Camile’s immobile home

“In a quarter mile, take the slight left onto Smith Street.” says the digitized voice, still in an Australian person’s accent. One of many things in the state Alice’s humor left them in before the accident. Two years, ten months, and a few days seems enough time on the calendar, but not quite enough for my brain to process this visit or date or whatever the hell this was.

“Slight left. Then your destination is on the right.”

“Thanks.” I mutter to the empty car.

I pull up and park in front of the house, bumping the curb pretty hard with the passenger side front tire, and correcting the terrible parking job by hopping right over it. Exhaling hard, I throw the vehicle in park, and stare into the rear-view mirror.

“One two three four five six”, I inhale.

“Exhale, one two three four five six.”

I yawn. Not what I was aiming for, but cleared the internal tension long enough to release my muscles, now all flexed and ready for the inevitable fight or flight my cortisol levels are telling them about.

I made eye contact again. “You can do this... It's just coffee. No pressure. Just a new friend for coffee. Just an hour, maybe two.”

I shake my head and close my eyes, while turning the key and removing it from the ignition. I exhale hard again and open the door, swinging my legs out in an attempt to relieve the sensation that I am about to go and do... this. Jeanie and I had been talking for two weeks now, and our first dinner went better than expected. Long avoiding the dreaded online dating apps, I never assumed one of the first tries would land a second date, and for sure not at her place. I needed to stop making assumptions.

I whispered to myself, with my eyes squeezed down hard. “Its just coffee.”

I turned the corner around the car and took in the place. A small yellow duplex with one red, one blue door like some weird binary decision tree. Simple conclusion, only one of them was labeled 211a, my destination. I walk and attempt to skip and hop over the curb, devastated to find that I am not capable of doing so as I slip and need to catch myself, eyeing around nervously in hopes I wasn’t seen. It was still early, and thankfully no one seemed to even be out and about.

I make my way to the house and push the door bell. The door opens immediately.

Jeanie was there, now framed by the door holding back a smile. “You ok there? I was worried you fell?”

She smirked.

“I’m fine. Heck, did you see that?” I caught myself looking at the floor, and shifted and made eye contact.

“Yepp. I was watching from the window. C’mon in.”

“Thanks.” I stepped into the foyer, a formality really, as it was only slightly walled off from the living room, with plants joyously drinking in the beginning of sunlight coming in through the three front windows sitting on a shelf, with just enough room for the door to swing open.

The living room was attached to the dining room in the same fashion. Foyer, living room, and dining room as one large rectangle, split by small wall partitions creating the effect of large entryways into separate rooms. An attempt at the feeling of a large living space. It worked.

“Nice place.” I closed my eyes and reopened them. The formality came out before I could stop.

She hugged me. It was warm and kind, not meant to have a follow up, just a compassion to ease my tension. I hugged her back.

“It’s just coffee, Gus. Not a job interview.” She beamed at me, that gorgeous smile melting my insides and filling me with butterflies. “Let me give you the grand tour.”

“You’ve seen the Grand Foyer!” she flourishes around in a circle in the little room. “Follow me to the living hall now” as she takes one large step forward in a hop, clearing the small distance to the separation between this and the next room. “This is the living room, couch, and TV, staircase on the left, upstairs is the bathroom and bedroom.” She winked at me. Playful, but more of ha-ha Gus, not come upstairs and make coffee.

She smiled. “And we're walking, we're walking...”

“And finally the dining room, our destination.” She waved her arms about playfully.

“Behind me is the kitchen, below us is the basement! That concludes this tour, please tip your guides!” She reached her hand out, palm up and stared at me, with the ‘now it's time for the tip’, in the continued playful manner.

I clapped her hand, high-five style and said “Thanks!”

She lifted an eyebrow, and pulled out a chair for me. “Coffee’s on!”

I took off my jacket and put it around the back of the chair, and I pulled it back a little further. Jeanie headed into the kitchen to get coffee supplies as I settled into the dark, wooden dining room chair. It was not comfortable, but came with a stiff pillow bottom attachment. I pulled myself up to the table and fiddled with my elbows, on, off, on the table.

I pulled my elbows off again, and put my arms down by my sides. “Anything I can help with?” I inquired, half wanting something to do, half wanting to just speak in hopes of warming up to this adventure.

“Nope, I got it covered. Coffee black, in a tall cup is something this kitchen can do!” she jested, with a fake laugh.

Jeanie came over to the table with steaming hot cups of coffee, placing one in front of me and one in front of her spot at the table. She pulled her chair back and sat, crossed her fingers, looked at me and said “Welp, tell me everything. How did you sleep? How was your trip here? Did the GPS take you the weird way I told you about? What do you think of my place?”

Her questions ran together as fast as she could say them. More playfulness. She smiled.

“Good. Trip was fine. GPS seemed normal. I like your place.” I said, aiming for spirited, but landing on sad, maybe pathetic.

“Hrm.” she mumbled, sipping her coffee. “Well, your favorite color is blue, you like dogs, some cats, classic rock, reading, TV, and sports.” She cleared her throat. “You have great taste in women!” her eyebrows raised over and over, cartoonishly, “and still a little shy?”

“That sounds like me.” I made and held eye contact. “I like coffee too.”

“Well now we’re talking!” she laughed. “I’ll be able to write your biography here soon!”

I smiled and laughed, but it was forced. Jeanie saw right through my attempt.

“What’s wrong?”

“I am enjoying myself.” I muttered between sips of coffee. “And I don’t think I am supposed to yet.”

“You told me last night that it had been years since Alice passed, Gus. I think it will be fine. In fact I know it will be. I have a good sense of people, and you pass muster. I have been on exactly 5 dates in the last 14 months and only one second date, this one. I last saw you about 8 hours ago when we finished dinner.” She looked at her watch. “And I was excited to see you again.”

“Five hours of dinner conversation is five hours longer than my last dinner date. We seem to get along!” she smiled and mindlessly rotated the plastic lazy susan in the middle of the table. The bearings squeaking a rolling-metal-on-plastic sound.

She stopped it abruptly, the contents sliding a little from the momentum, stating “Let’s ask Mom.”

“Mom, do you think Gus is a good guy?” She looked at the glass tchotchke, which did nothing. She reached for it, and held it in her palm. “Mom, are you there?”

She looked at it intently, lovingly, but it did nothing. I watched her, curious. Her eyes were excited, intense. She talked to the small glass pillar as if it could hear her.

“Dad insisted Mom be put in Silica,” frowning, mockingly, “She would have wanted it.”

“Ha! Like that man knew anything Mom wanted.” She rolled her eyes. “Pfft.”

“Dad is who wanted her in Silica. He heard that commercial and his eyes lit up. I remember it, in the hospital room with Mom. He droned on and on about memory storage in a 10,000 year glass block. He loved the technology part of it.”

“It's guaranteed!” She imitated his voice. “But guaranteed for what? Not to break?”

She hummed the jingle. “Life is hard and death’s a burn, don’t be sad, store ‘em in a...”

Gus finished, “Silica-urn.” He looked at Jeanie and then the clear block in her hands.

“I can’t believe he did it.” Gus reached over for the glass obelisk, and Jeannie handed it to him. “Isn’t it supposed to be fatal?”

“Yepp. Mom was in palliative care for months. Once she couldn’t speak and Dad took over her care, he signed her up for it. I argued with him for a while, but he was insistent, saying he had a gut feeling it would keep her around forever.”

“She would have wanted it.” Jeanie repeated while shaking her head back and forth.

Gus held the block and inspected it. He looked at Jeanie. “Heavier than expected.”

He rotated it around in his hand. “So weird.”

He looked at Jeanie, ashamed, his face turning red. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Dad got the order in before they shut the company down. I leave it sitting here so I can talk to her when I need to.”

“Does she..”

“Talk? No. That was BS. Part of the scam. I swear she can hear me though. The glass will change colors.”

I put the object down quickly, afraid. “Really? Can she hear us?”

Jeanie smiled, teasing. “No silly! She just sits on my table. Keeps me company. It's just a block of glass. Nothing more.” Jeanie looked at me. “I’ll go get more coffee.”

Jeanie grabbed the two coffee cups in one hand and headed into the kitchen.

“Maybe in the future they will find a way to read that thing and put Mom in a robot or something. Who knows.”

I picked it up again and stared at the glass, seeing the intricate work on the inside.

I held it, inspecting the details. “I thought about it for Alice.” I said, surprised at myself for being able to say the name out loud. “But I went with regular cremation.” I said it as if I was reading a fast food menu. “Well, I mean I...”

“It’s fine Gus.” Jeanie was opening the oven. The smell of the cinnamon rolls finally landed in my consciousness as I stopped feeling panic. Overwhelming cinnamon and sugar and confection. She continued to work.

“So weird.” I mumbled. I looked at it through the diffused light of the white curtains of the windows on this side of the house. It had a greenish hue. Speckled with small reflective dots that looked like stars in a clear night sky.

“Hey lady, nice to meet you.” I whispered to the glass. “I think I like your daughter.”

The glass object remained in my hand, unchanged.

“What was your Mom’s name?”

“Camile. Camile Valadoro until she married Dad. Then Camile Becker.”

“Hello Camile.” I stated, eyeing the glass.

The glass turned reddish, losing its green hue.

“Woah, woah!” I said, putting it down on the lazy susan quickly, and unconsciously wiping my hands on my pants. “It turned red!”

“Don’t be silly Gus.” Jeanie said while icing the buns. Working a butter knife into the small icing container to get the remaining icing.

“Jeanie, I swear it turned red.” I grabbed the block and held it up. “Look!”

She huffed and looked over at the now clear glass block from the kitchen doorway.

“Ha ha ha. Put Mom down. I was just joshing with you when I said it turns colors.”

I looked at the block again, inspecting it. Rotating it mindlessly. “I know you turned red, Camile.”

The block turned red again, this time a crimson, deep color. I froze. I held the block like a baby, got up and began taking short steps towards the kitchen. I got right behind Jeanie and held up the block.

“Look.”

Jeanie jumped, “You scared me!”

“Sorry, look at the block.”

Jeanie looked at the clear glass block in my hands.

“Gus dear, this is not funny. Go put Mom back.”

I looked in surprise at the now clear glass block. Jeanie turned back to continue her icing duties.

The block turned blood red.

“LOOK!”

Jeanie turned, frustrated to see the block, again clear.

“Gus you go put that down right now!”

Frustrated, I exhaled hard and turned. “Fine.” I looked at the block again. This time it turned black, obsidian.

I could feel my heart starting to race. I turned to tell Jeanie, but changed my mind. I looked away towards the wall and berated myself. “Don’t. screw. this. up.”

I pulled the block up to my mouth and whispered, “Look Camile, I don’t know what the deal is, but stay a color this time, what do you say?”

The block changed from black to red, bright red.

“There we go. Now stay that color so I can show Jeanie?”

I turned to speak to Jeanie, again trying to share the wonder of the glass block changing colors.

The block changed colors again, returning to night sky black, then dissolving into deep, penetrating black. Jet black. No color at all.

I could feel the object starting to vibrate, hum.

My chest hurts.

I stared at it, my eyes widening. The colors morphed, black to red, red to black. Like a melting, roiling potion. The vibration changed, like discordant notes I could feel up to my shoulders.

I felt woozy and side stepped to avoid falling. I was short of breath and my chest is pounding now. I wheezed as I attempted to take in a breath.

I fell forward towards the table as I tried to take a step. I reached and put the Silica block back on the lazy susan. I was almost fast enough to catch my weight with the same hand, but failed and thumped hard onto the table, then quickly, comically popped straight back up.

I made eye contact with Jeanie through the kitchen pass-through and we simultaneously spoke.

“I slipped.” “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.”

We stared at each other, neither knowing what to do next. Jeanie put the icing covered knife in the double stainless steel sink in the kitchen and side stepped to the coffee maker, pulling out the carafe and refilling our cups. I sat back down.

“Jeanie.” I paused. “Are you the only one that talks to your Mom?”

“Ummm. Yes. I am the only one that has been here besides you and the plumber earlier this year.”

“You’ve never seen that thing change colors?”

“No. I was just kidding around. It doesn’t change colors. Mom sits on the lazy susan, all day. I don’t think I have touched it outside of dusting it since I dealt with Dad’s estate.”

She arrived back at the table with our coffee cups, and sat back down. She reached over and picked up the block again, spinning it around in the light.

“Looks the same as it always does.” She returned it to its spot and looked over at me sipping my coffee.

“What happened with your Dad? When did he pass?”

“He had his heart attack last year. Fell over his plate of pasta at the table with Mom in his hands.”

“Oh wow.” I sipped my coffee, blowing on the fluid a little before drinking.

I reached over and picked up the Silica block again. I held it between my fingers at the tip, looking through it to see Jeanie.

It turned opaque white, then again to blood red, then black.

Jeanie’s eyes went wide.

“Oh my god!”

My heart is pounding. My vision is getting blurry.

“Gus, that is amazing!” She said with her mouth agape. “Look how beautiful it is!”

My muscles go limp and I fall out of the chair to the floor. The glass block falls from my fingers and bounces off the table before falling to the floor.

Jeanie got up fast and headed over to me. I am breathing hard and holding onto my chest.

“Gus!”

Jeanie came over and looked at me, feeling around my face and trying to roll me on my back. She got up and ran into the kitchen, stepping forward awkwardly towards her cell phone charging on the counter and knocked the sheet of freshly iced breakfast pastries to the ground.

She ignored the mess and ran over to her phone.

“Gus, hold on! I am calling for help!” She ran back over to me in the dining room, stepping on and squishing a cinnamon bun, which stuck to her shoe. Her first step on the carpeted room removed it as she came to my side.

She grabbed my hand and held it as I reached for my chest. My face is red and sweating.

I stare at her.

I stop breathing.