Chapter Five:
#Jake
I stood before his house's door, trembling. The electricity was cut that day, which was normal in this town where I had grown up since childhood. I hesitated greatly before knocking; I didn't know how to break the news of my three-year absence to him. It was already hard enough to leave, and now, at his door, I was forced to face it. Would he be angry? Had he completely erased me from his life, believing me dead? Or would he forget everything to hold me with all his strength and whisper in my ear: "My brother, Jake, I missed you"? Maybe he would punch me in the face and chase me away without trying to listen. All these possibilities were terrifying, but they wouldn't stop me. I would knock, whatever the price, I was ready to pay it.
I knocked, but no one answered. Perhaps he wasn't there or was asleep. Should I leave or keep knocking?
My hand moved ahead of me to knock again, as if it had stopped obeying me. After a few moments, the door finally opened. But who was this girl? I didn't know, I couldn't look at her, as if I was too embarrassed to raise my eyes to her. And even if I had, I might not have distinguished her in this total darkness. I buried my face in my jacket and apologized for coming so late. My goal was to find Steve, my friend to whom I had promised to come to his place as soon as I set foot in town. But I didn't expect her to say at all:
"Sorry, Steve died a year ago."
The news hit me like lightning, as if I were in a bitter nightmare I just wanted to wake up from. Tears started streaming, and my sobs escaped, announcing an eternal and indelible grief. I was unable to hold them back, I let them out, audible to me and to this stranger. It took me minutes to try and gather my senses and not collapse. This wasn't the place.
My words came out, heavier than they should have been: "My condolences, miss. I am so sorry."
I turned around very quickly before fainting right there. I walked with quick steps, just wanting to get away, to isolate myself in a place where no one would see me. I walked in the darkness until I found myself at the edge of the lake. I knelt down and screamed with all my might. I dug my fingers into the earth, trying to cling to it, but it immediately slipped away between my fingers, leaving me in the void. I lay down on the cold ground, crying non-stop for hours.
I had come today to see Steve, not to learn of his death. I hadn't seen him for three years, I hadn't spoken to him, I hadn't hugged him, I hadn't accompanied him in his last days. And he left this world angry at me, thinking I had forgotten him, that I had betrayed our friendship as soon as I left for New York. But he didn't know that I hadn't done any of that, that I had always carried the love of our friendship in my heart; he was my brother and a part of me.
The first rays of sunlight began to pierce the dark sky, and I was still in the same state, crying, falling silent, then crying again. I wondered how I could live with this guilt, how I could bear this burden all my life. I doubted it.
"My boy, what are you doing here? Are you hurt?"
The voice of this old man brought me back to reality a little. I looked up and saw Uncle Matthew, standing, his fishing rod in hand. Nothing had changed about him, as if I had never left the town. Uncle Matthew was surprised to see me lying on the ground, covered in dirt like a little child scared of his mother's punishment, and he decided to stay there. He said to me in a voice full of doubt: "Jake, is that really you?"
I didn't know if I was still the Jake everyone knew. Now, even I didn't know who I was. I replied mechanically, like a robot repeating a program: "Yes, Uncle Matthew, it's me, Jake."
He didn't wait for a moment. He reached out to lift me from the ground, like an empty body with no trace of a soul. I saw the shock on Uncle Matthew's face, and there were many questions in his eyes, but he didn't ask me any. He just looked at me, as if my condition was enough to answer all his questions. He said to me:
"So, Jake, it seems you know what happened."
Yes, even he couldn't bring himself to say Steve was dead. He couldn't admit it, as if no one believed it. He simply summarized the thing as "what happened." When he saw me silent, unable to speak, as if someone had cut my tongue, he said to me, placing his hand on my back to comfort me:
"You know I love you, Jake, like my own son. I always considered you and Steve my sons. I know this news is not easy, and it was hard for us, but for you, it will be much harder."
Yes, it was truly much harder. His attempt to console me only made me fade further. He continued: "You weren't here to say goodbye to Steve, and maybe it was just as hard for Steve, because he always held out hope that you would call him again. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. And maybe you feel guilty now for betraying your friend, you who didn't even attend his funeral and didn't even know he had passed away."
Was he consoling me, punishing me, or taking revenge on me? Was Uncle Matthew saying these words to me when he saw me in this state? If Matthew couldn't pity me, how could Steve? He will never forgive me, he will never accept my apologies. My tears started flowing again, as if I were living two pains at once: the pain of loss and the remorse of conscience.
Uncle Matthew directed the knife of his words toward me again. He said to me, squeezing my arm harder: "Stop crying, Jake. You've cried enough today. Now, go home and clean yourself up well, because you have an important appointment."
This time, his words weren't hurtful, but they drew a large question mark in my mind. How an important appointment? What appointment was he talking about? He continued without waiting for me to ask him: "You're going to visit Steve. Ask him for forgiveness, maybe he will forgive you."
Yes, am I going to go to his grave where he has been sleeping for a year? Am I going to ask him to forgive me without seeing his face, without hugging him, without seeing him smile? But despite that, I will go.
I had absolutely no idea how to cover all that distance to get home. I had even left my car on the street where Steve's house was. So, I took a taxi, even though it's very difficult to find one in this cursed town. But perhaps my luck was merciful this time and didn't want to make things worse. I got into the taxi, and the driver was astonished by my condition. I was like a homeless person, with dirty clothes and hair. I gave him the money before telling him where I was going, afraid he would doubt I would pay him. Then I gave him the address of my house, but I changed my mind at the last minute and asked him to take me to the hotel. I wasn't ready to revive any more memories in that house.
I finally arrived at the hotel, and everyone was looking at me, astonishment visible on their faces at the sight of this tramp who wanted to enter the hotel. Even the guard at the door stopped me and wouldn't let me in. I explained the situation to him, telling him I had simply had an accident. After many attempts, he was convinced, and I was able to take a room. I went into the bathroom, stood under the shower, and let the water wash away all that dirt, although my intention was never just to wash away dirt.