Knock. Knock. Knock. Three times. There was power in a number. Three being perhaps the more prophetic of omens. She stood there in the darkness, wearing a ballerina-print black three-quarter sleeve tie-neck dress. On her feet, a pair of smart, pointed toe pumps. She looked a wonderful cross between pastoral and gothic. Her hair was parted on the side and gathered at the nape of her neck. She would not knock again. Robert would hear. She knew he would hear. He was too polite to ignore her, and he knew of the status he held in her life. 'Friend' was earned.
It wasn't a good week. The knocking rocked him out of the not-sleep he was engaged in. When he answered the door it was not in his usual, formal attire, but in long black-grey pajama bottoms and a loose white cotton shirt. Despite the look, he hadn't been sleeping. He smelled of coffee and cinnamon and his gaze was worn beneath his hazels, "Helena? Is everything alright?" A glance beyond her into the mouth of the evening before he pulled open the museum door more to invite her inward.
"Oh." A note of surprise in the way he was dressed. Very different from his usual formal attire. "Robert Brohkun. I ask the same of you." She stepped inside, her footfalls silent. "You have not been sleeping. Come. Sit." She moved beyond him into what could be a parlor. There was more accommodating seats for one tired and one not. She indicated a plush couch for him to seat himself. For Helena, an armchair. Of course. "Speak."
"There's a kitchen," he motioned down the hall. The parlor at the entryway was fine, and he took a seat there. He cleared his throat, one ankle propped upon the opposing knee, "I've put in for a temporary to permanent replacement for my position as the museum curator." It was stated more directly than he usually spoke. She normally had cause to berate him for the meandering answers but perhaps in these sort of moments there was less poetry.
Her mouth grew severe and the storms of her eyes calmed. Nevertheless, they smouldered. Her face was loveliest when it was stern. She had the structure for it. A smile looked sinister, but her intensity looked like a metaphor for Mount Everest. "Why." A sharply spoken question not spoken like a question.
"I want to go back to Seattle." There was the dive of his dark eyebrows and then he cleared his throat, "And I don't know how long I will be there or if I want to come back when I'm through." His eyes were at her's, uncertain if there was anger, disappointment or a cold curiosity there waiting for him.
She did not look away. "Why." Asked again, her chin raised in a way that was appraising. Inside, however, was that familiar twisting that came with change she would not control. The taut twang of her willpower stretched to breaking. It was loss.
"I seem to be the subject of use for people here, you being the only exception in the past year," he sighed as he looked down at his feet, "In the past when I have traveled it has brought me answers. This old friend and I have history and time and... I have the dim hope that there will be an explanation there, with her, that can make me feel differently about what's happened to me. About what keeps happening to me." There was a frown then and he combed a hand through his hair, looking at Helena.
"Robert." The name came out with a tinge of sadness. "I want to know the whole story. You are being cryptic. I understand you are tired, but I am not. If I must feed you, I will do so." She was quite serious, capable of many things dark. What she saw before her was a friend defeated - and that was not allowed.
"Roach came into town, we've... known each other from meeting about... ten years ago or so. She felt at one point an attraction for me and I... was willing to see where that went, so long as we were exclusive." He wasn't ready to laugh or be mocked about it. Or lectured about things such as Roach's obvious character flaws and how he should have known, or should have expected, the outcome. "After a week she cheated on me, twice, and wants to... do as she likes." There was a small shrug of his shoulders, "It isn't just with lovers, but that was the last straw."
There was no patronizing and there were harsh words coming from her. "What else is it, Robert?" Eyes narrowed some, but Helena never blinked. She regarded him. His weariness. His heartache. Her nostrils flared as her lips closed into a thin line. Hands were folded in her lap, unmoving.
"It's friends. To date, you're the only person I know that sees me... just to see me. Beyond that it's for a need, an agenda, for something I can give them or the potential of what I could do for them. I've somehow put myself in a place to be that person, that used article." He leaned back. The wood of the chair groaned when he did so, his hazel eyes settling on Helena's face, "I think it's my fault and that if I do this trip I'll get clarity. I'll stop the cycle of history repeating itself before I go mad."
"Mea culpa." He would appreciate the Latin, and the quiet way it slipped from her lips. "Are you sure you are not angelic? The guilt that you carry, that you imagine and place upon your shoulders. It is very Christian of you." And here, she blinked. Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "What a loss to me your absence will be. You are a unique one, Robert Brohkun. It has been a pleasure getting to know you. Seeing you as you are -" She indicated his current, distressed state, "- is heartbreaking. This 'Roach' deserves to be skewered for her inconsideration." A tick of her mouth in amusement, just at the corner. "Though that is not my place to enact revenge on your behalf. You are coping in the way that you know how." She paused here. "But it is not your fault. This place is a wasteland. Your desire for camaraderie has been, in my opinion, misplaced. Clarity is a perfect word for that which you seek." A magnanimous incline of her head. "What can I do for you?"
"I am certain I am not angelic," there was a brief smile that threatened the corners of his lips but did not fully manifest. His exhale could have seemed to be the collapse of his chest. "I am Christian. There is definitely a God." Even if he was not so lucky as to be made of the stuff that humans were. The sins of the father.
The mention of skewering Roach led to his small shrug, "I knew how she was when I asked it of her. Beyond that... " he didn't put it to words. The thought was that he felt slightly awkward for being invested in a relationship that had been a week long. It had prompted in him the thought that it wasn't Roach's behavior that had upset him, but that the repeating situation had been like a Chinese water torture. He'd had enough. "You could visit me, if you like."
"I will do that. You have offered, and I accept, just as I have done with your magnificent museum." A gesture around. "Seattle has a splendid artistic community. A glorious symphony orchestra, a thriving opera. At one time in my tedious life I spent a year on the San Juan Islands. We shall go and I will show you." She spoke evenly, slowly, deliberately. There was nothing excited or rushed about her speech patterns. Always she had the utmost control of everything in her life.
"That would be good, I think." He could tell she wasn't pleased with his decision, beyond the words she spoke and the deliberate manner of her speech. He cleared his throat, feeling as if their conversation tended to be dominated by him, his life, his issues. Helena's mattered to him, just as much, "And how have you been?"
"Same. As always." More amusement. "When must you go? How soon? And before you answer, it must be known that this fills me with a tremendous amount of regret. Though my motivations are often cryptic, you were a friend in which I found tremendous catharsis. Someone who analyzed tragedy and found light even at the end of the longest tunnels. I have come to enjoy your company for your optimism in a world that is a glass half empty. The regret lies in not having reached the potential or apex of our friendship. For you see, the expectation is that you come to me before this decision has been made. It is the nature of friendship." Her chin inclined some, eyes catching his and holding them. "And I will hold you responsible for that slight. Despite my rigidity, knowledge of your suffering would have been appreciated. Perhaps then I could have served in that official capacity: as your friend." Her posture relaxed, and her lips closed. He could respond if he liked.
It wasn't a good week. The knocking rocked him out of the not-sleep he was engaged in. When he answered the door it was not in his usual, formal attire, but in long black-grey pajama bottoms and a loose white cotton shirt. Despite the look, he hadn't been sleeping. He smelled of coffee and cinnamon and his gaze was worn beneath his hazels, "Helena? Is everything alright?" A glance beyond her into the mouth of the evening before he pulled open the museum door more to invite her inward.
"Oh." A note of surprise in the way he was dressed. Very different from his usual formal attire. "Robert Brohkun. I ask the same of you." She stepped inside, her footfalls silent. "You have not been sleeping. Come. Sit." She moved beyond him into what could be a parlor. There was more accommodating seats for one tired and one not. She indicated a plush couch for him to seat himself. For Helena, an armchair. Of course. "Speak."
"There's a kitchen," he motioned down the hall. The parlor at the entryway was fine, and he took a seat there. He cleared his throat, one ankle propped upon the opposing knee, "I've put in for a temporary to permanent replacement for my position as the museum curator." It was stated more directly than he usually spoke. She normally had cause to berate him for the meandering answers but perhaps in these sort of moments there was less poetry.
Her mouth grew severe and the storms of her eyes calmed. Nevertheless, they smouldered. Her face was loveliest when it was stern. She had the structure for it. A smile looked sinister, but her intensity looked like a metaphor for Mount Everest. "Why." A sharply spoken question not spoken like a question.
"I want to go back to Seattle." There was the dive of his dark eyebrows and then he cleared his throat, "And I don't know how long I will be there or if I want to come back when I'm through." His eyes were at her's, uncertain if there was anger, disappointment or a cold curiosity there waiting for him.
She did not look away. "Why." Asked again, her chin raised in a way that was appraising. Inside, however, was that familiar twisting that came with change she would not control. The taut twang of her willpower stretched to breaking. It was loss.
"I seem to be the subject of use for people here, you being the only exception in the past year," he sighed as he looked down at his feet, "In the past when I have traveled it has brought me answers. This old friend and I have history and time and... I have the dim hope that there will be an explanation there, with her, that can make me feel differently about what's happened to me. About what keeps happening to me." There was a frown then and he combed a hand through his hair, looking at Helena.
"Robert." The name came out with a tinge of sadness. "I want to know the whole story. You are being cryptic. I understand you are tired, but I am not. If I must feed you, I will do so." She was quite serious, capable of many things dark. What she saw before her was a friend defeated - and that was not allowed.
"Roach came into town, we've... known each other from meeting about... ten years ago or so. She felt at one point an attraction for me and I... was willing to see where that went, so long as we were exclusive." He wasn't ready to laugh or be mocked about it. Or lectured about things such as Roach's obvious character flaws and how he should have known, or should have expected, the outcome. "After a week she cheated on me, twice, and wants to... do as she likes." There was a small shrug of his shoulders, "It isn't just with lovers, but that was the last straw."
There was no patronizing and there were harsh words coming from her. "What else is it, Robert?" Eyes narrowed some, but Helena never blinked. She regarded him. His weariness. His heartache. Her nostrils flared as her lips closed into a thin line. Hands were folded in her lap, unmoving.
"It's friends. To date, you're the only person I know that sees me... just to see me. Beyond that it's for a need, an agenda, for something I can give them or the potential of what I could do for them. I've somehow put myself in a place to be that person, that used article." He leaned back. The wood of the chair groaned when he did so, his hazel eyes settling on Helena's face, "I think it's my fault and that if I do this trip I'll get clarity. I'll stop the cycle of history repeating itself before I go mad."
"Mea culpa." He would appreciate the Latin, and the quiet way it slipped from her lips. "Are you sure you are not angelic? The guilt that you carry, that you imagine and place upon your shoulders. It is very Christian of you." And here, she blinked. Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "What a loss to me your absence will be. You are a unique one, Robert Brohkun. It has been a pleasure getting to know you. Seeing you as you are -" She indicated his current, distressed state, "- is heartbreaking. This 'Roach' deserves to be skewered for her inconsideration." A tick of her mouth in amusement, just at the corner. "Though that is not my place to enact revenge on your behalf. You are coping in the way that you know how." She paused here. "But it is not your fault. This place is a wasteland. Your desire for camaraderie has been, in my opinion, misplaced. Clarity is a perfect word for that which you seek." A magnanimous incline of her head. "What can I do for you?"
"I am certain I am not angelic," there was a brief smile that threatened the corners of his lips but did not fully manifest. His exhale could have seemed to be the collapse of his chest. "I am Christian. There is definitely a God." Even if he was not so lucky as to be made of the stuff that humans were. The sins of the father.
The mention of skewering Roach led to his small shrug, "I knew how she was when I asked it of her. Beyond that... " he didn't put it to words. The thought was that he felt slightly awkward for being invested in a relationship that had been a week long. It had prompted in him the thought that it wasn't Roach's behavior that had upset him, but that the repeating situation had been like a Chinese water torture. He'd had enough. "You could visit me, if you like."
"I will do that. You have offered, and I accept, just as I have done with your magnificent museum." A gesture around. "Seattle has a splendid artistic community. A glorious symphony orchestra, a thriving opera. At one time in my tedious life I spent a year on the San Juan Islands. We shall go and I will show you." She spoke evenly, slowly, deliberately. There was nothing excited or rushed about her speech patterns. Always she had the utmost control of everything in her life.
"That would be good, I think." He could tell she wasn't pleased with his decision, beyond the words she spoke and the deliberate manner of her speech. He cleared his throat, feeling as if their conversation tended to be dominated by him, his life, his issues. Helena's mattered to him, just as much, "And how have you been?"
"Same. As always." More amusement. "When must you go? How soon? And before you answer, it must be known that this fills me with a tremendous amount of regret. Though my motivations are often cryptic, you were a friend in which I found tremendous catharsis. Someone who analyzed tragedy and found light even at the end of the longest tunnels. I have come to enjoy your company for your optimism in a world that is a glass half empty. The regret lies in not having reached the potential or apex of our friendship. For you see, the expectation is that you come to me before this decision has been made. It is the nature of friendship." Her chin inclined some, eyes catching his and holding them. "And I will hold you responsible for that slight. Despite my rigidity, knowledge of your suffering would have been appreciated. Perhaps then I could have served in that official capacity: as your friend." Her posture relaxed, and her lips closed. He could respond if he liked.