There´s a lot of comfort
in the thought
That sorrow, grief, and woe
Are sent into our lives sometimes
To help our souls to grow.
It´s quite simple, really. When a warm hand touches a cold hand, heat is transferred to the cold one because of the difference in temperature. Heat is energy in transit; it always flows from a substance at a higher temperature to the substance at a lower temperature, raising the temperature of the latter and lowering that of the former.
It´s not of importance to know that, of course, because in real life we don´t take notice of the hows or whys. We experience them and that´s good enough in our opinion.
What´s really important is that warmth gives us something we long for and what we seek unconsciously. Maybe because warmth mostly means contact. With another person. It´s when we feel most comfortable. Who doesn´t like being hugged by someone he loves, after all? When you soak up that person´s warmth and let it envelop you. That familiar feeling you recognize instantly and claim as your own.
Greg didn´t notice at first. Something was making the cold on his face vanish with touches as light as a feather. His skin clung to that warmth, soaking it up into its very core.
He turned his head a bit to the source of that slight comfort.
"Greg?"
There was that voice again. A voice he recognized. Hadn´t he talked to it just a second ago? He wasn´t sure. He was walking in a haze. Thinking was hard.
"Greg?"
"Can you hear me?"
Another touch, this time to his shoulder. It was shaking him gently. The warmth lingered there also.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
He didn´t like the concern in that voice. It usually sounded different, happier. He tried to place a face to that voice. His mind was already beginning to solve the puzzle, painting the first contours. And a short while later, there it was in stark contrast to his otherwise empty mind.
Melissa.
He raised his head, and for the first time, really saw her.
"Yeah, that´s it. Look at me."
Worried green eyes stared back at his troubled brown ones. If eyes were windows to the soul then one thing was for certain: his soul was lost. Trapped in a dark place between here and there.
"Mel?"
"Yeah." A smile. Another caress to his face.
"Greg, what are you doing here? What happened?"
He looked away trying to avert her gaze.
"She died here." Breathe.
"Who?"
He couldn´t form the words. This was too hard.
"Greg, who died here?"
Just breathe.
"Sarah. She was only 16." His mouth was dry. He felt his heart pick up speed again. "Just like Ian." He managed to add in a whisper.
A sharp intake of breath. A minute to gather her thoughts.
"Did you know her?"
He shook his head. No, he hadn´t known her. Wouldn´t ever know her. Wouldn´t see her mature.
Just like he hadn´t with Ian.
"How did she die?" Another whisper. Afraid of the answer.
"Suicide." Bile wanted to rise in his throat again. He suppressed the urge to vomit, however.
The hand on his chin made him look up. What he saw there surprised him. He hadn´t expected that sheer look of sadness. Compassion maybe. But her eyes, they were glistening with unshed tears. And then, he understood.
It was for him.
She felt his pain as if it was her own. And that was perhaps the greatest gift of all.
One tear managed to escape and he raised his hand to catch it. His cold finger meeting her skin just below her cheek. He marvelled at her warmth and traced her face till his finger touched her lips. He seemed fascinated by her mouth. After a while he began.
"He always loved to talk. More so than I do. If we let him carry on, he just wouldn´t stop. He drove everyone crazy with it. But, that´s also what we loved about him. And, he had boundless energy. He was always moving, couldn´t seem to sit still."
Swallow. A deep breath. A look into her eyes. Strength. Urging him to continue.
"It happened in my senior year. We went to the same school. He was a sophomore."
Bittersweet memories invaded his mind. His gaze drifted into the distance taking him to a place long forgotten.
*****
"Greg, Ian. Supper´s ready!" The voice carried upstairs getting the deserved attention when, after a few seconds, footsteps reverberated in the hall.
After everyone was seated at the table, conversation began in between and around bites.
"So, how was school today?" Anne Sanders asked her sons.
A look passed between the two boys. Greg nodded his head as if to say "go ahead". Not one to be asked twice, Ian eagerly launched into his story.
"Well, you all know there were try-outs for track today, right?" Not waiting for an answer, he continued. "My PE coach suggested that I should give it a try. And, voila, they want me. I´m in. Can you believe it? It´s only Junior Varsity, but hey, this time next year it may be Varsity. Pretty cool, huh?" He told them with a big grin on his face.
Surprised looks from both his parents met his exuberant declaration. The only one not affected was Greg. His dad looked from Ian to him.
"Did you know this, Greg?" Paul Sanders asked his oldest with raised eyebrows.
"Yeah, why? Is there a problem?" Greg asked, slightly puzzled.
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the fact that there was indeed a problem, he said instead. "You know that he barely made the 9th grade. How is he supposed to manage both school and sports?"
Greg was about to answer when Ian said angrily "Helloooo, I´m still in the room! And besides, it´s my decision after all!"
"Not if you may have to repeat this year again because of it."
"And just how do you know that I won´t be able to do both and do it well, too?"
"Because you showed us last year that you have enough trouble keeping up with school as it is."
"But it´s only the beginning of the year. And my grades have been pretty decent so far."
"I don´t know if you should call several Cs and Ds "pretty decent"?"
Since Ian wasn´t one to back down easily, he tried to convince his dad otherwise.
"Well, if Greg would help me I´m sure I can handle it."
Thank you, little bro! Greg thought sarcastically. There goes my free time.
"Good idea, son."
Oh, no! Please don´t say yes, dad! I´m begging you here.
"So, I can do it?"
"Now, I didn´t say that, did I?"
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
"What do you want me to do?" Ian sighed, resigning himself to his fate.
Oh come on, dad. Don´t negogiate. Please!
"Let´s make a deal. If you can, with the Greg´s help, turn your grades around then I will allow you to join the team next semester. If you don´t then there won´t be another discussion about this. Are we clear on that?"
Thank you. Really!
After a short moment of consideration, he agreed. "You have yourself a deal."
Greg was about to voice his opinion when his father shot him a stern look.
"That won´t be a problem, right, Greg?" Greg was uncertain how to answer that. On the one hand, he didn´t like not to be asked when it concerned himself and his spare time. On the other hand, it wasn´t like he had a choice because of two things: when his dad demanded something you did it without asking questions. And one look over to his brother and the hopeful expression on his face, well, how could he say no to that?
"No, sir, it won´t." Ian shot him a silent thank you. Which Greg answered with a "you owe me" look.
*****
"It was actually a lot of fun which I wouldn´t have thought, ever. But it made us even closer." Greg reminisced. "And, his grades did improve. Drastically, if I may say so."
When he didn´t continue, Melissa asked what happened next.
"None of us noticed at the time but he changed ever so slightly after dad allowed him to join the team. None of us knew." Greg shook his head. As if to forget.
*******
I´m gonna explain in the next chap what happened to Ian. So, stay tuned!
