The Broken Road

Thank you for your warm welcome :)

mrrreye - you have no idea how much your review meant to me. Really, I finished the next chapter for The Jigsaw twice as fast as I would without your encouragement! You'll see it very soon, after it is beta-read.
I prefer to write for people, personally. When I know someone is reading and waiting, I feel kind of obligated to tell the next part of the story...
Thank you :)

JJay - thank you, too :) It is really important that I get some kind words at the beginning of my work. Well, not only at the beginning, of course ;)
My motivation grows unbelievably.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

In the Same Boat

The first day after summer holidays was sunny and windy. The schoolyard was like a kaleidoscope of faces, uniforms, schoolbags, hairstyles. Girls did everything they could to give their regulation clothes a personal touch. The younger and more shy among them attached decorative collars, wrapped strings of beads around their necks, stuck flowers in buttonholes, or entangled ribbons in hair. The brave, self-confident ones, who had already discovered their femininity and sexual identity, provoked with short skirts, low-cut blouses, dyed hair, and a lot of make-up and jewelery.

Although every student would have sworn that coming back to school was the biggest pain in the world, happy faces and sparkling eyes spoke for themselves. Tomorrow—yes, tomorrow would be boring and tough when lessons started. But today the school was a huge variety show and everybody enjoyed it to the fullest.

Finally the crowd rolled over the yard, and flowed into classrooms in narrow streams.

"Take your places, everyone," said the smiling teacher, Mrs Goodman. She was young, only two years beyond graduation, and still enthusiastic about her work. "Welcome to the third class," she continued when the students had finally managed to decide who sat where and with whom.

"And warmly welcome your new colleague." With a gesture of her hand she drew their attention to a tall boy standing near the door. He measured the class with his gray eyes as he slowly approached the teacher with a bored sneer. His bright hair was picturesque chaos; shorter on the sides, it covered his nape and fell over his forehead and eyes in unruly strands. His left ear looked like a jewelry shop, hung with five earrings of different types, while the right one had only one small silver screw. The boy's appearance was complemented by the slapdash outfit that didn't resemble a uniform in anything but the school’s signature navy blue sweater tied around his hips. From under the rolled-up right sleeve two lines of a simple tattoo showed.

"He comes to us from another class, as he decided to change the profile of his education," Mrs Goodman lied smoothly and unnecessarily. All students knew that Kayden Martensen was a "parachutist" from a higher class—a hooligan and lazybones. Twenty pairs of eyes rested on Kayden—some with curiosity, some with contempt, and some with admiration and respect.
"Introduce yourself, please." Mrs Goodman nodded to him.

"Hi, I'm Kayden," the boy said in a harsh, unpleasant voice. "I guess you know me, right? I hope that the new, uhm, ‘profile of education’—" he glanced at the teacher—"will help me to become a top student. Yeah." He smiled with one corner of his mouth, looking defiantly at the woman who was trying to put a good face on a bad business.

Ringo took in the scene with a perfectly indifferent face. He didn't care about the "new colleague" as he didn't normally hang around with his classmates anyway. And this new guy...he definitely wasn't acquaintance material. Probably they'd never exchange a word unless Kayden messed around or something. Suntanned, strong hands, nonchalantly pushed into the pockets of denim pants that hung loosely on slender hips, gave the strong impression that their owner was a troublemaker, full of himself and showing off. Ringo winced slightly, and at that exact moment Kayden's eyes rested on him.

Oh, yes, that was the type Ringo didn't like. He found demonstrating disrespect and superiority childish and tasteless. After all, there was nothing brave about assuming such a pose and there was no reason to show that kind of attitude. Repeating the class? Really, like that was something to be proud of!

A mocking smile crawled onto Ringo's lips. Change your profiles even every year, hick. I'll leave you behind, stuck in this place, you pathetic king of the schoolyard.

"Nice to have you with us, Kayden. I hope you'll find friends in this class." Mrs Goodman smiled.

I bet you will, Ringo thought sourly. Girls would lift their skirts for you. And guys would hang around with you hoping a part of your glory would rub off on them.

"Why don't you sit next to Ringo? I see the place next to him is free." The teacher invited Kayden to take his new place and the boy started toward Ringo's desk.

"Hi." Kayden smiled widely, putting out his hand in a gesture of greeting. It was hard to tell if his expression was sincere or fake. Ringo smiled back formally, only as much as he felt appropriate, and shook the strong hand. Kayden sat down, leaned against the chair back with his long legs wide spread, and took a curious look at his neighbor, who was visibly and deliberately ignoring him.

Dark hair surrounded Ringo’s boyish face, which was smooth and pale with funny, almost colorless freckles dotting the nose and cheeks here and there. Watery-blue eyes were shaded by long, dark eyelashes; if not for the distinctly defined features and sharp facial expression, the whole would have looked a bit too girlish.

The guy seemed okay, Kayden decided. A proper student, decent and neat, judging by his clothes and school attributes—that was surely the funny side. However, thank God he didn’t seem to be a toady or an exaggerated swot, and the guy didn't look cowardly or shy. Good. Shy people were boring and made Kayden feel awkward.

"This year will be very important for you," Mrs Goodman started—her traditional speech— "as you'll have to choose your future course in signing up for suitable subjects."

The seventeen-year-olds rolled their eyes at this enlightening talk. Yes, everyone had to get their share of school philosophy. No school could exist without that rule. Blah, blah, blah....

"Hey," Ringo heard a loud whisper from the side where Kayden sat, "what grades do you have?" He ignored it and pretended he was concentrating on the teacher's words.

"C'mon, man, I know you’re not listening. What sane person would, anyway?" Ringo could tell Kayden was smiling.

"If I had to choose who I'd listen to, I'd choose her," he answered not looking at the other boy.

"What the fuck?" The smile must have disappeared from Kayden's face. "What did I do to you? Or is this your usual welcome package?"

"Boys." Mrs Goodman knitted her brows, looking at the last desk. "Please, be quiet. Kayden, you can get to know people later, when we're finished."

"Yes, m'am." The boy's lips widened in a smile again as he bowed his head. Ringo thought the guy smiled a lot, like a fool. Or like a perfidious crook who knew he could get a lot of things with his sincere, charming smile.

"Remember to take notes," Kayden chuckled into Ringo's ear. "Don't let those precious revelations be lost forever."

Ringo looked at Kayden for the first time since they had been paired, and narrowing his eyes he hissed through clenched teeth, "Maybe you should start taking notes, ‘cause somehow I have the impression that it's you who misses a lot of stuff."

Kayden calmly endured the angry look in Ringo’s blue eyes and asked, "Is that scorn I hear? Oh yes, it is...I know it perfectly well when I hear it. Years of experience, ya know?" He pouted his lips disrespectfully. "Does it hurt to look at me from way up there on your pedestal?"

He was already making fun of Ringo, whose words had disqualified the dark-haired boy as an interesting acquaintance.

Ringo didn't answer, just turned to the blackboard again.

It was over before it started.

Kayden hated having to pay for friendship by living up to someone else’s standards, as well as being judged by appearances or things taken out of context. He professed a simple belief that a person's worth didn’t lie in the number of classes he’d finished. His image and reputation worked for him as a kind of a filter, sifting through people who were able to resist the obvious conclusions and make their own personal opinions.

"Yeah, I guess we're not gonna be friends...." Kayden sighed with sadness that was clearly fake, "although I'd give anything for the honor." Having said that he leaned back and put his arms behind his head, clasping his fingers at his neck. Relaxed, and absolutely not affected by harsh treatment, he looked around.

Who else do we have here?

He caught some more or less discreet glimpses expressing curiosity, spotted a few blushing girls’ faces that were quickly averted, frightened under his gaze, met eyes that scrutinized him as a future rival.... Yeah, story of his life. He smiled to himself and closed his eyes.

Mrs Goodman's boring sermon came to an end and the classroom emptied in a flash. The boisterous bunch of students teemed in the corridors and at the square in front of the entrance, small groups constantly breaking away from the quivering mass to celebrate their reunion in more entertaining places.

For a long while Kayden followed Ringo with his eyes, until the boy disappeared in a street around a corner—alone, walking fast, as if running away from everything. A few times along the way he rejected invitations—or so Kayden guessed from Ringo’s waving hand and shaking head—and fled. The blond boy shrugged his shoulders and started to fight his way through the crowd to meet friends from his previous class.

"Kaaaaay!" Girls emitted piercing tones upon seeing him approach.

"Hi, bro!" Boys welcomed him with pats on the back and shoulders, and conspiratorially prodded him with their elbows. "Man, it's so fucking rotten you're not with us. How's your new team, by the way?"

"I bet it sucks!" an attractive girl stated and laughed. "No one is better than us, right?" She nudged Kayden meaningfully.

"Right. No one is better than you." He smiled back and ruffled the girl's neatly done hair.

"Heeey! What the hell? Oh, you're such a jerk!" She pulled back, her face angry, and tried to smooth down her damaged hairdo.

"C'mon, Lucy, have some balls," Kayden laughed.

"So what are they, your new class?" The dark skinned boy brought them back to the subject of Kayden’s transfer.

"Give me a break. I don't know yet. I've just seen them, ya know?"

"Okay, but there’s always a first impression. So...?"

"I really don't know. They look normal. Well, I sit with some moron with hang-ups or something. A conceited jerk."

"Who?" Lucy asked, her shattered image already forgotten.

"His name's Ringo. I don't know the rest."

"Ringo? With black hair and funny freckles?" Lucy knitted her brows charmingly.

"Yeah, you know him?" Kayden looked surprised.

"Not really, but he's kinda cool."

"Cool? That stuck-up saddo? You sure we're talking about the same guy?"

"I told you I don't know him, but he’s...handsome." Lucy blushed slightly and bit her lower lip. "He's quite popular, you know."

"Really?" Kayden looked at her in disbelief. "I guess it only works until he opens his mouth."

Lucy shrugged her arms. "Maybe he's more tactful with girls," she thought aloud.

"Whatever. I'm not a girl and he gets on my nerves. And likewise, I suppose." Kayden closed the subject and clasped his hands. "So, what about some forbidden drinks?"

They laughed and Saim, the black boy, suggested Melody Pub. He had a cousin working there so they might have a hope of getting some beer.

---

Ringo nervously combed his messy hair with his fingers and walked confidently into the classroom, prepared for the next phase of the adventure that was Kayden. He relaxed visibly when he saw that his desk was empty. Yeah, right; it was too much to expect that Kayden would be on time. Assuming he would come at all.

There was still a little time left before the first lesson started. Ringo tossed his backpack near the chair and dropped into his seat. Maybe Kayden wouldn't show up. It wouldn't be too bad. Ringo knew he would have to fix the problem he’d created the day before, as he was fully aware of the fact that he’d really bungled everything. However, if asked, he probably couldn’t have said what was harder for him to deal with: finding himself doing rubbish, or bringing himself to apologize for it.

The bell rang and Mr Hotchkins rolled his corpulent body to the teacher's desk.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen." He smiled jovially at the class. He liked "ladies-and-gentleman”ing students—the old habit from times when he’d worked as a university lecturer. And the students liked it, as all young people on the verge of adulthood treasured even the tiniest signs of being taken seriously.

"I see you're well rested and ready to work!" The teacher chuckled roguishly, straightening the round glasses that slid down his nose every now and then.

Why do teachers always find it funny to pretend to think students have a wild enthusiasm for learning? Ringo rolled his eyes philosophically. It’s so old it’s boring. But however boring Mr Hotchkins was, he was also very kind and a good educator, which was very important in the case of a subject like physics.

"Let's take the roll-call." The little guy in his worn-out suit, probably remembering the era of flower-power, opened the register and lifted his glasses again. I wonder if there exists at least one teacher who knows the meaning of fashion? Ringo was permanently amused by what he called the "researcher style".

When Mr Hotchkins had checked the attendance list and started to present his plan for the school year, the door opened with a thud and Kayden rolled in, ten minutes late.

"Sorry," he tossed out, not breathless at all. He must have taken his time.

"And you are...?" The teacher knitted his brows, trying to put on an ominous face, which had the opposite effect from what he intended. Although he recognized Kayden's face as a familiar one, he had only a vague idea who the boy was that stood before him.

"Kayden Martensen. I transferred to this class."

"Oh. Right." Mr Hotchkins nodded. "You realize that being late on the very first day—well, the second—is not the best way to turn over a new leaf, don't you?"

"I said I'm sorry. I overslept." Kayden shrugged, not affected by the teacher’s moralistic speech.

"Well, at least you don't try to come up with stupid excuses."

"Like the trolley got a flat?" Kayden smiled knowingly and winked.

Mr Hotchkins laughed quietly, and a few chuckles could be heard from desks in the back.

"March to your place, you rascal. And don't you dare be late again!" He reprimanded Kayden half jokingly, cleared his throat to hide his amusement, and returned to the third class physics material.

Here we go! Ringo tensed as Kayden approached the desk and sat down. Ringo expected some kind of greeting or at least a taunt, but Kayden ignored him and took out his cell phone to play sudoku. Offended, Ringo decided. It seemed that Kayden's sense of honor had got the better of him. So it hurt him.

"Hi," he started dryly, in a quiet voice.

Kayden raised his eyes and answered, "Hi", clearly waiting for Ringo to take the next step. He had already made his attempt the day before, and he wasn't going to go out of his way to cover up the unpleasant situation.

"I'm sorry for yesterday," Ringo said straight out. Kayden raised his eyebrow in surprise and waited.

Shit, what more am I supposed to tell you? Ringo clenched his lips, but finally spat, "I’d had a terrible day before you got there."

"Shit happens," Kayden responded politely, but coolly.

"I know that's no justification, but it explains the situation at least. I'm sorry I said what I did. I didn't mean it. Well...I did, but...oh, whatever." He got into a muddle and fell silent, feeling embarrassed.

"Cool. I don't really care." Kayden returned to his game. Shit, he would have to load a new game, as he’d lost his chance to break the record .

Ringo looked at his colleague in surprise. What the hell? The blond guy was supposed to smile or something. They should start over, right? So what was going on with him?

Neither of them spoke again, so Ringo managed to hear the teacher say that there had once been a guy called Schroedinger, and there was something weird about his cat.

---

A couple of days went by, but the situation between the boys remained the same. There was the occasional "hi", "what's up", "okay"; basically, pure indifference. Ringo kicked himself for having gotten himself into a corner with his own stupid behavior. He was stuck in the middle of the problem and every solution that occurred to him was out of the question. Was he supposed to beg for forgiveness? Excuse me? No fucking way! Who is he, anyway? Just a sad loser. And I even said sorry!

---

The bell rang piercingly, making Ringo flick through the crib he’d prepared at home. No, he wasn't going to use it to cheat, but creating a crib-like compendium was a proven method of remembering things and he did it before every test.

"Hi," Mr Correa greeted everyone from the door. He was in his thirties, elegant, with a kind of a classic elegance that made it fit perfectly to call him a real gentleman. But there wasn't an ounce of stuffiness in his conduct, and his seemingly inborn refinement didn't stop him from treating students casually, sometimes even as equals. If not for the sad circumstance that Mr Correa taught math, they'd love him with no reservations. Unfortunately, the teacher and the subject were an inseparable combination, and Mr Correa had to deal with the general fear and hatred of the queen of the sciences.

"So, my dears, the inevitable has come!" he announced with fake pathos followed by a smile. "Don't be nervous, the problems are easy. We've gone through all of them during lessons. Let's treat it as a warm-up test, okay?"

The students’ faces said it wasn't okay at all.

"Pull out blank papers and close your books, notebooks, and all other study aids," Mr Correa said as he continued to spread terror, "and do not try to cheat. It doesn't pay anyway. Ready?" He took in the classroom with its cleared desks and started to hand out test forms. "There are two groups of problems—I’m warning you in case you're thinking of peeking at your neighbor’s test."

Minutes that, during lessons, dragged on as slow as molasses, had a strange habit of speeding up during tests. Time was indeed a malicious creation. That day, however, time was merciful to Ringo: the test problems were easy and his mind clear.

"What do I see here, Mister Alva?" A menacing voice sounded behind Ringo, making him jump in his seat. The boy turned around to see the teacher staring at a crib lying between his and Kayden's chair.

Holy shit! It was so stupid to get caught because of a crib he hadn't used even once.

"I—" he stammered, trying to articulate that far-from-credible explanation used by whole generations of students: "I wasn't cheating!"

"It's mine, sir," Kayden cut in. Ringo gazed at him in utter amazement, his mouth open, which made him not look very intelligent. "He took it away to prevent me from cribbing," his classmate continued. "He's the personification of fairness and hard work." Kayden pouted his lips in a mocking smirk.

"Good for you, Mister...?" Mr Correa raised his brows, waiting for Kayden's to introduce himself.

"Martensen."

"Mister Martensen," the teacher repeated. "And you, Ringo," he sighed. "I know you're a good student, but leave my duties to me, okay? I assure you I can handle class tests. In the future don't be holier than the Pope, please."

"I—" Ringo boiled. "I didn't do it!" His eyes flashed with anger. If looks could kill, Kayden would already be dead.

"Okay, okay, never mind. Go back to your test now, and whoever this crib belongs to, now you both have to manage without it. I'm sure the results will show who the owner was." Having said that, Mr Correa walked away with the crib in his pocket.

Fuck you! Ringo gave Kayden a middle finger, which Kayden brushed off with a contemptuous smile and returned to drawing small pictures on his test paper. Out of the corner of his eye Ringo noticed the pictures were quite good and they covered almost the whole page. Kayden didn't know anything in math, of course. Ringo snorted with derision and solved his last problem, a system of linear equations.

There were fifteen minutes until the bell and Kayden still had nothing to hand in apart from his drawings. Ringo watched the boy skillfully maneuvering his pen and suddenly realized that handing in a test with no mistakes would show Kayden to be the owner of the disastrous crib. It wasn't right. And, well, after all Kayden had saved Ringo's grade. Yes, he did it in nasty way, but a grade was a grade and the fact was that it wouldn't be points taken off. Angry at both Kayden and himself for his stupidity, Ringo snatched Kayden's paper, quickly substituting his own for it, to avoid the teacher's suspicions. Kayden looked at him in surprise but didn't react. Of course not, why would he? A good mark for free—he’d be an idiot to pass up a chance like that.

Fifteen minutes were enough to finish four out of six problems. Good. It should be enough for a C, maybe a C+. When the bell rang Ringo gave a thought to his work and in the very center of a paper, among quite impressive images of warriors, wildcats, and motorcycles, he wrote: "It wasn't my crib! I just love teasing and bringing people down to my level. "

"Well, here you are!" Ringo exchanged the sheets again. Kayden, when his eyes rested on Ringo's notice, hissed, "You son of a bitch!"

"At your service, bastard. Now it's your choice, to hand it in or not." Ringo smiled vindictively. "But that's not a big problem, I guess. One failure more or less—what difference does it make to you?"

"Oh, you think I won't dare to hand it in? Just watch me, smartass!" Kayden grimaced dismissively and put his paper right on top of the pile that Mr Correa held in his hands.

The bell announced the end of the lesson and as if by magic at that very second the door opened, letting in the hubbub that filled the corridor and letting out students who were craving a break.

"That was low, moron." Kayden looked at Ringo, slowly shaking his head.

"Tell me about it!" Ringo raised his brow and stood up.

"Huh!" Kayden snorted with laughter, happy sparks in his gray eyes. "That's a truce, I suppose."

"Submit an applications with three photos. We'll consider your case in a week," Ringo jibed at his classmate, but he didn't manage to hide the half-smile that had forced its way to his lips and was already lifting their left corner.

"Kiss my ass." Smiling, Kayden gave Ringo the international sign for "fuck you" and directed his steps to the door.

That's it. Ringo sighed with relief. Finally he felt relaxed about his relations with Kayden. Not that he cared about getting recognition from Kayden, but the situation had been a bit awkward and tense, and nobody liked things to turn out that way.

---

The longed-for Saturday finally came. Like every student, Ringo lived his life from weekend to weekend, the five schooldays in between being nothing more than a nuisance. He suspected that Kayden and the likes didn't suffer from it, since every day was like a holiday to them, but he couldn't relax to the extent of giving up learning.

Once a month, on Saturday, Ringo visited his father.

Ringo had been ten years old when one day Mr Alva had kissed his son on the forehead, hugged him powerfully, and said, "I'll see you soon, kiddo. You're the most important person in my life; remember that, okay?" He had also said—the boy remembered it well—that Ringo’s mother would explain everything to him, and then he had left with a suitcase. And he hadn't come back that night. Not that night or any later ones.

Yes, Mother had explained everything to him pretty well. He’d learned that his father had been the last son of a bitch (that had shocked him, as he’d always thought Grandma had been a violinist) and that Father had betrayed Mother with some other yellow bitch. Mother had told him to forget about Father. It hadn't worked, though; however Ringo tried, he just couldn't forget.

And finally, five years later, he’d gathered his courage and confessed to his mother that he still remembered and he wanted to meet that man.

Mrs Alva (she hadn't gone back to her old surname, because she liked Alva better than Swamper) had been disappointed, but not surprised. She’d said something like, "I knew you’d say that someday. So I'm not enough for you?" and had seemed really hurt. Ringo hadn't known how to explain that it wasn’t a question of being enough. He just felt it was very important to get things settled, to clear up the mess of his feelings and memories—to face the reality, not just the grudges of a wounded woman.

They had met on a rainy day at the train station and ate sandwiches at McDonald’s. There had been many harsh words filled with pain and bitterness—a son's deep resentment toward a father who hadn't kept his promise, a father's tears of regret and apologies that were so important although they couldn't change anything. And finally there had been another "I'll see you soon."

Since that day Ringo had visited his father once a month, despite the fact that his mother grumbled heavily about it and always made life-threatening complaints on those Saturdays.

The two men, father and son, worked hard on rebuilding their relations, still full of grief, mistrust, and oversensitivity.

The "yellow bitch" had turned out to be a hotel receptionist of Asian heritage. At first Ringo couldn't bring himself to forgive her, but after two years he finally stopped venting his frustrations on Lu.

There was also Jin, Lu's nine-year-old son. Well, he was okay. Ringo had no problem with him; Jin couldn't be blamed for what had happened. Only sometimes Ringo envied Jin. It wasn't fair that Ringo had to lose his father so that Jin could gain one.

On this Saturday father and son met on the riverbank.

"Hi, Ringo!" Mr Alva smiled widely. He was wearing a cream-colored trench coat and a felt hat. Ringo remembered that hat from his childhood; his father had been always a bit old-fashioned, like in the movie with Humphrey Bogart.

"Hi, Dad." Ringo returned the smile and shook his father's hand. "How're you?"

"I'm happy, son. I like our Saturdays."

Ringo liked them too, but his hurt pride still wouldn’t let him say so. Jeremiah Alva sighed as his hope of hearing the magic "Me, too" was shattered yet again. "Where do you want to go?" he asked, quickly suppressing his grief.

"Dunno." Ringo shrugged. "Anywhere will do." He didn't like himself for doing it, but he had a bad habit of making everything more difficult than it needed to be. He wanted his father to put a lot of effort into their relationship, to pay for all those years he hadn't been there for his son. It was annoying and stupid, but Ringo couldn't help it.

"The day is so blissful, why not simply take a walk? Hmm? What do you say?" Jeremiah indicated an alley with his head.

"Sure, why not?" Ringo approved with a nod.

They started walking slowly down the path, Ringo occasionally kicking pebbles to cover his confusion, his hands pushed into his jacket pockets; and Mr Alva crumpling the hat in his hands, as he’d had to take it off because of the wind.

"So, how's school?" his father started and Ringo rolled his eyes.

"Geez, do you always have to start with school?"

"Well, I'm sorry," Mr Alva laughed. "I just don't know what should I say."

"Whatever, Dad, but school? It's the most boring topic for a conversation."

"Okay, I'll remember that."

The situation relaxed a bit, which was a relief to both of them.

"Maybe you have something you want to talk about?" Jeremiah asked. "I'm afraid everything I'd like to know you'd consider either too personal, or boring or who knows what else." He nudged his son in the shoulder.

"There is something I want to ask. Actually I’ve always wanted to ask about it." Ringo bit his lower lip and his hands clenched into fists in his pockets. Now or never! He had to ask someday, so why not now?

"Huh, it sounds scary." Jeremiah made a blundering attempt to turn his nervousness into a joke.

"Why did you marry Mom?"

"Oh." His father pondered the question and after a few seconds he said, "Why, you ask? Well, I loved her. Why else?"

"How did you know you loved her?" Ringo wasn't going to let it go.

"How...that's a good question. People have been asking themselves that for hundreds of years and no one’s found a good answer yet."

"Okay, but why did you make that decision? Why did you ask her to marry you?"

Jeremiah nervously wiped non-existent sweat from his forehead. He didn't want to tell Ringo the truth. He felt that truth would mean he’d been lying to his son for so many years.

"Tell me, Dad. I want to know. I...don't want to—" He broke off, then forced himself to finish the sentence: "—make the same mistake."

"A mistake?" Father was visibly shocked. "What are you saying? It wasn't—"

"C'mon, don't pretend. It didn't work out after all, so it must have been a mistake."

"It’s not that simple, Ringo." Jeremiah sighed heavily. For a while they walked in silence, listening to the wind swooshing in the poplars. Finally Mr Alva decided he had to take a chance on the truth. For too long now he’d acted on the conviction that the best way to protect Ringo's feelings was to make him believe he was a child of his parents’ strong, beautiful love. But now? Now his son was almost an adult and had the right to know. Besides, why idealize the reality? The boy would experience disappointments in his life, so the sooner he'd knew the rules, the better.

"I was in love with your mother." Jeremiah started strongly. "I really was." Ringo glanced at his father, but didn't say anything. Jeremiah continued, "But being in love is not enough. Passion, enchantment, desire...they're not love and they're not enough."

"So what is?"

"Something that lasts even after those things are gone. Something that makes you want to be with your woman even when you don't go crazy over her any more. The feeling of...I don't know, completeness?" he asked himself and immediately answered his own question: "Yes, completeness. A relationship must be based on something more than feelings. Common beliefs, ideals, goals, a way of life. I...I don't know how I can explain it any better." A quiet sigh escaped Jeremiah's lips; his cheeks were red and his breath whistling. It was hard for him to talk about his feelings so openly, and the short monologue had exhausted him.

Ringo pondered his father's words with knitted brows. Completeness. He’d never thought about it that way. Actually he’d never been head over heels in love so it was hard for him to imagine the power of desire. Sure, there had been some romances, flirting and so on, but nothing mind-blowing so far. Yeah, probably it comes with age: life gets more and more complicated when you grow older.

"So you didn't feel complete with Mom?" he asked, emphasizing the word "complete".

"I didn't. But I was too young to know it. Marion was—" his ex-wife's name still stuck in his throat— "she was beautiful, charming. All the boys were in love with her. When she agreed to go out with me I was walking on air!" He smiled sadly. "It was a crazy feeling. I'd do anything for her. We got married pretty fast—too fast; but she wanted a wedding, guests, a home...and then came you." Jeremiah looked at his son warmly. "This is where every marriage is tested. Oh, well, not only marriage; every serious relationship is an art of devotion. The problem is that sacrifices can't be paid for with your happiness. If their cost is too high, frustration starts to kill love. You grow bitter, tired, and full of complaints. And that's what happened. We had such different dreams, priorities, plans, that every compromise just cost too much."

Jeremiah fell quiet and Ringo thought about his mother—bitter, tired and full of complaints. His father was so painfully right! I wish she’d handle it someday, like Dad did. Marion still couldn't move on; she used her broken marriage as an excuse for everything and harbored her trauma.

"And Lu? How are things working out with her?" Ringo asked, feeling a lump in his throat.

"Good," Jeremiah answered quietly, ashamed of his happiness. "Very good."

"Good for you," the boy whispered. He wasn't angry at his father; he just felt a genuine, deep regret that he had been put in the position of having to pay for others' mistakes. So fucking unfair, he thought sadly.

Walking and talking through difficult matters, they reached the golden fountain. People called it that because of the gold-colored mosaic tessellating across its bottom. There they shook hands goodbye, and Ringo took the bus home. He’d promised his mother he would be back for supper.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

I count on your opinions, dear fellows :)


Ooooh, c'mon! I can see you :P

Right now there are 93 hits and 3 reviews. As much as I'm grateful for those 3 precious signs of life from "the other side of the fiction world", I'm also asking: where are you, you 90-people crowd? :D
You read and you keep silent... Don't do that to me. Let's talk, 'key? ;)
Even the small "hi, I (don't) like it" does its job :D