Chapter 2

Dylan visits the town, and he says good-bye to a friend.

Chapter 2

Dylan woke slowly, the sun pouring through the window and gently prodding him to consciousness. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and laid with his head on the pillow for a moment. He turned and saw through the door that Jason was sleeping soundly on the couch, which also turned into a bed. He was still clutching the remote. Dylan grinned and shook his head. He dropped to his back once more, fully collecting himself, then sat up and leaned over the edge of the bed. He grabbed his suit case and headed for the bathroom. 

After a quick shower, he dressed in khaki shorts and plain green t-shirt. He went into the main room and saw Jason sitting on the couch, attempting to wake up. 

“Morning,” Jason said with a half nod. It would have been a curt greeting from anyone but Jason. At least thirty minutes was required before Jason had fully abandoned the last traces of sleep.

“Morning,” Dylan said in return, somewhat preoccupied. He sat down in a chair and quickly worked up a brief summary of the day's plans in his mind.  

First, they would drive the large SUV back to the house, and begin to unload it. Second, they would...well, they would finish unpacking. It wasn't going to be much besides that. Jason would spend one more night, then leave the next morning. And Dylan was on his own. He felt a pang of fear and loneliness run through his chest, but he tried to ignore it. He had better things to think about. 

Dylan slapped his knees. “Well, I'm hungry. How about some breakfast?” Dylan asked as he stood. Jason yawned and nodded his head. 

“Sounds good. Give me a few minutes, though,” said Jason as he stood. Ten minutes at most, Dylan decided. 

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Jason exited the bathroom. Dylan and Jason rode the elevator to the bottom floor. They reached it and watched the people milling about the continental breakfast bar. Dylan had always found an odd interest in watching the people here. It was said the United States was a melting pot. Dylan had decided that hotels set out to prove this. The loafer, in not much more than pajamas, yawned and waited for his pancake to finish warming. The businessman, somehow finding a way to seamlessly transition from eating to thumbing through his Blackberry on numerous occasions. The tourists; the list went on. 

“So, we have options here: three inch donuts, cereal, and some cold coffee. Mmmhm,” said Dylan with mock desire. He held up his finger. “Or: we could go back to my place and fix some real food.” Dylan spread his hands. “It's up to you.” Jason nodded thoughtfully, then immediately walked for the door. 

“I thought you'd say that,” said Dylan with a grin as he followed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dylan and Jason cooked and finished breakfast. Once again, Dylan saw this as yet another affirmation of his ownership. The transformation from house to home had begun. 

The two of them remained at the table, discussing the weather and price of eggs in China. He ran his finger around the edge of his cup, thinking. These were the times he thought of nothing in particular. He allowed random thoughts to flow, setting no parameters. His mind drifted once again to the letter, the library, and the previous owner. He wanted to meet this Timothy Holbeck. He wondered how he could get in contact with him. 

The time for random thoughts past, Dylan and Jason agreed it was time to begin work. They quickly piled the dishes into the sink and walked out to the SUV. They carried boxes for two hours, taking only the occasional break to catch their breath. Their work passed, and was rather uneventful. 

They realized it was nearly time for lunch, and they decided on a small diner walking distance from the house. And so they set out.

“If I never lift another cardboard box again in my life...” Jason's words trailed off and he rubbed his back. Dylan groaned lightly. 

“Oh gosh. I think they multiplied while we weren't looking.” 

“I concur.” 

Dylan slipped his hands into his pockets and casually studied the surroundings. It was a small street, with houses lining both sides. In spite of the town's size, it was a well manicured area. Tall oak trees lined either side of the street, the autumn sun casting long shadows. 

They soon reached the diner, and went in to sit down. Dylan looked over to the counter. A middle aged woman was the only person behind the counter, currently trying balance two plates on one arm, and a holding a coffee pot in the other. Her wardrobe was rather simple: jeans and a polo shirt. Even so, Dylan guessed she was the manager. And currently only employee, from the looks of things. Despite her somewhat fatigued appearance, her shoulder length auburn hair framed a nice face. She quickly poured a cup of coffee, slid one plate down the counter, quickly walked to a table and placed the other plate in front of a customer, then greeted Dylan and Jason. She tucked a tuft of hair behind her ear and readied her ink pen. She smiled. 

“What would you like today?” Jason decided on a sandwich, while Dylan quickly scanned the menu once more. He decided on a sandwich as well. Chicken salad sandwich, in fact. Dylan noticed that the woman had no name tag. He made it a point to learn the names of his waiters and waitresses in restaurants. It had was something he had done for years. So this somewhat bugged him.

Dylan crossed his arms and leaned forward on the table, turning his head to glance around the diner. It was nearly completely full. It was a small diner, so “full” meant around twenty people. One booth, however, was empty. On the table was a picture of an older man, his hand on the shoulder of the woman who was working at the diner. They were both smiling. Dylan frowned. The woman returned with their order. She set the plates down in front of them, and started to walk away. 

“Excuse me,” Dylan spoke up. She turned, facing Dylan. He slowly lifted his hand and pointed to the picture, but maintained eye contact with the woman. “I'm sorry, I'm just a little curious about that picture.” The woman's countenance darkened a shade with sadness, and she dropped her eyes. 

“Um, he was a regular here at the diner.” Dylan noticed the past tense. He guessed the man had died. Could it have been the funeral procession he had seen yesterday? The woman said nothing for a few moments, but made no indication of moving from the table. She finally continued. “He died recently. It's...it's really left a hole here in the diner. In the town, for that matter.” Literally and figuratively, Dylan guessed as he looked at the empty booth. Dylan nodded, but said nothing. The woman nodded as well. “Well, if you need anything, just let me know.” 

“Thank you,” Dylan said, and turned his attention to his lunch. But he couldn't get his mind off of the picture. That man obviously really meant something to the town. But who was he?

“Why is that bugging you, Dylan?” Jason was an astute judge of human behavior. Dylan smirked. 

“I don't know. So, I'm bugged by the fact that I don't know why it's bugging me. Got that?” Dylan said with a grin. Jason nodded. 

“Absolutely,” Jason mumbled through a mouthful of sandwich. “But if you figure it out, let me know.” They ate in relative silence. They finished their meal, paid, then stood to go. But Dylan's curiosity had been piqued. He casually walked over to look at the picture. He leaned close. On the picture were the initials T.H. Timothy Holbeck. Dylan's eyes grew wide. He felt a little bit of hope fade. He had wanted to meet this person, but now he never would. He straightened, massaged his brow, then walked out of the diner with Jason. 

“So he's dead. You never knew the guy. Just enjoy the library,” Jason said. Dylan shoved his hands in his pockets and continued to walk. 

“Yeah, I guess...” Dylan shoved his hand in his pockets. Jason smirked slightly. 

It had proven difficult for them to find conversation over the past two days. Mainly due to the fact they were both exhausted, but partly because there seemed to be a disconcerting finality in Dylan's moving away. They had lived on the same street for literally all of their lives. With Dylan moving away, they certainly sensed the impending change on their friendship.

They finished the ten minute walk back to Dylan's house without another word. Both became enamored by the coming colors of fall that splashed radiantly upon the trees on both sides of the street. Dylan knew he couldn't have picked a more beautiful time to move.

Upon reaching the house, they continued to unpack boxes. Three hours later, they were finished, and were ready to relax. Dylan made some sandwiches, and Jason set up the television. 

“Dude, you gotta cut back,” Dylan said through a bit of sandwich as he entered the room. Jason was laying on his stomach, draped over the TV, jamming a wire into the back. 

“Um, dude, the Packers are playing tonight,” came Jason's muffled voice, his eyes never leaving the stubborn port on the back of the television. 

“And I don't give a darn. Your point?” Jason merely scoffed. Dylan grinned and took another bite of sandwich. 

“Your meal awaits your arrival,” Dylan said as he plopped on the couch. Jason said nothing, but gave the cord one final jerk, and the TV screen gave a spark and flickered to life. 

“Yes!” Jason clapped his hands, then knelt and began to flip through channels. “There we go,” Jason said with a satisfactory finality, and fumbled for his sandwich. His eyes once again refused to leave their watch on the screen. 

Dylan rolled his eyes. 

“Time for another sandwich, methinks,” said Dylan as he put the last bite into his mouth. 

“Just as they scored a touchdown!”

“Stop, you're ripping my heart out,” said Dylan, lacking any sort of tone in his words, as he continued into the kitchen. 

“I'll keep you updated,” said Jason as he chucked. 

“You do that,” Dylan said with a laugh. “I'm going to be in the library.” 

Dylan was soon sitting in the lone chair in the library. A red armchair with tattered upholstery. It was amazingly comfortable, despite its appearance. He had grabbed a small book from the shelf in an absent minded state. It was only now that he examined it. It was a leather bound book, with no lettering on it. He turned it over in his hands, but no information could be found. Dylan was truly intrigued now. This lack of information could only mean one thing. He flipped the book over once more and opened. He was right: it was a journal. Handwritten text flowed across every page. It was a large book, no less than two inches thick. He examined the opening page and a smile crept across his face. Two words, forming a single name was the only entry on the first page: Timothy Holbeck. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite Dylan's reluctance, Jason dragged him away from the journal and toward the football game blaring on the television. Jason emphasized its amazing qualities once more as Dylan sat with a sigh. He leaned back in the couch, propped his feet up on the table in front of him, and watched Jason's viewing antics with interest. He sipped a cola, his eyes wide and never leaving the television screen. Dylan chuckled slightly and let his eyelids drop shut. 

Jason pumped his fist in the air and let out a muffled “yes!” He turned to Dylan, hoping to see his excitement equaled, but found this was not the case. Jason smirked and leaned back. He flattened his palm and lightly bumped the side of Dylan's head. Dylan gripped the arm of the couch as his eyes snapped open. Jason let a crooked grin cross his face, turned his head, and once again sipped at the cola. But the sip seemed somewhat in vain, as he dropped his head back and gulped down the can's remaining contents. 

“Will ya miss me?” Jason asked as if he were serious, but Dylan knew better. 

“I'm crying inside,” said Dylan as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Jason nodded. 

“That's the typical response. But remember, if you ever need me...I'm not coming out here on a whim, so I hope you can make it on your own.”

“Your sympathy is a beacon to all generations,” said Dylan with a smirk as he eyed Jason. 

“You better believe it. I need something else to drink,” said Jason, his sentences running together, successfully cutting off any chance for response.

“HA!” Dylan said as he threw a pillow at Jason, who began to run. It him on the back, and he ducked around the corner with a chuckle. 

Dylan shook his head and laughed. Jason was nearly the only friend Dylan had. If he were to be completely honest with himself, which he dare not merely due to risk of egotistical injury, he truly was going to miss Jason being a regular part of his life. Jason returned with two cans, tossed one to Dylan, and plopped on the couch once more. 

“So, I'm gone in the morning. You need anything?” Jason was completely serious this time. Dylan paused a moment to think. 

“No, I think I'm good. Thanks, though.” Jason merely nodded. Dylan sat up, opened the cola, and threw himself into the viewing of that epitome of American sports: football. Overtime saved them from retiring to bed early, and they stayed up until 1:30 A.M. The night finally drew to a close, as did Dylan's old life. These were the thoughts running through his mind as he drifted to sleep.