Nothing but a handsome face. There’s probably no substance there.
Benja does little during the day but visit coffee shops and libraries. At night he frequents bars. He does not go to work. He does not contribute to society. He said he’s a writer, but Thane has yet to see him do that in all the time he’s followed him. All Benja does is drink and read. Sometimes he stares at the wall or the trees or the people walking by. Benja is the most boring human being Thane has ever known, and he knows a lot of scientists.
Writer. Yeah, right.
When Thane thinks of writers, he thinks of someone like Professor Jacob, who has produced a book of significance supported by facts and knowledge. Hard work was put into it. References cross-checked and substantiated. Results mind-shattering and socially relevant. A work of fiction like Benja’s, while perhaps entertaining, could never measure up to the Manual of the Four Cities.
“Thane?” Professor Jacob’s voice brings him back.
“Yes?”
“Do you think you’ll have the report done by next week?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you. I look forward to reading it,” the Professor says.
Thane feels a warmth around his heart. Although the work the Interpreter Center gave him is mind numbing, Professor Jacob’s appreciation makes him feel better than he could ever imagine.
Metis’s fingers travel fluidly over the piano keys. The melancholic moodiness of the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata matches his state of mind. He thought it an appropriate piece considering the master often pined after unattainable women.
A month had passed since the day he kissed Aris. He has tried countless times to reach her. But each time, he was transferred to her databank. He must have left twenty messages, each one more pathetic than the last. She has yet to return one. She is erasing him from memory. Again.
He looks at the blue-and-green pot on top of his piano. It reminds him of the day they met at the gift market. The time they spent together here. Her sitting next to him on a piano bench. The kiss.
A sigh escapes. He cannot figure out how to categorize his relationship with Aris. He still loves her; they are not divorced. Although sometimes it feels like they are. He is not a widower; his wife is not dead. Although it sometimes feels like she is. A marriage is an agreement between two people to be monogamous. He does not know if she is. Can it be a marriage if it’s one-sided?
She cannot remember him. Their life together has been wiped from her memory as if it had never existed. He is married to a ghost. Perhaps that is how he should think of it.
The sound of a door closing comes from behind him, waking him from his thoughts. He turns around.
“Hey, Argus,” Metis says to his friend.
Argus comes to stand next to the piano. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you stop playing.”
“Nah. I’m just tinkering.”
Metis gently runs his fingers over the piano keys in a complicated arrangement.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Argus says.
“I don’t know either. Some things are just the way they are.”
“Remember when we first met? I was at a pretty low point in my music study, but you told me I could be a musician.”
“You can.”
“Not like you.”
“And I couldn’t be like you. Everyone’s different.”
“But I still get to work at the coolest place in the Four Cities,” Argus says. “Did I ever thank you for getting me a job here?”
Metis smiles. “I’m happy you’re here. Are you still happy?”
“Yeah, it fits. I never thought I’d ever find something that suits me.” “People keep telling you to find your passion. Thought I was missing a part.”
“Passion is overrated,” Metis says, “Happiness, on the other hand, is undervalued.”
“You should try it sometime. It’ll be good for you.”
Metis continues to play on the keys, running through the scales.
“If only human emotions were as easily manipulated.”
“What I can never figure out is why someone like you has no one.”
“Are you hitting on me, Argus?”
He bursts out laughing. “Not today. I have a date.”
“Who’s the lucky person?”
“Someone I met at a coffee shop.”
“Do people still meet each other that way? I thought everyone’s using the app to find a match.”
“Love is not predictable, man. You need a bit of fate.”
Fate. Something Metis is losing faith in. Sometimes when he feels optimistic, he tells himself that if he and Aris were meant to be together, things will fall into place. She will remember and resume her place beside him. He was so close. But it slipped away. It seems fate is making itself scarce lately.
“She has a friend,” Argus says.
“Good for her.”
“No, for you.”
“I know what you meant. I was just being obnoxious,” Metis says.
“So, are you interested? She’s cute.”
It would make life so much easier to have someone to spend the rest of this cycle with, Metis thinks. But Aris’s face appears in front of him like a phantom, chasing away any thought of straying.
“Thanks, Argus. Not today.”
“Will there ever be a day?”
“I hope so.”
“You know, there’s no perfect person. You just have to find happiness wherever it exists.”
“I’m not waiting for a perfect person.” Just one particular person.
“Then who are you waiting for?”
He says nothing back.
“Well, I hope whoever the person is, they’re worth waiting for.”
“I hope so too.”
His friend shakes his head. “You know, you can talk about it with me when you’re ready to share.”
“I know. I appreciate that.”
“Oh, by the way, someone asked me to give you this.” Argus pulls something out of his pocket and places it in front of Metis next to the blue-and-green pot.
The blue origami crane sits innocuously against the shiny black top of the piano. At first, Metis does not register it. Then his breathing stops. He feels his insides rearranging to make room for the pending explosion of
