A Home-Cooked Meal

"Beth?" Syl called as she opened the door with her old key.

The maid greeted her when she heard her enter, informing her that Neil, Beth and Faith had been out all day. Syl nodded and smiled, "That's all right. I'm here as a surprise anyway. Actually, do you think you can help me?" She opened the door wider to reveal several bags of groceries and a box with a triple-chocolate birthday cake. "How are you with Mexican cuisine, Miss Rita?"

Once the groceries were in the kitchen and they were ready to cook, Syl pulled out her cel phone and quickly sent a text message to Beth. She needed her friend to buy her some time.




Two hours later, Syl let out a long drawn-out sigh.

"Okay, that was harder than I thought. How mom and mi tia were always able to pull that off I have no clue," she said, then thanked Rita for her help. She really couldn't have cooked all this in time without her.

Putting the last dish on the dining room table, she looked over the array of Mexican food with a bit of pride. Enchiladas, chalupas, carne asada and the family specialty, chile con carne, for dinner with coyotas, churros and her daughter's birthday cake for desert. Four place settings were arranged around the table.

After a moment, it dawned on her exactly how much food she had actually just made. They would have leftovers for probably a week at least.

Shit, she thought. I just channeled my mother again, didn't I.

She chuckled as she shook her head and went into the kitchen to clean up while she waited for the others to arrive.

Apologies Not Required.

Syl smiled despite herself, as she listened to Beth's voice mail. Her friend had no reason to apologize; it wasn't her fault things had fallen through with the tour. Luck had just decided to take a bad turn when the few friends Syl was travelling with dropped off at the same time.

Neil. Beth. Jon... They had personal matters they had to deal with. She didn't blame them for it. Actually, she would have been more worried if they didn't take the time off to deal with what life had thrown at them.

Syl just didn't have a reason to be on this tour herself anymore, now that everyone that mattered to her had to leave.

She chuckled as she muttered half-heartedly "I need to meet other people", though she knew very well that she wasn't motivated enough to do that just yet. She'd been burned too many times before. For now, she'd rather work on the few friendships she still had than risk putting her trust in people who could end up just using and abusing her again for their own self-serving, ego-boosting games and sick mental delusions.

Sighing, she sat back in her seat and thought a moment. Then, she began punching the keys of her cel phone. Going through her tour schedule in her head, a grin formed on her lips.

Yeah, this could work, she thought.

Worthwhile Writings

She arrived back at the condo late, having stayed at the beach house as long as she could. As much as she wanted to stay, she really had to rejoin her bandmate and get back on tour. Besides, her brother had everything he needed to get back on his feet. More than anything, she'd probably just get in the way.

Now she needed to pack two suitcases: one for her flight back to Europe and one to send to her daughter at the beach house. Faith had decided to stay with her uncle and his family, instead of by herself in the condo. The girl would need some extra clothes besides the ones she had on her back.

"Not just uncle's family, Ma. 'Our' family, actually," Faith had corrected her mother before she left. "Or at least that's what Cousin Ryan says." From the girl's tone, Syl could tell Faith didn't quite believe it yet herself, and she didn't blame her. The two of them had been on their own for a long time; sometimes it was hard to believe they weren't all alone after all.

She drifted down the hall towards the bedrooms to get to work, when her gaze got caught on some frames on the wall. Most held photographs of Faith as she was growing up. Others were of distant family from Canada and Mexico. She didn't see them as much anymore. A quick visit while passing through while on tour was all she could afford as of late.

The last few were magazine clippings, articles she had written a long time ago. She managed to get enough published to earn the Blue Pen Award, but only her best hung on the wall. Which actually wasn't very many. One of the reasons why she had given up writing altogether.

Frowning, she paused in thought. Then reaching up, she took one of the framed articles from the wall and headed to the living room.

She sat down on the edge of the couch and lay the frame glass-down on the coffee table. Calm and calculated, emotionless, as if she were a heart surgeon who had performed the same operation a thousand times, she opened the back of the frame and gently peeled the clipping from the backing.

She read over the article, a tribute to two people who she thought at the time were a pair of very extraordinary individuals. She doubted they had read it, but she never begrudged them for it. They had been on their honeymoon in Europe when it went to print in North America, and she never brought it up later on. It felt too rude and presumptuous to point it out to them afterwards, so she had let it go unread and unnoticed.

As she finished reading, she nodded to herself; it was still good writing, still one of her best. But some people, as well as opinions and circumstances, change over time; though others, thankfully, stayed the same.

Gripping the top of the clipping firmly in both hands, she tore it down the middle, then roughly tossed the two halves onto the coffee table. She stared at the scraps for a moment, contemplating, then rose from her seat to go back to packing for herself and her daughter.

It had been a good article, in both writing and subject matter. It deserved a follow-up, some sort of update, but she couldn't make herself care enough to write one.

The time, the effort and the trouble she would get into made the topic simply not worth writing about.

The Scarecrow in a Three-Piece Suit

Faith stood in the hallway by the washroom door, watching the people bustle throughout the house with relief and excitement. Her uncle had survived his accident and had made it to shore. Everyone was now busy making phone calls, passing on the news, and making sure Uncle Neil had everything he needed. Faith didn't know what to do to help.

And her mother for some reason was now feeling sick. Faith cringed as she listened to Syl throw up for a good while, followed by a flush and the sound of running water. When Syl emerged from the bathroom, she asked her daugther for a stick of gum, a request Faith could easily accomodate.

"Hey, Ma," Faith began as she slipped the pack of gum back into her pocket, "do you think it'll be okay if I stayed here instead of the condo?" She had been nervous about staying before because she didn't know anyone in the house. Now that her uncle was back with them, she didn't want to leave.

Her mother laughed and ruffled Faith's hair. "I'm okay with it, but you'll have to ask your uncle." The statement was just a formality though; she couldn't imagine Neil refusing his niece anything.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and they looked up as Aaron went to answer it.

A gaunt, serious scarecrow of a man in business attire stared fiercely down at the boy when he opened the door. Aaron surprised Syl when she saw him stare back up just as fiercely at the human vulture as if daring him to bite. Coldly, the ugly, empty shell in the three-piece suit grumbled something to the boy before rudely shoving a thick manila envelope into his hands and leaving as abruptly and unannounced as he had arrived.

Frowning, Syl followed Aaron to the front room and watched as the boy handed the package to his father. Worried, she came up behind Neil and gently put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"You going to be alright, bro?" She knew how much his wife meant to him.

Kiss of Life

[Posted in 4 parts on Sylvia's character blog]

Neil had always told her running helped him think.

So Syl ran.

She needed to think.

Or not think.

She wasn't quite sure.

She had been swinging from auto-pilot to emotional wreck and back again since her brother disappeared underneath the waves almost a week ago. It was like her head and heart weren't anchored anymore and drifted off on a whim. And it was driving her crazy.

Flying all the way back to Rio just for a run was proof enough to herself that she was losing it. It would have made more sense to run in South Africa or Turkey or any of the other places she was about to play a show in, but it had to be here. Maybe this was her way to subconsciously say good-bye.

Another storm had blown in, leaving the beach all to Syl. The wind wasn't so fierce or the rain too harsh, but it was still unpleasant for the average sun-worshipper. Or the average person, period.

At least with the tropical temperature, it was a warm kind of rain; it lacked the cruel, icy bite of the rain that she was so used to growing up with in the chill Canadian climate. She found it strangely refreshing to know rain wasn't always bone-numbingly cold and to have the validation of that knowledge trickling down her skin.

Still, it was horrid weather to be running in.

The whisper of the sand under her shoes seemed muted and lonely amid the pattering of the rain on the sea and shore. On a day like this, she would have slept in. It would have taken Cowboy to drag her out of bed to run in this weather. Now running beside the ocean that had taken him was probably the closest she'd ever get to spending time with him again. In a sense, he had still managed to get her ass out on a run, even beyond what was likely his watery grave.

She shook her head, reminding herself there was no proof he was really dead, though she knew the longer it took to find him, the less likely he would be found alive.

Brushing aside a stray lock of wet hair, she watched the ocean waves rise and fall in monstrous motions on the horizon. She wondered what her brother had been thinking when he had seen the waves like that a week ago.

As she continued to run, she saw something ahead of her, beached and unmoving in the distance. She strained to make it out through the rain as she approached. It was actually two things, she realized as she got closer. A lost surf board that had washed up on shore, and...

Her heart stopped, and she sprinted the rest of the distance to the motionless human body lying in the sand.

She wondered if it was cruel to hope this was some other poor soul the ocean had regurgitated back onto land, and not the friend she considered her brother. As faint a hope as it was, if his body was never recovered, everyone could still grasp at the slim chance that he was alive somewhere out there like a lifeline to prevent the rest of them from drowning in despair. But that was probably unhealthy and delusional. Some final and definite closure would be better for all.

She skidded to a stop and knelt beside the body, holding her breath. He was bloodied and battered, face-down in the sand. Gently, she turned him over.

Tears welled up in her eyes at the sight of the familiar face.

"Oh, my, god," The words escaped her lips in a slow breath. "Neil."

She cupped his face gently in her hands, his skin pale and cold to the touch. She bit her lip to hold back a sob. Hoping he wasn't dead, she leaned her face closer to his to try to feel his breath.

The only air she felt was the wind. He wasn't breathing.

Faced with what everyone had been dreading, she began to weep uncontrollably as rain washed over both of them, and buried her face in his chest. Apparently, she had found that final closure and it hurt like hell.

As she cried, she suddenly felt something. Or heard something. Or maybe in her distress, she was just imagining things. She wasn't sure.

Straightening, she wiped away her tears and bit back another sob. Then she leaned forward again. Placing her ear on his bare chest, she tried to find what she thought she had heard the first time: the beat of his heart.

After a moment, she thought she found it. She barely recognized it. It was slow, weak. Nothing like the strong, solid drum she remembered hearing all those times he held her when she cried.

"Neil. Please hang in there. Please don't die."

She had never actually done this before. She'd only read about it in a First Aid textbook once and even then she hadn't been really paying attention to the details. Besides, the person performing this procedure was supposed to be calm. She was hardly calm; she was ready to break down and start crying again.

But with the storm, the beach was deserted. No one else was around. She had to try.

With shaking hands, she tilted his head back. As she pinched his nose, she sealed her mouth around his parted lips and tried to breath into him.

Her first breaths were too short, stunted from her sobbing. She doubted they were strong enough to have any effect. Pausing, she took a deep breath, as much to steady herself as to take in as much air as possible, and tried again.

Tears and rainwater ran down her face, as she fed her breath into his lungs. From the corner of her eye, she could see his chest rise and fall with each breath she gave him. It was only reassuring until she stopped to rest.

When she paused, he was as lifeless as when she first found him, like a broken puppet that only moved if someone was there to give it life. Or pretend to give it life. She shuttered and told herself he wasn't gone yet. He was close, too close, but not gone yet.

"God, Neil. I've already lost Cabot. I can't lose you too." She held back another sob before meeting his lips with hers again.

She lost track of how many times she repeated this cycle. Breathing into him. Crying. Telling him to come back, to wake up, to not leave her. Then breathing again.

"Please, Neil. Don't die. Please." Her voice became hoarse from the effort, her lungs hurt from the strain.

She shivered at the thought of losing her brother, the last person she knew truly cared about her, and pressed her lips against his again.

Needing A Friend

Arriving earlier to catch their show would have been the polite thing to do, and they really were an outstanding punk band, one of the best in the world. Unfortunately, she had had to perform herself in another club, so it wasn't even possible to catch the tail-end of their gig, despite jumping on her Kawosaki to cross town the moment her own show ended. Besides, it was just as well since she couldn't bring herself to mill around with a crowd of strangers who were boozing it up and partying the night away.

Especially the booze part. She would have drowned herself in the drink by now, if it hadn't reminded her of Cowboy. The expression of worry and disappointment on his face when he had pried a half-chugged bottle out of her hand was etched in her mind now, since every memory she had of him had been on constant replay in her head since she heard the news.

He had told her once the best way to honour the dead was to live your life.

Ironically, he had to die to get that point across.

She shuttered and swore and told herself he wasn't dead yet.

Actually, he could very well be dead by now and it was just unconfirmed because the body was missing.

She swore again and hated herself for how coldly she was arguing the semantics of death --with herself, of all people-- while waiting at the rear exit of the club.

She should have picked up some cigarettes. That would have killed the time (and her lungs) more pleasantly than the self-argument she was having at the moment.

The rear door creaked open, flooding the back alley with some pre-recorded music, the kind used to fill the intermission between bands.

When Sylvia saw who had stepped out, she was on her in a second.

"Beth!" They both nearly fell over from the force of her hug. "God, Beth, I... god..."

With the other woman still in her arms, he began shaking and forced back her tears. Only four people had ever seen her cry like this before. She wasn't sure she was ready to add a fifth person to that list, but at this point, she wasn't sure it could be prevented either.

The News...

[See Cowboy's Last Ride.]

They entered the condo, drenched and laughing, having gotten caught in a storm on the way back from grocery shopping. The rain obviously hadn't soddened their spirits.

"Seriously, Ma, you need to get a car," Faith laughed as she placed her bags on the kitchen counter. Puddles pooled on the surface as the girl began pulling groceries from the bag.

Her mother came up beside her, putting her own bags down on the counter. "You just want an excuse for me to buy a Lamborghnini like your Uncle Neil's."

Faith grinned, "Weeellll, now that you mention it, Ma..."

"Wait 'til you're 16, love," Syl chuckled, "You know I'm quite happy with my Kawosaki."

"Well, we should have taken your bike then, so we wouldn't have spent so much time in the rain."

"Then we would've only been able to buy half as much groceries. I want to make sure you've got everything you need before I leave." She pulled out a carton of eggs, inspected it, then drained into the sink the rainwater that had leaked into the packaging.

Faith stacked some canned goods into the cupboard, as she shook her head with a smile. "Ma, I'm 14 now. I'm not a kid anymore. I can take care of myself." And I could always order pizza if I had to, she thought to herself.

Her mother seemed to read her mind. "I'm not going to have you living off of take-out pizza while I'm gone, love." Opening the fridge, she placed the still slightly waterlogged egg carton on a shelf.

As she returned to the counter to get more groceries, Syl playfully bumped her daughter out of the way. "Now, go dry yourself off. I can finish up here. You don't wanna spend your first time on your own sick with pneumonia or something, do ya?"

Laughing, Faith ran off to her bedroom to dry off and get changed.

Suddenly, Syl heard her cel phone ringing in another room; she hadn't realized she had forgotten it while they were out. "Faith! Could you get that?"

Hurried footsteps stumbled around the other end of the condo, before the ringing stopped. A moment later, Faith returned with a towel draped over her shoulders and a silent phone in her hand. "Sorry, Ma. I didn't catch it in ti--"

The phone began ringing again.

"Never mind. Here you go, Ma." The girl laughed and tossed the phone to her mother.

Quickly putting down a head of lettuce, Syl deftly caught the cel in her hands and flipped it open with a smile.

"Hello... yes, speaking..."

There was a long pause as the person on the other end began to speak at length. Faith watched in worried silence as her mother's mood plummeted like a bird shot out of the sky.

"I... I see... Yes, tha-thank you for calling. Thank you."

With unsteady hands, Syl closed her phone and slowly put it down. Closing her eyes, she began to shake and leaned on the counter for support.

"Ma? Who was that?" The girl bit her lip in concern.

Tears fell on the counter, mixing with the puddles left by the wet grocery bags. Syl tried to speak, but all that came out was a sob.

Tenatively, Faith walked around the counter and hugged her mother. "Ma, talk to me. What's wrong? What happened?"

Syl cried a long time before she finally spoke. That had been Neil's PA on the phone. When she finally managed to tell Faith why he had called, they were both crying.