9. Chloe

9

Chloe

 

I love to walk. To head out and just saunter aimlessly, it helps me clear my head. Putting one foot in front of the other, over and over again seems to help add a sense of perspective. To put it lightly, I’d had a turbulent couple of days and after Steve’s phone call I needed to get out and stretch my legs. No walk is complete without my music and I’m listening to a playlist of sad songs; my favorite playlist. I loved sad songs, others would tell me they’re depressing and mime hanging themselves but others didn’t understand. I found them to be beautiful and moving, found that this type of music made me feel alive. I enjoyed the communication of an emotion, in that special way that only music can achieve. If a man tells me his heart is breaking, I might feel slightly sorry for him but if he sings it over a stunning melody played by a string quartet. Then my heart breaks with his, a beautiful thing.

           I’m unaware of the direction I’m going in, simply walking wherever the wind takes me. Allowing the endorphins to begin to flow and letting the music seep into my being and elevate me, temporarily from my situation. Depending on your religious and philosophical disposition you could put it down to fate, blind coincidence, sub-conscious or God. Whatever the reason, I find myself outside Rachel’s church. I’d not consciously intended to get here nor had I realized I was heading in this direction but when I look up, I see the community hall where just yesterday Rachel had insinuated that life had more in store for me than prison. There’s a board outside with cheaply made posters displaying the words ‘The Church Alive’ and containing a picture of a man, arms aloft in a joyous winning gesture. I notice the doors are open and stand for a minute contemplating the fact. My usual reaction to this sort of fairly insignificant string of incidents would be to carry on walking but on this occasion I can feel something pulling me towards the open door. I can’t explain what it is or why I feel like this but the grip on me is strong and even if I really wanted to, I don’t think walking off is an option. I bow to the pressure, to the pull of the church building and walk towards it.

        As I get to the entrance and stand in the doorframe, I remove my earphones and can see that the building is seemingly empty but for the African man that was preaching the last time I’d been inside. He’s vacuuming the floor, singing as he does and I recognize the song as one of those the church band had played. I stand unnoticed and watch him for a moment; he looks to be in his late fifties and the evident happiness of the man oozes from him. He makes pushing a hoover around look exuberantly fun like a brand new hobby that everyone should be doing. Dancing as he works and singing, his smile and happy body language are infectious. I can’t help but smile as I watch him, smile and marvel at the presence of the man.

          He looks up and spots me, he looks really happy to see me and almost instantly switches the hoover off, dropping the handle to the floor and begins marching in my direction, beaming with every step. “Hey son” he exclaims in his softened African accent, raising his hand to shake mine. “Can I help you somehow?” It’s said as a genuine question and with a sincerity the words ‘can I help you’ usually lack. I’m taken aback a little by his eagerness; I shake his hand and reply “Err… I’m not really sure why I’m here actually.” His smile gets even bigger and he stands looking at me, waiting for me to continue. “I was here yesterday.” I add, unsure of what to say. “I thought I recognized your face.” He muses, he slaps his hand onto my shoulder and loudly says, “well son, it don’t matter why you’re here. All that matters is that you are. Praise the Lord!” He looks deep into my eyes; in his I can see an integrity and honesty that stirs up an instant respect for him. “Anyway” he continues, “you couldn’t have timed it better, I’m just about to make some tea.” He walks off and gestures for me to follow, I have no idea why but I follow him. I’m not a social person and tea with a stranger is something I’d usually turn down but with this man, it’s hard to refuse.

           He makes me a cup of tea and we sit together in the hall, he tells me his name is Amare �" which comes from a word meaning ‘one who builds’ in Arabic and is Latin for ‘cherished’. He also tells me he used to have a good friend called Stewart and that it is a “good, strong name.” Everything he says is said with a child-like enthusiasm and vigor, like he might be joking but probably isn’t. After a lull in the conversation he turns to me and asks, “So, are you born again son?” I smile and reply, “No, I’ve just been born the once up to now.” This makes him laugh, a warm deep chuckle as infectious as his smile. His crow’s feet deepening, every line on his face is a tribute to a life spent laughing, spent seeing the funny side. “Well” he says “all in good time.” Sipping his tea. “You been to church much?” He asks inquisitively. I consider it before I answer “Not really, yesterday was pretty much the first time.” He leans back “Well yesterday was a doozy, it’s not always like that.” I drink my tea, I’m not sure if he means ‘doozy’ in a good or bad way. “Anyway” he resumes “it’d be great to see you back here next Sunday, God’s got good things for you son.” I smile and reply, “I’ve heard that a lot recently.” He laughs his hearty laugh again and meditates verbally “Well there’s no smoke without fire.” There’s real warmth to him and even in the silent lulls of conversation, just sitting with him is comfortable.  

                It’s during one of these lulls that somebody walking through the entrance breaks the silence. I look up mildly startled, to see a slender looking girl, early to mid twenties. Her body language is introvert and unassuming and she strides into the room with an understated purpose. Seeing her, Amare shouts, “Damn girl, what time do you call this?” She looks up at him, her face is pale and she’s wearing a lot of dark eye make-up. Smiling she replies in a cheeky tone, “pipe down old man, you’re lucky I help you at all.” Amare laughs and turns to me tapping me on the knee and then pointing at the girl. “This is Chloe.” He states “she’s supposed to help me clean this place on a Monday but she always conveniently gets here when all the work is done.” He chuckles as Chloe pulls a face at him. “Chloe this is Stewart.” She looks at me with her piercing eyes. Her face is thin, slightly gaunt even and the look is exaggerated by the way her jet-black hair frames her features. A streak of red running through one side, the only color coming from her otherwise entirely colorless appearance. “Hi Stewart,” she says flippantly before instantly turning back to Amare. “Well you hardly seem busy old man.” Gesturing at the tea in his hands and the fact he’s sat down. He laughs again as Chloe heads into the kitchenette, presumably to make herself a hot drink. Amare turns to me and in a hushed voice says, “Chloe is pretty new to the church, she’s got an… unusual social approach.” He makes eye contact with me “but she’s a bright kid, real genius let me tell you.”

              She returns with a cup of tea and after a short while, Amare excuses himself. “You kids can talk amongst yourselves for a minute” He declares as he leaves. There’s a slightly awkward pause. She has a weird kind-of pretty quality but I’m not at all attracted to her, even so she’s still a girl and talking to girls isn’t my forte. “How old are you Stewart?” Chloe’s voice is confident yet everything she does and says is understated and subtle, she has the kind of self-confidence that doesn’t feel the need to be brash or show off in any way. “I’m nineteen in a month.” My voice, on the other hand, has very little confidence. “Aw, just a puppy then.” She responds in faux condescension. “I’m twenty-two, a puppy also.” She smiles, a slight smile and only for a brief amount of time. She clearly isn’t one for displaying emotion. “So how did you end up here?” Her question asking technique feels analytical, like I’m talking to a therapist. “I was told about this place by a girl that comes here, Rachel.” She looks up at me when I answer, a switch in her head seemingly goes off and she smiles again. This time in a way that indicates she’s just discovered something. “So you’re the guy from the coffee shop.” She ponders, “Rachel’s told us about you.” I try to hide it but I’m delighted that Rachel’s talked about me; she thinks about me when I’m not around, maybe she really does care. “Rachel’s talked about me?” I try to sound nonchalant. Chloe peers at me, her eyes narrow with a look of suspicion. “What did she say?” I ask. She looks at me a little more, before slowly uttering, “She’s engaged you know.” I look back at her and smile, “I know.” “Happily engaged.” She persists, Amare is right about her, she’s sharp. I wasn’t used to being read so effectively by anyone, she doesn’t know me at all and has seen straight through me. In a little discomfort, I opt to change the topic. “So how did you end up here?” I ask, parroting her original question. “God found me when I’d hit rock bottom.” A sad expression forms on her features and she looks at her hands, “when I needed him most.” There’s a pain to her that I can relate to somehow. I feel like I know her already, as though on some level we’re similar people. She looks back up at me and with extreme sincerity says “God does that, he knows how much you can take and he never pushes you beyond that limit.” Her words and the way she’s looking at me affect me deeply, it’s impossible but it feels like she knows all about me. About what I’d done and who I am, everything. I shake myself she doesn’t know me, she’s merely using vague, all-encompassing language that could apply to anyone. The hallmark of religious spiel. She offers no information regarding what her ‘rock bottom’ was and I don’t ask out of respect and basic human politeness, leaving an awkward lull in the dialogue.

             Amare returns at just the right time. “Ok kids,” he shouts. “I’m gonna have to lock up now, there’s places I needs to be.” Chloe stands up and looks down at me, “Where you heading Stewart?” “I’m just gonna head home.” I reply, she looks at me as though I’m a bit simple, raising an eyebrow she says “ok, where’s home?” I suppress a laugh, my ability to miss even the most basic point of a question amusing me. “It’s near the ‘red room’ pub.” She smiles “great, I live that way too, we’ll walk together.” Her forwardness is welcome and the thought of a little company on my walk home doesn’t offend me, I simply shrug and mumble “ok”. I shake Amare’s hand thanking him for the brew and for his company, telling him with honesty that it was nice to of met him. He simply pats me on my shoulder and parts with a “God bless you brother.”

           The walk home is a pleasant one, Chloe is intelligent and a good conversationalist, well informed on most topics and wise enough to not be overly opinionated on topics that she isn’t. Like me, she seems old for her age. Tired of the world she lives in and the average people that inhabit it, bored of everything as though she’s seen and done it all before. I relate to her thoughts on most of the topics we speak about. There is however something dark about her, perhaps something from her past, something that keeps her guarded and unrevealing. Any personal questions are batted away with a joke or general vagueness. It’s as though she’s done things she’s extremely ashamed of or feels guilty about. It’s because of this; I’m sure she can tell there is something dark about me. She recognizes the shame and guilt flowing through me; it’s like looking into a mirror for her. I still enjoy her company, maybe even more so as a result and when we part ways I tell her “goodbye Chloe, hopefully see you again soon.” I mean it. I’m certain I’ve found a friend in her that I didn’t have in anyone else. A friend that had secrets too. “Bye Stewart, I’ll see you Sunday… at church.” She responds almost forcefully and walks off down her street.

             As I watch her walk away, I feel my expression change. Meeting Amare and Chloe had been a welcome break from the hectic chaos my life had become over the last couple of days but the break was over. It’s time to get back to reality, time to knuckle down again. A lump forms in my throat and for the rest of the short walk home I contemplate my situation. The kitchen floor still needs finishing and my favorite chair needs disposing of. At the forefront of my mind though is that tomorrow, I have a date with the police.   

 

Reviews

[Jennie Baron]

The introduction of Chloe was a good way to show us more about Stewart without simply telling. Also, the balance between dialogue and narrative is perfect (when they first meet we have the conversation verbatim, but it's good that their conversation on the way home is summarized).

I wouldn't suggest changing a single word, but this chapter might benefit from breaking up some of the paragraphs, in particular, during the narrative, starting a new paragraph with each new speaker.

Excellent! I like the way this story is unfolding very well.

[AprilRN1210]

awwww this one read easily and I quite enjoyed the "change of pace" from previous chapters.... coming along nicely sir....