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At the corner of Kevin’s block was a small but well-loved garden, tucked away from the wandering eyes. The flowers bloomed, shining under the pools of golden light that frequented the oasis. The ivy spread rapidly, crawling up the bricks as if to escape from their confines and bloom under the vast expanse of the sky. How simple beings they were, unaware of the burden of life. They were not drained by the chaos of the bustling streets or brushed aside as those around them moved on in life. As the sky embraced the shades of the night, turning into a painting of smoky pinks and muted blues, the garden transformed. The petals of the once-brilliant, bold, yet delicate flowers curled inwards to protect its most fragile self, seeking solace within. The ivy, its brilliant deep-green speckled with muted reds and browns unfolded into tendrils of darkness, looked almost like it had come alive to haunt the new garden and the unsuspecting bypassers.
The walls of Kevin’s dorm were covered in a mind-numbing beige paint identical to every other dorm nearby. A cactus with a budding pink flower furnished the monochromatic kitchen connected to the living room, where hours were passed either lying in the narrow space between the old couch and the mahogany table or seated on the deep, velvet, grey armchair. The only indication of his presence was found in the well-loved fuzzy white blanket strewn across the floor; The Aeneid, adorned with a rainbow of sticky notes, sitting on the table; and a picture, taken in his home country, he had been gifted.
A growing mound of mail had made its home along the wall, for he deemed it an unimportant task to open them. Kevin’s body, however, went to great lengths to act in the contrary belief. As he glanced at the pile, a small red envelope, with his name so elegantly imprinted onto the surface, appeared.
Perhaps it was a holiday card arriving in Feburary.
Sparing reluctant minutes, he softly snatches the envelope from underneath exy magazines, which he would skim through daily; advertisements about the latest and most efficient gear; and what he was certain was an important adult document, which meant it could wait till another time. It would have been for the best that he did not see that envelope, for he had unveiled Pandora’s box. The cream letter inside contained words that he would have never dared to utter, so inconceivable that it was certain no one would have believed it. Yet, there it was.
Kevin slowly blinks – once, twice – then, calmly walks out the front door.
Even now, the shadows lingered with the memories of Riko. It was visible in the crashing of waves across the sand, the quietness of his thoughts, and the ashy taste of the air after a long night.
“We have the same shoes!” Riko declared upon meeting him. He grinned sheepishly, his face splotchy as beads of sweat formed from having been running around with the other kids.
He must have reacted too slowly, barely being able to process the change in environment, before Riko’s hand snatches onto his forearm, his grip foreign, an anomaly from the gentle nature of his mother. Riko tugged on the arm, a relaxed stance, a front tooth absent, and began walking, all while maintaining that smile.
How do you vocalize the need to mourn something that shouldn’t be? It is a tragedy engraved in time. He was well acquainted with the flash of emotions that popped up whenever he triggered something. Yet, he couldn't seem to fathom the ache of grief and tiredness that came with the pain. It was the kind that came after an adrenaline rush, the kind that came with losing a part of yourself.
Sometimes, he wondered if what he felt for Riko was akin to affection, though he knew that Riko never cared about him. Perhaps in their childhood, before things had gotten so bad, there had been a smudge of affection. From the beginning, there was no way to discern the two from each other, they had become practically inseparable.
And they had been for a while – a constant companion. They used to wander along the bustling streets, ducking into hallways, and scrambling up looming trees to race the other. Everywhere where Riko went, he followed along, drawn in with childlike wonder and the promises of a lasting friendship. They used to run drills late into the night until they were shooed away at 10 o’clock sharp.
Even then, when he was praised for his skills or “outshined” Riko, it felt like Riko was no longer himself, ignoring Kevin’s questions and constant shadowing. Every time, Kevin spent, what felt like an eternity, racking his brain for a clear answer to this treatment. Every time, Kevin would resolve to apologize, a beg for things to return to normal, to get his closest companian back. And he’s not sure Riko ever liked him as much as he did, but rather the idea of having control over him. Riko casted a glamor over others, deceiving in his innocence and his childlike features. There was no forgetting a figure as influential as Riko.
The locker room was dark, his breathing echoed off the walls and gear scattered across the bench and floor. Kevin sat there waiting for either the quiet click of the door being flung open or the resolute and irritated sighs from just behind the walls. The sweat trickling down his neck became a faint memory, the postgame nerves dissipated, replaced with the smoothing motions of cracking his knuckles. All that was left was his now-clear mind, replaying and criticizing every miniscule action from before. Almost as embarrassing as it was to have a team, like their opponents, that disorganized was the effort he had to put in to finally get around them and score points. Mistakes would only weigh them down, today’s game was a perfect example.
He was certain that Riko would be enraged and would drag him back to the court to practice till his legs gave out. Oh, wouldn’t that end poorly for him either way? Sooner or later, he would be speaking to a wall with the face of his brother.
In the middle of repositioning his fingers, Riko stormed in, crying, “What’s wrong with you? Your laziness is almost admirable.” An interesting combination of words, Riko had spoken, one that would hint at disappointed acceptance, one that seemed awfully like a trap, and one that would give him a flash of the comfort he craved before being plunged into the icy depths of the water. And well, Kevin was quickly proven right. He was foolish to think that he was disillusioned from childhood. Comfort was a weakness, a luxury to only those who already succeeded.
He stayed at the court till the chirps of the crickets faded into the rising sun.
Now, it seems like the deep red envelope drew the attention of anyone to itself. One could not stumble upon it without being reminded of him. Kevin crumbles the letter, a daily occurrence now, and swiftly chucks it to a corner of his room to lay forgotten. Amusingly, the smoothness of the now yellowed and crinkled corner of the letter brought an unmatched comfort to him. It was grounding, something tangible that had solidified the knowledge of the contents on that paper. Alas, however often Kevin fiddled with the corners of the once-cream paper, guilt and disgust filled his mind. What words were there to say to someone who had irreversibly shaped his life?
Every day he methodically walked down the stairs, without a sound, to begin his nightly practice. He arrived just before midnight, taking care to begin practicing when the hands of the clock, hanging across the wall of the door to the court, ticked into place at the twelve mark. He always left when the echoes throughout the gym had melted into his mind, rendering him unable to focus on solely his routine. Usually, Neil and Andrew would follow him to his nightly practices, almost as willing to sell their soul to something so obsolete as he was.
However, he had lost track of his routine this time, resetting the progress he had taken to build up his skills and fortify his mind from those wandering thoughts. It seemed, after that fateful night opening the letter, that he had been careless with his carefully crafted routine. The moments from his childhood he clung onto were so easy to drift back to today. Neil and Andrew were nowhere in sight, not uncommon as they frequently slipped away to the roof.
They were still gone as the hour hand shifted ever so swiftly to the right.
Neil and Andrew, if he was being generous, had promised to keep him distracted and protected from others. How funny it was that, above all, man needed protection, not from others, but from himself.
It was amusing to crave the empty stares and harsh words over the never-ending pity that seemed to spill out of every step he took. The familiar environment around them had eased his sorrow. Andrew and Neil had all understood the truth from an early age: people were not kind to those out of line. Sitting side by side, basking in the quiet but reassuring companionship and trust they had found in each other, no words needed to be spoken. Their feet dangled over the edge, a grounding thrill, to remind them of what they had endured.
Kevin had once snuck up to the roof, right before his 8 A.M. class, to chance a glimpse of the unattainable. He had wondered what it – his presence at Palmetto, his career, everything – all meant, the corner of his eyes lifting upwards in a smile. If there was anything at all, it was brushed aside as Kevin returned to his confines below.
Family was a fickle thing, a magnificent orb of light orbiting him yet just out of reach. Perhaps that was why Kevin continued to remain relaxed and ignorant, not wanting to care or analyze what Riko was doing, as they grew older. The only familial figure in their life had been each other. He saw it when Kengo always stared straight through Riko, effective in brutally crushing the fleeting hope in his eyes. He had seen it in the way Riko was chaperoned solely by Tetsuji, ruined by debauchery and aspirations that flew far out of reach.
With limbs of molasses, he cautiously dips his toes into his meticulous routine. Just outside of the stadium’s walls, fireflies, fiery bundles of light dancing around amidst the heavy air, quickly scatter as they watch Kevin drudge along. On court, Kevin takes a stack of mismatched cones, methodically setting up the first of many drills. If he had only broken his norm by a few hours, why did it seem like he had just been swept up by a tornado, only to be spat out 1,000 miles from home.
The scars lacing Kevin’s hand ache with a reverberance today; the ghostly feeling of falling paralyzes him. Too careless, the thought passes in an instant before he is engulfed in familiar pain. Kevin throws himself to the ground, cries aloud, and silently begs to a God he did not believe in – all alone on the court. Unlike before, Kevin could not think of the current pain in his hand. He could only fantasize of a time when bitterness and agony did not swarm his life. How he wished he could escape away from everything.
Luckily for him, and everyone else, there were plenty of ways to go about that. The roof, the alcohol, the untouched prescription medications. Andrew’s stashed away knives – no, Kevin wouldn’t dare wish that upon him or Neil. Kevin wished someone was here with him. He didn’t care whether they were ignoring him or tackling him into the wall, he just wished someone deemed his presence at least slightly worthy.
Routine was good. The pain is Kevin’s hand was a routine, it was a reminder of who he was. It was a reminder that he could not escape his past. If he could not save himself, who could? He will be fine. He always is after all.
The soft glistening specks of light contrasted beautifully against the dullness of the world below. As a soft glimmer of pink and yellow washed the sky, Kevin felt a sudden melancholy cast over his mind. From the garden he had failed to visit that night, a glowing white flower stretched out its limbs once more, yearning for the protection of the fleeting night, and reached for the skies.