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The contradicting forms of silence – New beginnings – Missing sunshine, missing rainbows – Double Deckers – Lost innocence
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Rainy days don't accommodate the Coynes well – or the twin siblings, rather. Their mother's flight has been delayed a great deal pending tropical storms on the horizon of Honduras. But that's not what makes the condominium feel empty and quite honestly lonely, even though it's shared by two beings.
It's the silence. It perches delicately between Fiona and Declan, bringing with it the realization for Declan and maybe Fiona, too – They barely know each other anymore. Fiona sips a light and fragile glass of iced tea with her pink, creamy lips, and she keeps her blue eyes over the cup every time she sets it gently on the countertop, her vision tracing the blended reflections in the ice cubes floating above the surface.
Fiona is much quieter than she used to be, and part of him thinks it is soothing knowing that his sister waits in settling and calm silence rather than the trapped or rejected kind like she used to. She seems not to mind the quiet. While it sends odd cringes of uneasiness and awkwardness down Declan's back, it seems to rest on the shoulders of Fiona, wafting effortlessly around her perfect features. He knows nothing about his own sister – and it's only been a year.
She gives him a natural smile before sliding gently off the stool and moving to a glass table with magnolias and numerous papers in neat piles sitting on it. Her pale fingers brush through the thin stacks before removing one of the papers with handwriting scrawled all over it, puffy borders surrounding some paragraphs and quickly compromised arrows guiding them into a confusing order. Declan has little time to see what particular words and ideas the writing forms before it is out of his view and Fiona is holding a silver cell phone to her ear.
She seems to be having a profound conversation, her eyes deep in thought as they ponder the words on the page. "Or perhaps we could move that to act three," she suggests, and Declan sighs as he realizes she's discussing the newest play she is directing. He tries to picture the old Fiona having the patience to guide a whole cast of students through a theater production and almost chuckles aloud.
"Fi," he murmurs, and she turns with a questioning yet kind look – there's no irritation like one would expect, "I think I'm going to get some air on the streets."
She arches an eyebrow before directing an emphasized gaze at the sheets of rain coming down on the window. "Am I really that boring?" She asks, hinting at just a bit of sarcasm like the old days.
"No, no," he's quick to correct.
Her eyes dart back to the air in front of her as she focuses on the other line, huffing a tad. "No, Eli," she says, "I wasn't talking to you."
"I just need to catch up on this place," he sighs, and Fiona smiles a bit before nodding and finally turning her back to him as she continues to study the crinkled piece of paper.
He wraps himself in a rain jacket slung over a hook in the main entrance and takes a deep breath. Toronto has changed a great deal since he was here last – its people even more. But maybe, above all, he is different.
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He's not actually wet; the jacket guards him from the sheets of cool raindrops that pelt the sidewalk around him, and he keeps his cheeks protected by looking down at his shoes as he walks, allowing his face to rest inside the hood of the jacket.
Not many people wander the streets at this time, but Declan enjoys the rain in a way that he never would have understood a year ago. He likes the way the air smells fresh and the rain washes away the dirt and garbage cluttering the sidewalk – and everything just starts over. A new beginning to a downward spiral that cowered at the sound of distant thunder. Declan truly believes that the rain saves us from the end – he, himself, seems to have come close to discovering whatever that may be.
Sometimes, when it's raining on campus, he slips out of his dormitory and walks the pathways alone, hidden in the deep undergrowth and foliage. He has his way memorized so that concentration on direction and steps is unnecessary, and he glances ahead, his eyes open in a way that makes them feel closed.
Other times, he stays inside and sits on the thickest area of the window sill, resting his forehead on the cool glass and watching the raindrops land on it, wondering just how far they had to travel to find their home here – and how disappointed they must be when they dry away to nothing in a matter of mere minutes, replaced by new and oblivious tears.
He reaches out his palm, immediately feeling the force of many raindrops finding home on his skin, washed pale by the storm. He places his other hand gingerly over them in hopes of keeping them alive – but it's no use. They seep into the pores of his skin and mist away.
They never had a chance.
He sighs, directing his gaze across the street at a trendy-looking café, dampened and dulled in the rain. The Dot. He frowns; it's been refurnished now, and Declan likes it the old way better. He used to visit this place with Holly J. They skipped class once to go there for the first time together, taking time afterwards to rummage through the booths of homemade jewelry and knitted hats and scarves that lined the street. He bought her a silver chain decorated with a solitary diamond, hand-carved into the shape of a heart. It dangled over her pale skin, embracing beautiful swirls of rainbow colors whenever sunshine cast over it. And, sometimes, when Declan watched her from a distance, taking a mind-straining math quiz or carrying on one of her relentless fundraisers, he'd noticed her run a hand over the necklace, twirling it between her fingers and glancing down at it briefly – sometimes absentmindedly and sometimes meaningfully.
HJ doesn't wear the necklace anymore. There aren't many sunny days at Yale, anyway.
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The inside of The Dot isn't as foreign as the exterior. Metallic tables and stools still scatter the gray-tile floor; there are a few stacked in the corner, and, looking closely, Declan can see the small, liquid beads decorating their surfaces. He assumes they have been brought in from the sidewalk outside.
The counter is located in the same place, though it's now covered with posters and sticky notes, and the cash register is on the far opposite end. The menu, posted on one of the boards, is now filled with petite and fresh-sounding choices like tuna wraps and cranberry salad. Instead of a Double Deckers – the odd and laughable name given to two cheeseburgers in one sandwich – there is a "double cheeseburger." It's placed off to the corner of the menu as if people rarely order it.
Spinner Mason no longer works here, and he's glad – for two reasons, really. One: That most hopefully means that Spinner has been admitted into training to become a police officer like he always wanted to. And two: Though the two might have been friends for the majority of the time Declan spent in Toronto, the summer ended on quite the unfortunate note when Spinner overheard Jane, his girlfriend, and Holly J. discussing a long-past affair that had occurred briefly between Jane and Declan. Declan left the scene with an icepack pressed to his jaw and never saw Spinner again.
Instead, a boy with brown, spiked hair and freckles emerges from the kitchen, gives him a faint smile, and asks him what it is he'd like to order.
"Cherry Blitz?" Declan asks, and the boy arches his head to the side.
"I'm sorry . . . What is that?"
"You mix lemonade and cherry soda. Spinner used to make them all the time . . ." Declan trails off, noticing the clueless expression seeping over the teenager's features. "Actually, a Pepsi is fine."
The kid nods and turns back into the kitchen.
A light moan sounds from the corner of the restaurant, and Declan turns his head to see two teenagers making out behind a booth. A tall and fair-skinned boy with brown hair and a plaid shirt is nearly straddling a girl blocked from Declan's view, though he can see hints of light brown curls and a floral shirt. Their lips are clashing almost feverishly, hands roaming and faces flushed. Declan can't help but smirk just a bit.
"We need some PDA policy," mutters someone behind him in a low and resentful voice, and Declan turns to meet the eyes of the freckled faced boy holding a Pepsi can in his hand. He slides it over to Declan before glancing back at the two in the corner.
"Thanks," Declan murmurs, watching the teenagers for another moment as well. "Is this a regular occurrence with them?" He chuckles.
"Every afternoon," the boy confirms irritably, "And to think I ever liked that girl."
"Who is she?" Declan asks, straining to see around the boy that is smothering her.
"Her name's Clare," the boy mutters, and Declan stops, feeling his eyes widen.
"Not Clare Edwards," Declan mutters, shaking his head, but the boy nods.
"Yeah, that's her," he says, "How do you know her?"
It takes Declan a long moment to realize that the boy has asked him a question, still stunned by the scene unfolding in front of him. " . . . I used to know her," he murmurs, "Actually, it was only a year ago."
"Bet she seems different," he mutters, "Not that most people even remember Saint Clare anymore."
Declan can't help it – his eyes wander down to Clare's left hand, gripping the fabric of her boyfriend's shirt, and he gasps. The silver ring is gone, and Declan can't stop staring.
"If you're waiting for the trick to wear off and the ring to appear . . . it's not going to," the boy sighs, and Declan turns back to him.
"You know about that?"
The boy gives him a strange look before smirking. "Who doesn't? When you wear an abstinence ring throughout all of high school and then one day just show up without it . . . it naturally becomes news."
"She . . ." Declan can't even say it.
The boy chuckles, "She claims she lost it . . . The ring, I mean."
"Is that true?" Declan asks hesitantly, snapping open the Pepsi.
He shrugs. "How should I know? I mean, I used to know her real well – never thought she'd break her vow . . . But people change, as you can see. Clare and I don't talk anymore."
"Yeah, same with us," Declan murmurs, taking a quick sip of his soda.
"So what? Did you used to go to Degrassi or . . . ?" He trails off raising his eyebrows for Declan to finish.
"Yeah," Declan murmurs, "My name's Declan – Declan Coyne."
"Oh, okay, you're Fiona's brother, right?"
Declan just nods, still distracted by the soft moans that sound like sirens in his ears.
"Well," the boy says, holding out a hand across the counter, "My name's Mark. But you can just call me Fitz."
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So, there you all have it. Next chapter, things will start to build up, I promise.
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