biggest up-and-coming projects Pittsburgh has seen in years.
It sounds like something special, but it's also disclosed for now. That helps me in no way though, since it's probably going to be offered my way.
I don't mind being a part of something big. Especially if it helps others. I just hate when I feel like my creative thought process or ideas aren't working. Or maybe just not meshing with others. It's always 'too much' or 'not enough'. It beginning to feel unfulfilling. I'm only good for my ability to sculpt and draw these crazy buildings. It feels useless.
The meeting involved Parker, Trinity, and Bennett. Parker and I have worked together here for years now. I wouldn't consider us like best friends, but he certainly is a close one. We do a lot of traveling together. Plus he coordinates a lot of our meetings, delivering information.
Trinity isn't new but hasn't been here as long. She's sweet, I think. The thing is, she mostly serves as office eye candy, and I'm pretty sure she's sleeping with a few of our co-workers. There's no way all these men love her that much in such a power-dominated building.
Everyone thrives off of who has to best ideas, connections, and position in the hierarchy. For a woman to be that high in the field is nothing surprising to me. Men are idiots. I would know. But when a woman is of that intelligence, it becomes a problem usually. Not for Trinity though.
Then there's Bennett. He's probably my least favorite. He loves scamming and wrapping you into plans that aren't that well thought out. I sometimes wonder how he got this job. He's also new. Really new.
We also were focused on a project that I call 'Esplanade'. What it is, is a sustainable development project that will be built over nearly fifteen acres of land. It even sits on the river so we can add something similar to a boardwalk. I brainstormed the idea while in the area a while ago, seeing a hockey game.
"So, we can pick this back up next week?" Parker asks all of us.
"That's fine." Trinity nods.
"Yup," Bennett adds.
Everyone looked at me through the laptop screen as I fumbled with my tie.
"Silas," Parker says.
My head snaps up as I nod, "Oh yeah, sure. Next week."
Everyone begins to say goodbye. All I could think of was ending the call as fast as possible. The problem with the Esplanade project is that they feel it should coincide with all of these business people. People who have wealth already. I just don't believe in that.
Why not build a new community from the bottom up? One where people can commune, bond, and achieve their daily tasks without worry. Not some big shot taxing them thousands or crime every single day on each corner. It can provide new opportunities for lower-class people.
But that would be too hard apparently.
I shut my laptop before standing up and collecting a few papers. I pick up my briefcase bag, put them in, and then add my laptop before shutting it.
I then make sure I have everything before turning the lights off, locking my door, and making my way out to my car. I usually rush at this point. Praying for minimal conversation if any at all, while I make a dash for it.
It was nearing eight o'clock and I still had plans. The gym.
I had gone into work early, so getting any kind of workout in was unrealistic. But I figured I would try to at least get some of my frustration out on a punching bag for a little while until Cree closes up. It wasn't a long drive. And I decided I would change in the gym quickly since I brought my duffle bag.
When I got there, Cree was in his office, looking busy with paperwork of some sort. I let him be and got my station set up so I could do my thing. Think and let go.
The past few weeks have been like a fever dream for me. First Vera ghosted me. Then my mom confesses she has cancer. And I feel stuck working at and lying about this self-deprecating, fake pro-civility I call a job isn't repulsive.
I can't get my mom outta my brain. I'm constantly connected to the thought of her. My mind keeps going back to that day in her kitchen when she told us. I think my soul just kinda stayed there in time because the emptiness is becoming extremely intense.
I miss Vera. I wish I wasn't alone. Someone to comfort me. Relate to me. I want that from her.
The studio's silence was loud. My grunts and fists jabbing the bag were the only things causing any kind of ruckus. I can never punch hard enough when I'm upset. I dunno if I'm mad or hurt. Both? I'm scared to. Maybe I'm everything and all of it, all at once.
My mouth closes as I use my nostrils for all of my air circulation, throwing my fists harder now. Pretending it was all of my problems, wrapped up into one giant, stuffed dummy. I was getting head high, feeling my blood rush to my ears now.
"Yo, Silas! Chill, the bag isn't going anywhere!" Cree's voice echoed through the studio as he grabbed my arm.
I wasn't expecting his presence at all, and my nerves were already shot. It's not like he would know, but you can't scare someone who's currently rage-punching an object. I mean, it's just common sense. Turning my body around, my arm swings back, flying toward Cree. He ducks his body quickly before stopping me completely.
"Hey. Chill. What's going on, you can't announce yourself?" he scoffs, jokingly.
My chest repeatedly rises as I drop my arms, finally breathing out completely.
He raises his eyebrows, looking at me harder now, "You good?"
"Yeah. I'm fine." I say, using my arm to wipe my face and mouth of sweat, turning and walking to the bench to sit down.
"So what made you come here at nine at night then? Cause this is pretty late for you, of all people," he questions me, chuckling.
Plopping down, I rest my head in my hands, "I'm fine. I'm just tired." I bristle, finding it hard to be calm now, "I just wanted to blow off some steam."
I could hear him walking over, and soon, I could see his shoes standing in front of me, fixing to sit down beside me. He sighs.
"Not to be a nosy ass, but uh—that sounded like a little more than tired," he suggests, patting my back.
"Sorry, I'm not exactly good at explaining my feelings." I quietly confess.
"Don't apologize to me. You just look like you need to vent," he says.
My hands drop, resting my elbows on my legs as I hang my head, "How does one find peace?" I ask him, quieting my voice.
We both say in silence for a few seconds while I'm assuming he looks for the answer. Although I wasn't expecting him to have an answer. I guess it was a rhetorical question. But I wish there was an answer.
Everything feels so loud sometimes. The volume is slowly turning up as time goes on. Finally, it reaches its maximum capacity. And then everything feels too overwhelming to handle.
"I think you have to make it for yourself, bro. Nobody can do it for you." Cree interrupts the silence.
wandering my eyes to him, my head follows as I fully look at him.
"I'm not happy Cree. I'm tired. Not physically, but... mentally. I feel like I'm losing everything. I can't seem to keep anything good in my life. It never stays, or sticks," I lament.
"My mom is sick. I have no idea what to do with Eric. He's not even processing it I don't think." I add, pausing.
"And neither am I. But I'm just not good at this shit, Cree. I feel like I'm a lost kid. I have everything and nothing all at the same time."
Cree sighs, "Look, Silas. That's where you're so wrong. Okay—it's not about having everything or everyone. Or anyone," he gloats, pointing at me.
"It's about having yourself, right? As soon as you realize that part," he stands up, looking down at me now, "You will be fine. I promise." he smiles.
I sigh, looking down before standing up, "Yeah. Sure." I nod, still feeling defeated though.
He was right to some extent. It's just that I have felt alone so much recently. A change of scenery wouldn't hurt.
"Now c'mon. You wanna get to work, or what, let's get it!" he laughs, holding his fists up, squaring up with me, even bouncing a little.
Giving a half-suppressed laugh, I quickly get into my stance, holding my fists up now too as we make our way back to the bag.
I have myself, but myself doesn't feel like enough. Not to me. To everyone else, I'm tough, or I have a good head on my shoulders. But it doesn't mean anything when everything around you is dying or leaving you hanging. Or when you have to pretend to continue to be someone you're never gonna be okay with.
I live with a lot of guilt for leaving Eric behind on my mom. Sure I take care of them however I can. But they each could have a better life. It wasn't always happy for us. It wasn't really until I started working for the firm that things changed.
Before that, I was just like anyone else. So I felt. I just didn't get along with people. They didn't like me. I was too smart, or too fat, or weird. The stereotypical bullying archetypes.
At home I could be comfortable, but only for so long. My dad would have a drink. Then my mom. Then they would fight. Then it was my fault, or Eric's. Next thing you know, my mom is pretending nothing happened the next day. She doesn't remember. And my dad is back to dozing off everywhere while we hope he wakes up alright.
When I was old enough to get out, I left. But by that time, my dad was already gone. But I wouldn't have left if it weren't for him. I could never stay in that house after it.
I don't think we'll ever know the exact time, but I know that when I found him, it had been a while. I was coming home from school. I was thirteen. Just about to finish middle school. I remember I had just gotten braces and I couldn't stand the pain.
I knew that my mom was at work, but Dad? He didn't do that. So he had been at home for the regular work hours of the day.
That meant that he was in his office. Pretending to be the big wig that he once was. He would sit and re-watch his matches from his fighting days.
Reminiscing and drinking. Never doing anything with his life.
I wanted to ask him where the medicine was. This stupid numbing gel that was supposed to make it better. But the year was two thousand and ten, so they were doing anything crazy to help with the pain. It was that or force a few pain pills down.
The house was really quiet. My mom wasn't home with Eric yet and usually, I would hang out with my dad until they'd get there. I called for his name a few times, but I could only hear his television, playing some tape.
I made my way upstairs, walking pretty fast. And then I knocked on the door. Still, I got nothing. So that's when I decided to just open the door. I'm so mad I opened that door. I hated myself for so long. Sometimes I still do.
By the time I was Eric's age, I had saved up from my first job and got a place with Zack. That was before he moved away with his, now wife. And before I even thought about being an architect. I couldn't live in the house anymore. And yet my mother stayed.
But me? I never looked back.
It could just be my unsettled feelings to blame. Or maybe just the momentum of coming home from the gym. But sleeping was no longer on the roster. When I got home, I went ahead and took a shower, staying in there for some time, taking in the hot water. For as long as I could, I stood around until I got sick of it and sick of overthinking.
I can't help but wonder if she's thinking about me.
This doesn't compare to the agony of a cliffhanger. It's already been almost two weeks. Despite me fighting the urge to call her or text her. I was never one to give up on something I wanted. But she isn't just something. She's a woman. And if it's meant to be it will be. Right?
That's what I keep telling myself. It doesn't help that every time I look in the living room, I'm thinking about that night. I would do anything just to hear her sweet voice right now. Whether she's giving me attitude or just wanting to talk to me. It beats sitting here alone.
After my shower, I made sure to feed Bella, and then myself. I made a sandwich and got a bottle of water from the fridge. Usually, when I'm off and I'm awake like this, I'm doing some mind of art. But I think, for once, I'd rather not look at a sculpture or a drawing for at least one day. So instead, I opted for some television.
Sitting on the couch, I pick up the remote and turn it on. I start flicking through channels, getting to TBS, and seeing 'Friends' on. Sticking with that, I take a bite of my sandwich, grabbing my phone. I had a few notifications. My mom texted me about dinner this week. Eric requesting money on Apple Pay. A few Facebook ones too.
Unlocking it, I go to my messages and then navigate to Vera's contact, tapping out it. The messages open, leaving me staring at the last one I sent.
"Hey, beautiful."
I couldn't even see if she read it. Not that I'd want to either. I think it hurts more to see that you were left on read than it does to just simply not get an answer-back. But I think this might just have to be where I accept my fate. She's my real-life one who got away.
Sighing, I take a few more bites of my food, locking my phone as I look at the TV. Ross had just eaten the key lime pie that Monica made. And his tongue was getting more swollen by the second, making me smile a bit at the quirkiness of the show.
I finish my sandwich, then grab my bottle of water, still watching as my phone starts raging all of a sudden, startling me with the ringtone.
Looking down, I read the caller ID.
Vera Adams.
The mouthful of water that I had immediately shot out of my mouth, making me drop my phone.
"Fuck! Don't hang up, don't hang up, please!" I panic.
Hurrying, I set the bottle down before picking up my phone, drying it on my shirt as fast as possible. It was still ringing.
I manage to answer it, still almost dropping it once more, "Hello?" I spit out.
"Silas, hey. I'm so happy you answered, I was beginning to think you weren't gonna. I would've understood, though." she says, kindly.
I grab the remote, turning the volume down now, "No—no. I'm here." I say.
I hear her shuffling with something before a door closes.
"So, how are you? What are you doing?" she asks.
"Um, I'm okay. I'm better, now. I've been dying to hear your voice." I lowly confess.
She sighs softly, "Silas, I'm sorry I didn't answer. Things are just really complicated right now. It's not you."
I listen to her. If it's not me then is it someone else? What could be so complicated?
"Vera, it's cool. We're not like... together. You don't owe me anything, you know? Plus, I honestly could say the same thing on my end." I banter.
"Wanna talk about it?" she politely suggests.
Contemplating, I resume to a momentary silence.
"You don't have to. I understand."
"Nah, it's not that I don't want to. I just feel like I don't wanna bore you."
"You can't bore me. I called you, okay? I love listening to you."
My face reddens at her words.
"I miss you too, Vee." I stage whisper.
"Good. I—I mean cool. I mean, that's a good thing-" she groans, breathing.
A smile creeps on my face, as I lick my lips, "I left you a few voicemails. I'm sorry if that was invasive."
"No, god no. I liked them. Truly, I did." she rushes her words.
"Cool, cause, um—well my mom is sick. And I guess I was just looking for something to distract me from bullshit. I'm kind of freaking out inside." I say, tensing up.
I could hear her tiny gasp at what I had said as she listened.
"Silas, that's awful. Oh my god, I'm so shitty, I should've answered," she says wistfully.
"It's fine, truly. I'm just feeling a little overwhelmed is all. My job isn't helping. I just feel like I'm being pulled in every direction." I confess.
"Take a deep breath. It sounds like you just need to do you. Take a break." she adds.
Take a break. In my dreams.
"Unfortunately, I think I'm incapable of being selfish in that way," I respond.
"Y'know, one day you won't have a choice. Would you rather it be your own decision or someone forcing you to be that way?" she inquisitively asks.
Well, she wasn't wrong.
I sigh, "Okay, yeah. You have a point."
She begins to talk to some people in the background. A door closes and I can hear silence again.
"Hey, so, I want you to come to my dance studio tomorrow. Where I work? I wanna show you something and I've been rehearsing a lot," she hesitates,
"Will you?" she asks.
"Absolutely. Hell yeah. What time?"
"Let's do around eight. We'll be closing for the day so it'll just me you and I."
"Deal. I'll be there."
"Okay, deal."