Hello, my lovely readers. I meant to get this written, and posted, in March. Well, close enough, right? On with the show…

Chapter 3: A Place to Lay My Weary Head

The winter came with little chill. Landon Kirby Solomon found himself jerking at the wool scarf around his neck. His eyes went up to the sky. It was grey. There might be rain, not snow, this Christmas. Kind of made the holiday feel glum. He continued on down the sidewalk, about to shove his hands into his pockets, thought better of it, and flexed his fingers. It was just too warm outside. As if anyone alive needed another reason to change how they behaved to stop the warming of our planet. He dreaded to think of what holidays to come would feel like.

Continuing onward, Landon took in the sight of a familiar figure sitting on the doorstep of the building Landon was approaching. Kaleb Hawkins had his eyes closed. Landon's friend was humming a tune and tapping his right foot to the beat.

"Hey!" Landon called to the leader of The Hawks, a band still struggling to achieve the fame they sought (Kaleb sought), but Landon had no doubt, success was in the future.

Tilting his head, Kaleb shot Landon one of his infamous grins. "Thought you weren't going to show." Twisting on the steps, Kaleb looked the building up and down with a grimace, "Can't say I'd blame you if you didn't." One brow quirked, Kaleb gave Landon a long look.

"Yeah?" Landon's eyes trailed up the building's crumbling bricks and the rickety fire escape. Yes, this building could do with, well, a lot of things, but it was within Landon's price range; so that's pretty much what he was looking at. "Wish I could say I had a choice." Now, Landon did stuff his hands in his pockets. "But I need a new place. Besides, this place has character."

A man came down the sidewalk. He argued about the current state of the world in a booming voice. Maybe he was an actor, practicing his craft in the open air. The thought cheered Landon. "See," he muttered to Kaleb. "I'll meet all kinds of exciting new people."

Kaleb's eyebrows rose as he and Landon noted that the man was arguing with a pigeon on his shoulder.

Kaleb looked to Landon. "Yeah. I think you'll meet lots of exciting people around here." Shaking his head, Kaleb chuckled at his own joke, and Landon examined the sidewalk below his feet.

After a long moment, Landon found that he had to make a decision. Eyes rolling toward the building, Landon forced himself to jog up the steps. He could feel Kaleb behind him. They had a practice session after Landon met with the apartment manager. Hopefully, this meeting wouldn't take too long. Landon felt the need to lose himself in something. This week just wasn't turning out how he had hoped it would.

Monday:

"Morning, Landon!" Penelope Park chirped. She came over to what had become Landon's regular booth. She set a coffee in front of him. "Still working on that?" Her finger went down to poke at his new song with a red-painted nail.

Nodding, Landon groaned. His head fell on the piece of paper on the table. He'd written three lines. But none of them conveyed passion, or depth, or rhythm. "I just cannot get the lyrics right," he said, his words muffled by his folded arms.

Landon became aware of Pen's hip nudging his and he slid over to make room for her. "May I?" Not waiting for an answer, she tugged the paper from under his arms. Wide, green-grey eyes moved upward to examine her expression.

Pen's eyes went down the page, and then back up. "It's not that bad..."

"It's terrible!" Landon cried. He snatched the paper back. Opening his bag, he crumpled it, and shoved it to the bottom.

Turning to face Landon, Pen placed her elbow on the table and cupped her cheek. "So, you have writer's block. Happens to all the greats." Her teasing smile would usually cheer Landon up, but right now, he was too depressed. Nothing seemed to inspire him. Perhaps he should just give up on music. Ryan would be happy to find Landon a nice place, in the mail room where Landon could grow old.

Running his hands through his thick, black curls, Landon blew out a breath. "I'm not one of the greats. But I don't write this poorly." His eyes went to his bag, as if the paper inside was mocking him from its hidden depths.

"Landon!" Penelope did something she almost never did—in the year he'd known her—she took his hand, and gripped it tight. "You are great! To your friends." Her wide brown eyes searched Landon's, her expression more open than he was used to. It made him a little nervous. When would she release a biting addition to this bit of kindness. But she did not add more. She simply waited for him to respond.

Slowly, Landon came out of his funk. "Okay. I will try to write something. Tomorrow." He rolled his eyes and a slow smile appeared on his face. Honestly, he did not know what he would do without a Penelope in his corner.

"That's the spirit." Getting to her feet, Penelope moved toward the counter, but she paused, and looked back at Landon. "You're coming to my party, tonight?" Her hands went to her hips. To blow off a Penelope Park Party would be asking for trouble.

"Don't know where else I'd be!" They both laughed at that one.

~0~

That night Landon grabbed the chilled bottle of champagne out of the fridge; the one he'd promised to bring to Pen's party. He turned around to find Ryan standing on the other side of the door. "You scared the crap out of me!" Landon snapped at his brother.

Ryan grinned back. "Sorry, little brother." He was not sorry. He never was. What he was, was a giant pain in the ass.

Stifling a: "The hell you are," Landon continued on, toward the door of their apartment.

"Does mom know you're planning on moving into a slum?"

"What?"

Turning around, Landon noted the amused look on Ryan's face. "I wouldn't let Tabitha live there."

Feeling irritated at the mention of his childhood pet, who Landon had always suspected Ryan tossed out their balcony window, or gave to the ASPCA, Landon folded his arms over his chest. "How do you know that?" Typical Ryan behavior. Landon should not be surprised that Ryan found a way to interfere with something that had nothing to do with him, again.

"Apartment manager called. You have an appointment: Friday. 1:15 pm."

"Thanks."

"Mom's going to be pissed when she finds out what kind of place it is." The smugness coming off of Ryan in the moment made Landon want to launch himself at his brother. However, previous experience told Landon, it would not be a fair fight. And Rafael was not home, to peel Ryan off Landon.

Rolling his eyes, Landon said, "Everyone starts somewhere," Landon would have to choose to fight with his words.

"Yes. Usually in a place that does not just scream: Tragic fire claims the lives of all occupants because of violations of ALL the fire codes."

"Like you care."

Shrugging, Ryan said, "You're not a minor. You can come, and go, as you please, but it's the holidays; you could try to be a tad bit considerate. For Mom"

"Are you kidding me!" Landon found himself shouting. Nope. No. He would not allow Ryan to drag him into another one of their epic verbal fights. "I don't care what you think." Stomping toward the door; Landon only stopped when Ryan moved to block his exit.

"I'm trying to look out for you."

Staring at Ryan, Landon shook his head. "You never have. And you never will."

"Believe what you wish, brother."

Ryan cleared the path and Landon continued out of the apartment. He only felt better when he got out of the stairwell. Well, he felt better for a few seconds. When a bitter wind found its way inside Landon's jacket, he shivered. He should have dressed more warmly.

On his way toward Penelope's place, Landon flipped the collar of his coat up. He looked left and right, before crossing the street, and tried to think of lyrics, to keep warm with.

"You're out there. Somewhere. And I'm waitin' on you. Hope you're waiting on me, too—" The song was interrupted when a flying blur went smashing into his right side.

Rocked from the force of the smaller body, slamming into his own; Landon groaned. His hand let go of the neck of the champagne bottle. The next sound was glass, cracking along the sidewalk, shattering the quiet that had been there, seconds before. Liquid poured through the cracks, drowning the grim, gray substance in light yellow, fizz.

"Sorry!" A girl's voice. Soft, but with an edge to it came out of this small body. The voice was both apologetic and making it clear that Landon should ask for no more than this quick word. Her hands went up to tug her hood further down, concealing her face before the girl took off into the darkness. Strange.

With a sigh, Landon felt guilty about leaving this pile of broken glass out here. He looked around for a trash can. That would be way too convenient. And Landon's life never turned out that way.

Trudging forward, he only paused when he saw a poster for the next The Wolf exhibition. He walked to it with a rush of movement, propelling hm forward. His eyes devoured the words. December 22. Tisch School of the Arts. (NYU) Midnight.

Heart racing in his chest, Landon found himself headed to Pen's with a new present: information. Looks like this day wasn't as bad as he'd thought, just a couple of minutes ago. The bottle of champagne, and the mystery girl, all but forgotten…

Wednesday:

Coming into his family's apartment, Landon could not help but notice how quiet it was. Raf was nowhere to be seen. Ryan was not holding court. Nor was Mr. Waithe here. Wondering if he had the place to himself, Landon took several steps forward, and found his mother at prayer.

Feeling somewhat uncomfortable, Landon watched his mother kneel on her rug. The sun was shining its new light brightly through the window; it cast a golden haze over her dark locks which hung over her face. Not being able to see the look on her face left Landon with a lump in his throat.

Finally, Seylah moved to stand up. She turned to face her son. Her eyes bore into his. "You should pray more often." No smile appeared on her face to indicate she was kidding.

"To which God?" Brows rising, Landon waited for an answer. He did not want to get into this. Not today. He'd spent the night at Pen's. They were planning on meeting up at The Wolf's showing tonight.

"Any God. Large. Small. Gods. Goddess. Find something to talk to."

"I have something. I have my music."

Seylah shook her head. "That is not the same thing." She knelt to roll up her rug. Landon missed the times when she decided religion was a very private thing. This kind of talk made him uncomfortable. And he wondered where it was coming from.

"Ryan tells me you're moving out." And there is was. Landon decided to leave, and his mother needed to embrace something.

However, the abrupt change of conversation made Landon's confusion double. "Yes. I mean. I'm looking at a place. On Friday..." Again, he did not want to talk about this subject either. Why he wanted to move felt like another, private matter.

Turning to look at Landon, Seylah held her rug tightly against her body. "These holidays should unite us, as one. As a whole, living body. A family. I blame myself, for not preparing you. For not asking you to see something more than this world we live in. Find something...more."

Landon gulped. He had something more. He had his songs. As many times as he tried to explain to his family—how his music moved him—they never seemed to understand. Art changed how he saw everything, and everyone around him. It was how he confessed. How he asked for forgiveness. For love. Attempted to touch the world with some type of beauty, and peace. He momentarily wondered if that is how The Wolf felt when she made her art? Was it like a religious experience for her? Did she feel overtaken by something...more?

Focusing, Landon found his mother was heading toward her bedroom. He did not know whether to follow her, or not. He would have, as a little boy. He watched her every movement with awe as a small child. Not now. There was a rift. A growing apart. A growing older. He did not need her as much. Or so he told himself...

Moments later, Seylah emerged. She tugged a long sweater around her body, as if this would give protection from the change to come and the gust of cold wind that change carried with it. The thought made Landon shiver.

"You've made up your mind?" The mother's words came out slowly, but with force. She was not asking. She already knew.

"Yes."

Frowning, Seylah moved to stand in front of the Menorah. "Ryan says he checked this place out. This place that you want to leave your family behind for. He told me it is poorly put together. In bad need of repair. You know, we could give you a loan. Allow you to find a decent place, until you're ready—"

"Mom!" Landon heard his tone. Too high. Too sharp. Too defensive. He took a breath. "I don't need your money. I just need to do this. I need to be on my own. I need to live like—"

"An adult?"

"Yes."

"Being an adult means accepting help; when help is offered, and you are in need."

"But I'm not..."

Why couldn't his mother see how important his independence was to him?

Seylah's head bowed. "I forgot. You're my son. You can be stubborn. Stupid." Her lips quirked in the corners; now her dark eyes shown with humor. "You'll be home for the holidays?"

"Of course." Landon nodded. He felt eager to be done with this conversation.

Then his mother shocked him by holding out her arms to him. Landon walked into the embrace. "You will be alright." Her nose brushed his check and she pressed a kiss to his forehead, holding his bowed head between her hands. "I have to go and dress for a meeting."

"Okay."

That was the last private exchange they would have for the next two years. If Landon had known, he might have drawn their time together out, a little longer. But how are we to know what the future holds?

~0~

The Tisch School of the Arts was not as quiet as it usually was on a Wednesday evening. There were to be no plays tonight. At least none that any NYU faculty were aware of. But there was music. And dancing. People toasting in the lobby as they made their way toward a theater that should be closed for the day, and night.

A small part of Landon feared a security guard appearing out of nowhere. He did not feel like being escorted off the campus, in a pair of handcuffs. He wasn't even a student here. But Pen was. And she had a flair for talking her way out of trouble. She also had a flair for finding trouble.

Forcing down his own concerns, Landon headed for the stairs. The curtain was lifting. Gasps began to sound as a floodlight lit up the painting on stage.

This new work revealed a girl, who stood atop a mountain. Her arms were thrust outward. One leg was extended over the edge of the mountain. Landon felt his eyes widen. The Wolf's knowledge of the spatial made it seem as if the girl stood hundreds of feet above the flat earth below. Below her were shadows of people. Their heads were craned backward, to watch the girl atop the mountain. Their mere outlines of shadowy bodies made Landon feel their inability to stop her, if the girl went into free fall.

"Wow!" Pen breathed. "Now, this is how to make a statement."

"It's less cerebral than her last piece."

"Where is the symbolism?"

Landon felt like yelling at the idiots, who were discussing the piece: "Can't you hear the melody? She's screaming! The air is rippling with her emotion! Those figures—the ones at the bottom—they're the chorus, the refrain." But these thoughts would be lost on these two. No doubt, they were art history majors. Would go on to work at museums, where works were locked away from the public, who could not afford the private exhibition fees.

With a shake of his head, Landon led Penelope down the stairs. He found a ladder on the side of the stage. Other viewers were milling around, watching the painting. The ones who stood, and stared in wordless wonder were the ones Landon appreciated. They knew you could deconstruct a work all day long, but never feel it in your soul, that was a whole other thing.

Friday:

"You'll be paying for the water. The trash. And there's no laundry. You have to go down the block. 'Round the corner," the bored apartment manager scrawled over her cell phone screen, barely paying attention to Landon. "Rent's due on the first."

Landon nodded. His eyes went up to a hole in the ceiling. He heard Kaleb let out a low whistle. "You will have a view," he grinned and looked out the window.

Moving to the window, Landon saw a much nicer-looking building, just across the street. "Huh." He wondered what the rent there would be.

"They ask for three times our price."

Glancing back at the apartment manager, Landon noted the woman staring at him. She did not look impressed. "You want this place. It's yours. Try not to make too much noise. I have a life, and complaints mean I have to waste my time telling you to knock it off."

"He's not noisy. Quiet as a mouse." Kaleb offered the woman a winning smile. She rolled her eyes and went back to her phone.

Eyes going back to the building across from him, Landon was reminded of his mother's offer. Then he saw Ryan's smirking face. Nope. "I'll take it."

"Really?" Kaleb looked surprised, and somewhat impressed.

The apartment manager nodded. "Great." She did not look impressed, or pleased. She turned her back on Landon and added: "Come on. Let's sign the lease. I have a Bio class in an hour."

"You're a student?" Landon asked.

Pausing, the woman glared. "You think I want to spend my life renting places, like this, to kids like you? Ha!" She shook her head and continued onward.

Landon paused in the doorway; he decided he would make this place feel like home, by next year. Yes. Next year would be different. He could just feel it.

TBC...

Thank you for reading, faving, following, and reviewing. :)

Be safe,

-J