Therevin’s Journeyman and The Colors of the Forest

TW: Grief

My phone rings. I look to see Thomas’ Mom calling. She knows he and I broke up. Should I let the machine get it?

After the third ring, I answer saying, “Hello, Shellie. How are you?” My voice is slightly higher than normal, but unwavering.

“Oh, I wasn’t sure if… Hi, Reynold.” Her voice is weak and quiet. “I know you were close with Thomas.”

Were?

She continues, “I mean, I know you and him—” She chokes then sniffs as if crying.

“Is everything okay, Shellie?” A well of darkness bores into the area above my stomach and below my chest, leaving a hollow denseness.

“I know it’s been months, but please come back. We’re going to have a funeral for him on the eleventh.”

Funeral? Funeral. She said funeral.

“Okay. Shellie. I can come. I will come. I’m—”

“Thank you, Rey. Please don’t say sorry. Being here will be enough.”

“Then I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“You can stay in his old room if you want. Or his apartment. Or our guest room. Wherever you want. We don’t want you to stay at a hotel, but if you do, please let us pay for it. You meant the world to him for a time. We can tell you what happened when you get here. I don’t want to say it over the phone.”

Every word spills out of her very quickly.

“Is it… Is it okay if I choose when I get there?”

She pauses, then slows down.

“Of course, dear. Please let us know when you get here. I have to go, and thank you. Serena and Markle say hello and await your return.”

I chuckle as my stomach tumbles. “Give them hugs and pets for me,” I say after an unrestrained sigh.

“Goodbye, Rey. See you soon.”

Silence looms over my shoulders and deep inside my ears. A piercing hum of the lights. The flickering sound of people talking on the TV. The car driving by. All dimmed by intense, overwhelming, deafening weight of not hearing any of it while it’s plainly digging at my ears.

I should tell Laurie that I'm going to do remote work for a while. How long should I tell her? She should understand though. I should bring my dark green suit. Tommer always liked that one.

I slide down my chair and look at the ceiling. Tommer. Haven't thought of that name since we broke up.

I sigh and pick my phone back up to text Laurie. I open my messages and see his face. His smiling icon was the last photo I took of him. I open up our text chain.

"It was good to see you again, ReyMan."

I never answered him back. I never answered back. Never answered back. Never answered. Never. But that was how we spoke. How we always spoke.

"Fuck!" It comes out as a guttural scream.

"Reynold?" My Dad's voice floats through the house.

I forgot I'm at home.

"Dad?"

He comes into the living room, eyes full of concern.

He softly asks, "Hey bud, everything okay?"

Tears form in my eyes as I shake my head.

He crosses the room and pulls me into his arms. I can't even raise mine. He rocks me in the embrace as sobs rack out of my throat.

He takes my head in his hand, stroking my hair saying nothing.

After a long while I whisper, "Tommer's Mom just called. He-"

I can't bring myself to say it.

I frantically stutter into his chest, "I miss him, Dad. I'll never see him again. He's-"

My throat catches the one word even Shellie couldn't say.

“I don’t know if I can go back.”

He guides me to the couch and rests my head on his lap. He strokes my hair saying, “You can give yourself permission to not go back. I know Thomas’s family would understand, especially Shellie.”

“None of our friends live there anymore. I would have to walk through Everett Street again. His folks still live near The Book Terrace where I met him. I was choosing which book to buy, between Therevin’s Journeyman and The Colors of the Forest and couldn’t decide.” I laugh. "He helped me choose, then bought the other one. The idiot.”

I get up and beeline towards my room. I rummage through my closet knowing exactly where it is. I bring back my copy that reads ‘Therevin’s Journeyman’ to Dad and lie back down. I open the front cover and read aloud, “Therein lies the journey through the Colors of the Forest. -Tommer” I say with a sigh, "We switched covers. I have The Colors of the Forest with the Therevin’s Journeyman cover and he has the opposite.”

“I can come with you, if you want. Do you know when it will be?”

I look into his eyes. “It doesn’t—I mean, if you—can you? His…” The word rakes itself from my throat and painstakingly out of my lips, “funeral is on the eleventh.” I sniff. “I was thinking of taking our train home—I mean to his home. I don’t want to, but I think I have to. Take the train. I mean. But also, going back. I never thought I’d go back. Even Thomas didn’t live there anymore. But of course he’s back with Shellie now.”

---

I gaze at the trees flying by as the mountains loom over them. It’s like I’m the trees and he’s the mountain I have to climb. I sit at our favorite table in the food car. Chef Ganes noticed I was alone. He asked, "Where's Tommer?" I had to break it down to him why I was headed back. He gave me a free burger and fries. The same juicy slab of meat we always enjoyed together. Slathered with his homemade aioli and fried onions. He sat with me eating his own burger in silence.

I finish and say, “Thank you, Mister Ganes. I missed your cooking.”

“Tell Miss Shellie that I send my condolences. She took care of you boys so good, even on her own.”

“I will.” I say with a small smile. “She’ll be happy to hear from you.”

---

I lug my backpack out of the train car's storage and lumber out into the old station. We would always try to steal the bench below the archway by the museum. I trudge through the glass doors into the free space.

A sad voice greets me, “Mr. Leinfeld. It’s good to see you.” Old Mrs. Fennway places her hand on mine.

“May I walk around for a bit?” I ask.

“Of course, Rey. Take as long as you like.” She says with a knowing smile.

I slog through the art pieces. Thinking of what Tommer would say, “This piece conveys the tonal deafness of what society has come to bear witness to as we crash through life.” And nonsense like that.

I’d answer back with, “Well, the redness of her scarf signifies the pain of her existence as she shouts into their deaf ears.”

---

Eventually I start my long trek to Shellie’s house. I need her to know I’m here. On the way, I cross through the station’s park, by our favorite restaurant, aptly named ‘The Family Diner,’ where we would spend our nights most days, and finally my journey ends at Everett Street. Her house smack dab in the middle like it’s the most important place in the world. And right now, it absolutely is. I stand in the sun gathering the courage to actually make my way through the broken, heavy air. It’s warm. I don’t even need a coat. Doesn’t seem right that the world doesn’t care. It’s too pleasant.

I find myself at their gate.

Bark. Bark.

Tongues waggle and little bodies swing back and forth as two tails beat against each other. Their mouths wide open with giant dog grins and sharp, infectious happiness that I can’t stand. My vision goes blurry and my head clears of thoughts, but my chest is unwilling to open the gate to their joy. The front door opens and Shellie’s hand goes to her mouth.

Neither of us make a move to each other, just staring.

I finally say, “Can I?” I point at the latch.

She closes her eyes and nods. Markle and Serena crowd around me, so I bend down to say hello and they bowl me over, licking my hands and face. A laugh escapes me at the same time a sob does. I pull them both into a hug as they continue their assault on my neck. It’s gross, but I don’t care. I hold their gyrating bodies as tight as I can until they struggle to pull their heads out of my grasp. I let them go and pick myself up off the ground as Shellie hovers next to me with a look in her eyes that makes tears fall down my cheeks. I offer her my arms and she weeps into my chest. I say, “Mister Ganes sends his condolences.”

---

My hand lingers. Our old life lies beyond this threshold. The key sits inside his door handle. I’m overwhelmed with the smell of him as the door opens. I can only take a deep breath as I push inside unready. It’s there on the table. It reads, “The Colors of the Forest.” Green, brown, blue, and yellow. A brilliant splash of shimmering feathers with its head nestled into a bright, flowery cup of nectar. His copy of Therevin’s Journeyman.

Suddenly I’m cradling his book on our old, slightly scratchy, dark red rug in front of our deep green couch. It smells like Serena and Markle. Golden light filters through light yellow curtains. Salty wetness stains my lips while the refrigerator hums as if in response to my presence.

I open up the book and it reads, “Our journey will never end if you choose to see color within your life. -ReyMan.”

---

“I met Thomas, or what I used to call him, Tommer, at a small little shop called 'The Book Terrace.' I was trying to decide which book to buy when he came along with all the color in his life and decided for me.”