Seasons in Change (Chester Hoffman at Thirty-Three)

CW: Some language and drinking

Note: Wrote this as a companion piece to a few other stories posted here, but this is intended to be enjoyed as a standalone story.

Chester Hoffman, now aged thirty-three, stood half cast in shadow from the dusking sun, split equally under the doorway, one foot slightly out and the other in. Faint and hushed chatter reverberated, but didn't speak coherently, and instead was akin to static.

"Chester," Chester's mother, Rebecca Erickson said, coming next to him. "Chester honey, I'm heading out now. Are you...are you okay?"

Rebecca bowed her head down, sighing.

"I-I'm sorry. What a stupid question."

"It's okay mom, I'm fine, yeah. Just..."

Chester inhaled, raising his shoulders before slumping them.

"I don't know. I feel numb...and scattered. This is just...I don't know. I don't know."

Rebecca looked up at Chester, Chester stared into her eyes a moment before lowering his gaze to the maroon carpet. Rebecca grabbed Chester's head and brought it down, kissing him on the forehead.

"I love you, Chester. Always know that."

Chester nodded. Rebecca departed down the hall. During the next thirty or so minutes, family, friends, and acquaintances would slowly trickle out, before departing always leaving Chester with a word of sympathy, hug or pat on the back. Eventually, the room was empty, and Chester stood by himself.

***

The place was called "The Beachfront Deli 2", which Chester found humorous for two reasons. First, it was nowhere near a beach, the deli chain being located predominantly in the Maine Highlands. Second, the first one had been shut down, partly due to repeatedly failing health inspections, partly due to the owner facing a string of unsavory lawsuits. His nephew had purchased the place, keeping the name but slapping a sequel number on it. Sequels tended not to be better than the original, Chester believed, but as the smell of Philly cheesesteak reached his nostrils, he believed this could be an exception.

"Thanks", Chester said as the waiter dropped off his and his father's plates.

Chester dug into the cheesesteak, taking out a massive chunk.

"Oh my god", he said in between munches.

"You're telling me", Harry said, taking a bite of his Reuben sandwich. "Stuff's so good it would have Hawking praying to Jesus."

Chester chuckled. He looked at Harry, really looked at him, and realized his dad was getting old. He had always called him old man, but now he realized he actually was one.

"Have you talked to your mom any recently", Harry inquired, mouth full.

"Um, yeah. Couple days ago actually. At the funeral."

"Mm", Harry replied. Harry sighed, putting down his sandwich and wiping his mouth.

"I would have come, I hope you know. It's just Jackson...he was so sick. Fever so high when I felt his forehead I nearly burned my hand."

"I know, it's fine."

Harry nodded.

"I-I don't know if you feel the same, but I see Jackson as your brother. And Simon. You didn't grow up with them, and hardly know them, but they're still my blood, and by extension yours as well."

"I-", Chester sighed, rubbing his face. "Yeah, I know they're my brothers. I would spend more time with them, it's just work, and the distance...I-"

"All any of us could do is try our best", Harry said, putting up his hand.

Chester half-smiled.

"Sure."

They sat in silence a moment, Harry eventually opening his mouth to say-

"I'm so sorry, Chester. Amy was a beautiful woman, a beautiful human being. A true diamond down here in the muck."

Chester rolled his tongue in his mouth.

"Do you know where Ben's been?"

Harry shook his head.

"Your brother's a wanderer, in that way I guess we're similar. Not like you, Chester. You've always liked home. Maybe not with us, but with someone."

Chester was silent.

"I've tried to call him, several times the last few months. I wish he'd just...I don't know."

Harry grabbed his old fashioned, taking a gulp.

"You know, me and my brother, your uncle Bob, we used to argue all the time about aliens. If they existed. Bob always held the belief that probably not, on account of the right ingredients for life being so incredibly rare, and the universe so ungiving. I always argued that there had to be aliens, you know? It just wouldn't make sense if there weren't. The universe is so big, so vast, there's gotta be someone out there with us. An unseen neighbor."

Harry stopped only to take another sip of his old fashioned. He shook his head.

"Now I don't. I think I was just...I don't know, lonely. I've been lonely since I was a young man, and it's never really gone away. Not to assume, but I think in that way we've always been similar. But I realized, even if aliens did exist, it wouldn't change anything. Not really at least, for the things that matter most to humans. I'm...comfortable with the connections I've been lucky to have. Yearning for more is just a recipe for more misery."

Harry looked at Chester, and Chester likewise looked at him. Chester picked up his shot and drank it, setting it back down.

"Should we order another round", Harry asked.

Chester nodded.

"Yeah."

***

When Chester awoke, the sun blasting through closed curtains, he came to regret the several shots he had drunk the evening before. He picked up his phone to see several texts and voicemails from Jeff, his quasi-manager.

"Hey Chester", the voicemail began. "Just checking in on the status of the Bartholomew script. Talked to Rick a little bit yesterday and he seems willing to prolong the development stage a bit, but this is probably the most mercy we'll get. I'm sorry calling to say this, with the funeral and whatnot, oh, I hope the funeral went well. Or as well as it could go, but anyway, give me a call back. Love ya pal."

Chester groaned, setting down the phone.

"Fuck."

Jeff's home was a modest, beachfront house that always smelled of saltwater and clam chowder. When Chester knocked on the front door, Mary opened the door, sure enough the smell of cooking clam chowder washed over him.

"Jeff's in the living room", Mary quickly said before leaving.

"Thanks, and the chowder smells delicious", Chester said before kicking off his crocs and proceeding into the living room. Jeff sat on the sofa as he scrolled on his laptop, his daughter Sarah on the floor beside him watching Bluey. Jeff looked up.

"Chester? What the fuc-what are you doing here?"

"Thought I'd swing by and give the updates on the script in person."

"Yeah, of course", Jeff responded, scooting over on the couch. "Come, sit."

Chester sat on the couch.

"What are you looking at?"

"Eh, some new guidelines by the intimacy coordinator for the studio. Basic stuff, but I may be unexpectedly quizzed on some stuff so you know, better safe than sorry. What about you though? What's happening with the script?"

"Um...it's coming along, yeah. Almost done."

"Give me a percentage."

"Eighty-five percent done."

"They'll say we need to be at least ninety at this point. Again, this isn't coming from me."

"No, I understand."

Jeff tore his gaze from the screen, studying Chester.

"Can you promise me, and I mean really promise me, that you'll be at ninety-five by next Sunday?"

Chester nodded.

"Yeah...yeah, I can promise you that."

Jeff nodded, putting out his pinky, which Chester gripped with his.

"Stay for dinner? We're having chowder."

***

"Dad-", Sarah said in between mouthfuls of chowder. "Dad said you're making a superhero movie?"

"Swallow your food before you talk", Mary said.

"Sorry."

Chester chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess I kind of am. There won't be any superheroes in it, but definitely some...superhero elements I guess."

Sarah's brows furrowed.

"So...a superhero movie?"

Jeff chuckled.

"He's too elevated for that Sarah."

Chester laughed.

"Funny."

Sarah took another bite of chowder, preparing to speak but remembering Mary's rebuke and quickly swallowing.

"I'm writing a superhero comic."

Chester's eyes widened.

"You are?"

Sarah nodded.

"Dad said it's really good. He said I'm mature for my age."

"I hope you're not trying to put me out of employment."

Sarah giggled.

"No...do you wanna see it?"

Chester nodded.

"Hell yeah-my apologies, but of course."

Sarah leaped from her chair and ran for another room. After several moments, she returned with a stack of papers. She handed them to Chester.

"It's called Adam Lost."

"Nice", Chester said. "What's it about? Based on the cover, something sci-fi?"

On the cover, a man in a space suit fought lizard monsters on an alien planet.

"It's about an astronaut who suddenly gets transported to an alien planet. At first, he tries to get back home, to earth, but realizes he can't. So he becomes a part of the planet's society, and a hero to them, even though he's not one of them. That's why it's called Adam Lost, because he is."

Chester's eyes ran across the pages.

"This is...genuinely amazing stuff. Jeff, you may have a prodigy on your hands."

Jeff put up his hands in mock humbleness.

"What can I say? I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Mary laughed.

"I think the apples fallen quite far from the tree. Chester, did you read the pilot Jeff tried to pitch? About the hot and dangerous firefighter that saves a school from a fire and ends up becoming a part time teacher there."

Chester laughed.

"I'm afraid not, would love to get my hands on this though, seems like a masterpiece."

"It was satirical", Jeff shot back.

A scatter of laughter across the table, Sarah laughing with her mouth open and full of food, prompting another swift rebuke from Mary. After dinner, Chester staying a little while longer to help Jeff clean the dishes, and enjoy a shot of whisky, he made his farewells and departed.

***

Worn, baby blue Patagonia sweater. Cleveland Guardians baseball cap, the original color cream, but wear making it appear like tan. Maroon dress. Yellow rain boats. As Chester looked through Amy's belongings in the closet, he felt dread blossom within him, and had to take a seat on the bed as he felt he might fall over. He looked at his phone on the bedside desk, and briefly pondered trying to call Ben again, but decided against it. He tried for his father, but Harry didn't pick up. He was going to try for his mother next, but felt as if he had bothered her enough recently.

Chester wasn't one for weeping, or outwards displays of emotion, but found himself curling into a ball on the bed and weeping. Slight, at first, then turning into full blown lament, snot pouring out his nostrils and tears down cheeks, Chester releasing a succession of animal-ish and oddly childlike moans and groans. After several minutes, the weeping came to an end, and Chester got off the bed and stood once more beside the closet.

"Fuck."

After emptying the closet of most of Amy's belongings, save for the yellow rain boots, but not throwing them away just yet, forming a stack in the corner, Chester went to a nearby bar even though it was only mid-afternoon and had himself two shots of whisky. He stayed a little longer and listened to the band, he didn't know them, but liked their music, before departing. He drove around aimlessly, eventually coming to a park. After parking, Chester found himself at a bench beneath a towering tree, the canopy providing reprieve from the sun. He watched the squirrels run about, as well as the children, and briefly wondered if he looked like a predator.

Chester sighed and leaned his head back, eyes closed. This went on for several minutes before something hit his shoe and he heard a boys voice say "my bad".

Chester opened his eyes and turned to the left, a young, ruddy faced boy in a leg cast approaching, a basketball at Chester's foot.

"No problem", Chester replied, kicking the ball back to him.

The boy almost tripped and fell.

"Shit", Chester yelled, leaping up from the bench and to the boy.

"I'm fine", the boy said.

"Sports accident?", Chester said, pointing at the boys cast.

"Uh-huh."

"I remember those days", Chester responded.

The boy looked up at him with a cross between disgust, sympathy and dread.

"Alright then", the boy said, walking away. After several steps, he fell back down with a stream of cursing following. Chester approached and helped hoist him up.

"God fucking dammit", the boy spat.

"You're breathing pretty hard, where are your parents?"

"I'm fucking thirteen, I'm here by myself."

"You should sit down for a couple minutes."

The boy studied Chester, eventually sighing.

"Okay, Epstein."

The boy followed Chester to the bench, sitting down.

"So, what sport gave you this beauty?"

"None, I was pushed down the stairs by another student."

Chester nodded.

"I was bullied too."

"I am the bully, I've been harassing this fucktard for months. Guess he finally grew a fucking spine."

Chester's brows furrowed, he opened his mouth then closed it.

"...oh."

They sat in silence, the boy staring ahead as his breath slowed.

"...the doctor says this leg is completely fucked. Like completely fucked."

Chester looked at the boy, and after a moment spoke.

"...you don't know that. It may get better. No one really knows anything honestly. Not even doctors."

The boy thought a moment.

"You're right, yeah. No one really does know anything."

They sat for several moments more in silence, the boy sighing and looking down at the concrete.

"...my doctor does know some stuff, though. So when he says I'll never walk right again, I don't think he's just giving me shit. Pete really did get the last laugh."

He looked at Chester.

"That's the retard that pushed me down the stairs."

"I don't think you can say that."

"Why not? It's literally a word for disabled people, and I'm literally fucking disabled now."

Chester didn't respond. They looked out at the park.

"I shouldn't have been so mean to Pete. Honestly, I did this to myself. I don't even know why I did it, I...I think I hate my life. It's just..."

The boy looked down at the ground, and Chester saw a nebulous and loathsome hate that he knew well.

"...yeah, I think I just hate my life."

Chester looked at the boy.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think I do too. Though, stuff like this makes it better."

The boy looked at Chester.

"...meeting a kid who's disabled and hates his life makes it better?"

Chester laughed, the boy as well.

"No, meeting someone else, and relating like this...it makes it better. Knowing that we're all down here, stuck in the muck...it's comforting. Connecting over the suffering, I don't know, it makes me think I'm not alone. Never have been."

The boy looked at Chester, and a grin spread across his face.

"Yeah...yeah you're right."

Chester breathed in, taking one last look at the park before getting up.

"I'll see you around. Hope the legs heals up."

"Yeah, um...see you around. Thanks, I guess."

***

Chester sat in the golden obsidian of his kitchen, the only light the faint bulb from across the counter which provided the golden cast. He sat his glass of bourbon down, walking into the bedroom and staring at the stack of boxes. With an inward groan that stung, Chester took out Amy's yellow rain boots and put them in a box.