IN-PROGRESS: Turns (1).

He turned on the end of the road, down a small alley easily missed. He remembered this alley by forced habit, not by memory. Returning had been an unfortunate obligation, and returning meant habits resurfacing; habits that he had torn from himself the moment he left town. At least, that’s what he’d thought. Suppose habits weren’t so easily torn from us after all.

The alley itself hadn’t changed: it was narrow, filthy with wayward-blown debris created only by inconsiderate humans, and it stunk of human waste. It was located right behind a public restroom, the type that had a long trench down the middle of the room with false walls up to protect one’s modesty, even though doors were taken off as precaution to prevent drug dealers from smuggling and dealing drugs within the restrooms. Every few minutes, a roar, and down came a torrent of running water to wash the waste down the hole on the other side of the building down into the sewers. No one ever went into that last stall. Too much splash.

Grabbing a silk handkerchief given to him by his fiancé’s mother, he stuck it to his face and hurried out of the alleyway.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting at the end of it; maybe a field of flowers as a pleasant surprise, or maybe even a familiar building that became a place for him to woo girls when he was back in high school. Instead, he was met with more dark concrete, still wet from the previous night’s rain, and a woman in red who nearly collided with him as he stepped into the open.

“Hey!” the woman exclaimed in their native tongue. “Don’t surprise someone like that!”

If he wasn’t so surprised at the politeness of her diction, he was more surprised that it was Ying.

She had been a mousy thing back in school. She was teased relentlessly for it. He was rather taken back to find that she never left the place that bullied her for years.

“Sorry.”

“Just be careful next time.”

She didn’t give him a second glance as she continued her way to her destination.

Had this been a normal visit home, he would have just let it go.

“If it isn’t Little Mouse,” he said. She turned around slowly. “In a hurry?”

She said, “Boring Ben. Still stuck in old times. Back off, slug.”

He watched as she walked away.

He couldn’t describe the resentment, or the anger he felt as he continued his way home, dressed in his Hugo Boss suit and stylish haircut. Past the stinking bathroom where he could hear backpackers giving out an audible and understandable cry of disgust, and the meat market where the dog carcasses hung, and out of the bustling dirty road onto a smaller road where it led him through thickets of insects and bushes of spiderwebs. He emerged from the small road covered in nature and walked into the stone house where his father sat, staring into the distance beyond the small vegetable garden.

“I thought you said you were going for a walk, not a mountain hike.” His father’s attempt to crack jokes made the prickle in his chest tear into his heart.

“I changed my mind.”

“Your mother was good at that. Changing her mind.”

It’ll do that to you, the past. It hangs like a black cloud over you until you become accustomed to its shadow until one day it strikes with a torrent of lightning and rain. You wake up and realize you’ve never really left.

Ben—he goes by Benjamin now—grimaced and said nothing. He went into the bedroom that he had once shared with his parents, up until his sister had gone to college, and he could finally have her room. He dreaded the holidays when she came home, when he was forced to return to sharing a bed with his parents.

He glanced at the concrete slab that wasn’t even a bed.

It looked a concrete block, connected to the walls of the house. In the summertime, it was cool to lay upon, and in the winter, there was a constant fire burning in the hollowness of the box, keeping it warm. Practical, efficient, but not at all luxurious.

He sat on the concrete, not remembering what it was like without Wi-Fi. He had foolishly left his cell phone at home, romanticizing the idea of his homecoming as a cleansing process, to shake the city from his bones just for a while.

His sister couldn’t make it to the funeral. Tall, sturdily built, with a fire tongue, she had been his friend and constant tormentor. He was never as clever as she, and the world seemed to spin around her. Grass seemed greener as she walked by, flowers bloomed at her feet, and animals were drawn to her. If he hadn’t known better, he would be utterly convinced that she was a modern-day Disney princess.

Except he knew better.

The phone rang.

“Hey, B-sport.”

“What do you want?”

“Rude. Mom and Dad taught you better than that.”

“What do you want?”

“Can I talk to Dad?”

He yelled out to the patio, “Kay’s on the phone!”

He left them to their conversation.

The house never really felt like his, not really. Like something was misplaced or that he was destined for greater things. Perhaps he was the one misplaced. Simply put, he didn’t belong amongst the nature, the physical labor. The moment he moved to Beijing, it had felt like home to him. The struggle was real, but the pay-off at the end was worth it. Busing tables at various restaurants for 20 hours a day, seven days a week for years until he finally landed a managerial job at one of the largest restaurants in Beijing. It seemed uncolorful, but it paid well, and now he was ready to get married and settle down. Was it a crime to want for some normalcy?

He hadn’t told them yet. A part of him didn’t want to. He didn’t want them at the wedding. How embarrassing. His father had always hated Beijing, so really, there was no point. Why bring it up if everyone involved dreaded it? If he didn’t want to?

His father called for him, “Kay wants to talk to you.”

Off the bed, and into his parents’ room. No, parent’s. He must not forget.

“Yes?”

“When are you going to tell him?”

“What?”

“About Bethany. It’ll make him happy.”

“How’d you know about that? Never mind. Stay out of it. It’s none of your business.”

“Sweet girl found me on Facebook and sent me a message. She’s a good one. Knows where her priorities lie.”

“Back off, Kay.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Just back off. Don’t touch her.”

“You know you don’t deserve her.”

“Butt out.”

He hung up.

There was going to be consequences.

There were always consequences. His favorite toy missing; an unfortunate accident that left him with a broken arm. And there was always Kay, standing in the shadows, eyes laughing, mocking. Nature bloomed around her, and humans withered. They never died, but they hurt, they suffer, and they are driven to madness. Death would be a much better consequence, but she knew that. It wasn’t in her nature to be merciful. 

[cont...]