STORY: Embracing The Void

I wasn’t planning on posting this.
I wrote most of this before the holidays as a form of therapy.  And while it didn’t work all that well in that role, the fault was not in the story, but in myself.  The tale holds up (after a little tweaking), and I think it’s one of my better works.  Hope you like it.

Embracing The Void

I woke up the way I always did.  Alone.

This came as no real surprise, of course, as my small cabin barely sufficed for one person.  But its simple elegance appealed to me, and I found it perfectly suited to my needs.  It was private, located as it was at the less fashionable end of the beach, and therefore quiet.  At this stage in my life, quiet and solitude were of paramount importance.

The small clock on my nightstand read 8:07, and I stumbled to the bathroom to wash the sleep from my eyes.  The face in the mirror, crowned by short-cropped  graying brown hair, did not entirely reflect my age, but the Van Dyke beard helped.  The eyes… the eyes showed everything I’d experienced, etched into a haunted look in the light blue orbs.

I wandered back into the bedroom, and changed into my usual loose cotton shirt and trousers, snagging my rolled-up meditation mat from the corner.    Before I fed my body, I needed to feed my soul.  I walked down past the kitchen area and through the living room, weaving around the few pieces of furniture I still owned.  After that, it was a simple matter to unlock the sliding door and step down the porch stairs.

The beach was fairly sparse at this end, only a few yards of sand between the rocks and the high tide line.  Most considered it too small for fun and frolic, but I found it more than sufficient.  I unrolled the mat, and dropped to my knees upon it, hands folded in my lap.

My ears filled with the gentle surf, and and I half-closed my eyes, letting my awareness drift as I began breathing from my diaphragm.   Inhale.  Exhale.  Inhale.  Exhale.  I could feel my mind expanding, as my mind sought the void.

“Hey, Mister!  Whatcha doin’?”   The high-pitched voice pierced my awareness, snapping me back to reality.  I opened my eyes more fully, and found myself staring at a young boy.  I’d always been horrible at ages, but he appeared to be beyond the baby fat stage, but not yet in adolescence.  He wore a bright green shirt, a pair of somewhat garish blue shorts, and a dark blue baseball cap, which covered most of his dirty-blond hair.

“Minding my own business.” I muttered.  “Perhaps you might consider the same?”

The boy pouted.  “I didn’t mean anything by it, mister.  Mrs. Potter at the Post Office told my mom that someone new had moved into the beach house, and I just wanted to say hi.”

I remembered the Potter woman.  A silver-haired old busybody who tried to pump me for personal information.  Not the toughest interrogation I’d ever experienced, but certainly the most tedious.  Still, it was not the boy’s fault, and there was little harm in being neighborly.

I shifted my posture, allowing my legs to fold themselves into a full lotus.  “My apologies, young man.  You caught me by surprise.  To answer your question, you might say I was ‘knocking on heaven, and listening to the sound.’”

The boy smiled suddenly.  “Oh!  I know that movie!  My mom took me to see it last winter!”

I had no idea what he was referring to, but then, I had never been much for mass media.  I did not even own a television.  I looked up at him, and grinned.  “Please, sit down.  You are making me feel short.”

He giggled, and dropped to the sand.  I saw him looking at my legs, and knew what was coming next.  Not everyone could handle the lotus position, and he was not one of the few, even with the aid of his arms.  As he pulled on a recalcitrant ankle, he rolled onto his back, knocking his hat loose.

I unfolded my legs and reached over to help him up, getting a close look at his face for the first time.  For the most part, he seemed ordinary enough, but his eyes were the most unexpected  shade of amber.  We stared at each other for a moment, and his face grew quizzical.

I broke the gaze, and helped him get untangled, passing him his cap.  “Thanks, mister, um….”

“Tremont.  Nathan Tremont.  My friends call me Nate.”  I replied.

He nodded, and I saw his lips form my name.  “I’m Nicholas Tyler.  But only my mom calls me that.  Everybody else calls me Nicky.”

“Well then, Nicky, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I replied, extending a hand.  As he reached to shake it, I pulled him to his feet.  “Do you live nearby?”

Nicky shook his head, “Nossir.  I live over by North Bethany.  I rode my bike down the boardwalk.”  He pointed to a fairly new bicycle, leaning against the stairs.

“Ah, I see.  Well, I don’t mean to seem a rude host, but I do not usually entertain guests.  Particularly before breakfast.”

Nicky looked up at me.  “S-s-sorry, Mister Tremont.”

“No apologies needed, Nicky.  You meant no harm by it.”

He nodded, face downcast, and walked over to his bike.  “N-nice to meet you, Mister Tremont.”

I waved in acknowledgement, and watched him ride away, before turning back to my empty home.  After a light breakfast, I returned to my studies, spending the remainder of the day reading some new texts, breaking only for some leftover rice, before a quick shower and an early bedtime.

The next morning started out much the same, I rose around 8:00, washed my face, and headed back outside.  The boy, Nicky, was waiting on the porch.  He was dressed much as he had been the day before, except the T-shirt was orange this time.

“Morning, Mister Tremont!”  he called.  I closed my eyes, and pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Hello, Nicky.”  I replied, trying my best to seem gracious.  “May I help you?”

He bobbed his head, knocking his cap loose.  “I told my Mom about you yesterday, and she said you were prolly medi-, um, medicating?”

“Meditating, yes.  It is what I do.”

“Yeah, meditating.  It sounded sorta interesting, so I thought maybe you could show it to me?  Please?”

He looked at me with what looked to be a well-practiced puppy-dog expression, and while I didn’t buy it for a minute, I remembered something Master Tomisaburo once said:

“The best way to learn what is unknown is to teach what is known.”

I shrugged,  and opened the door.  “I suppose I could show you the basics.  Please, come in.”

He walked past me into the living room, and his eyes widened as he saw the sword rack over the fireplace.  “Are those real?”

“Indeed they are. A matched set, made for me by a friend of my teacher.”

He turned to me, a question in his eyes.  I gently shook my head.  “They are not toys, Nicky, but weapons.  And I keep them quite sharp.”

His shoulders sagged, imperceptibly.  After a moment’s thought, I continued.  “But perhaps, later on, I could show them to you.  So long as you promised not to touch them.”

His face broke into a wide smile.  “I promise!  Cross my heart and everything!”

“Very well, then.  But first, I think some breakfast is in order.  Would you like some toast?  Or maybe juice?”

Nicky pursed his lips.  “I’m kinda thirsty. Do you have any apple juice?”

I smiled. “As it happens, I’m quite fond of it.  One glass, coming up.”

He thanked me as I handed him the chilled glass, and we started to talk.  I learned he was 10 years old, and due to start middle school in the fall.  Actually, once he started going, it was difficult to get him to stop, and I soon learned his favorite books, hobbies, and flavor of ice cream (cookies & cream, as it happened).

“And what do your parents do?” I asked, as I carried my plate to the sink.

Nicky didn’t reply, and I turned back to see him staring at his shoes, face serious.

“Nicky?”

He shuddered a bit.  “My mom works for the DA.  My dad…  my dad was a soldier.”

I caught the change in verb tense.  “I’m sorry, Nicky.”

“It’s OK, Mister Tremont.” he replied, only a slight sniffle showing his emotion.  “He died when I was a little kid.”

Words failed me.  I reached over with one arm and gave him a quick hug.  He looked up.  “He woulda liked you, I think.”

“And I’m sure I would have liked him,” I replied  “Particularly if he was anything like his son.”.  Nicky snuggled closer, tense with emotion, and I could only hold him awkwardly in response.  We stayed that way for a few minutes, neither moving nor speaking, until I felt the boy relax.

“Come now, Nicky,” I said at last.  “As I recall, I promised you a demonstration.  I assume you are still interested?”

He twisted under my arm to look up at me questioningly, and I glanced towards the rack on the mantelpiece.  His eyes widened, and he wormed free of my arm, almost bouncing to his feet.   With a chuckle, I slipped off my stool and followed him to the fireplace.

Nicky’s eyes bored into my back as I carefully lifted the katana from its hooks.  I turned to face him, the sword balanced in my palms.  With a sudden twist, I turned over my left hand, allowing my right to grasp the hilt.  I looked over at Nicky, who was holding his breath in anticipation.  With well-practiced ease, I drew my hands apart, allowing the blade to slide free with the quietest of tings.

“Cool…” Nicky murmured.  I merely grinned, and began the kata known as “The Nine Steps To The Sun.”  His jaw dropped as I spun, slicing down imaginary opponents with (if I do say so myself) a decent amount of skill.

I modified the conclusion on the fly, so that rather than sheathing the blade anew, I ended in a kneeling position before my rapt audience, blade resting on my left arm.  Nicky glanced at me, and I nodded.  He clasped his hands behind his back (to keep his promise, I assumed) and leaned over to take a closer look.

“This blade is called ‘Evening Light’”, I recited, “One of the last blades made by the great swordsmith Onihashi, along with its younger brother, ‘Evening Shadow’.   Few blades can be called its equal.”

Nicky’s breath fogged the blade, revealing the character engraved on it.  “What’s that mean, Mister Tremont?”

“That’s the Japanese symbol ku, meaning ‘the void’.  It is both nothing, and everything.”

Nicky blinked.  “I don’t get it.”

I laughed, as I sheathed the blade properly.  “Neither did I, when it was explained to me.  But if you still want to, I would be happy to teach you more.”

Nicky nodded in assent, “Yessir, Mister Tremont.”

I grinned. “Then your first lesson is: Stop calling me Mister Tremont.  I told you before, my friends call me Nate.”

Nicky blushed. “S-sorry, Nate.”

“Much better.  Now, if you grab one of the cushions from the couch, we can begin.”

He did so, and I helped him kneel in the proper posture.

“Lesson number two is… how to breathe.”

“I’m pretty sure I know how to do that already, Miste-”

I raised a finger.

“Nate!  I meant to say Nate!”  Nicky was blushing again.  He clearly had a hair-trigger.

“Of course you do.  But most people breathe from here,”  I tapped his chest, “and not from here”

I poked his belly button, and he giggled.

“Watch, and copy what I do.”

Nicky proved to be an apt pupil, and picked up the basics fairly quickly.  I was about to start him on something a bit more advanced when Nicky glanced at the clock.

“Oh no!” he cried.

“Nicky?” I questioned.

“I promised my mom I’d be home for lunch.  I gotta go!”

I nodded.  “Do what you must, Nicky.  It will be all right.”

“Can I come back tomorrow?  Please?”

I paused for a moment longer than was absolutely necessary, just to make him squirm a bit.  Then I grinned.

“Of course you can, my boy.  I’d like that.”

He broke into a sunny grin. “Cool!  I’ll see you then!”

Then, like a sudden storm, he swept from the room, leaving silence behind.  I straightened the room, and picked up one of the texts I’d been studying, thinking about the future.

True to his word, Nicky was waiting for me the next morning, and the next.  I soon discovered, once again, how wise my sensei had been, as seeing the basic concepts of his teachings through the wide eyes of a child taught me as much as I was teaching him.

It did not take long for me to start to look forward to our lessons, and my fondness for the boy to grow.  Particularly one morning, about a week and a half later, when Nicky delivered some news.  The weather was starting to heat up, and we were relaxing on the porch with cold glasses of apple juice.  Nicky was crunching on an ice cube, and I glanced at the angle of the sun.

“I hate to say this, Nicky, but isn’t it about time for you to leave?  I know your mother likes you home for lunch.”

Nicky smiled, and reached down to his backpack, pulling out a foil-wrapped square.  “I got it covered.  Mom’s been really busy at the office the last few weeks, and she’s almost never home for lunch.”

His smile turned into a grin. “She also said there are prolly fewer things to break in your house.”

I rolled my eyes, trying my best (with limited success) to look offended.  But my lips betrayed me, as they twitched with pleasure.  “I suppose you’ll just have to stay with boring old me all day.” I sighed.

To my surprise, Nicky jumped up and gave me a fierce hug.  “You ain’t boring, Nate,” he murmured, face buried in my chest.  “You’re my bestest friend.”

I had to return the hug, pulling him onto my lap in a more comfortable position.  “Likewise, my boy.”

He snuggled closer, and I got a whiff of something strange.  “What is that?” I wondered aloud.

“I bet I know…” Nicky groaned.  “My mom makes me use this special shampoo her hairdresser recommended.  It smells like a tea shop.”

I stuck my nose in his hair and snorted, making him giggle.  “Ah yes, so it does.”

I shifted my grip, and stood, causing Nicky to yelp in surprise and drop his lunch.  With my free hand, I neatly plucked it out of the air.  “Let’s go inside and eat. OK?”

Nicky nuzzled against my neck, murmuring his assent.  For the rest of the day, we merely sat and talked, discussing what we had learned.  More often than not, Nicky was sitting right next to me, curled under my arm, and I had to admit it felt very comfortable.  For the first time in a long time, I wondered if I’d made the right choice to walk alone.

Finally, the sun began to sink in the west, and it was time for him to go.  I walked him to his bike, arm across his shoulders (and his arm around my hips), and watched him ride away down the road.

The next morning, I bounded out of bed early, and (after my morning ablutions) prepared a glass of juice for my pupil.  As the clock ticked towards our usual starting time, I strode quickly to the door and slid it open.

To see an empty porch.  I looked up and down the beach, but there was no sign of him. “Maybe he overslept?” I asked myself. Placing the glass on a side table, I sat on the porch and waited.  And waited.

And waited.

The sun climbed to its zenith, and I still waited.  My mind whirled with possibilities, and I waited.

The day drew to a close, and I slowly stood and trudged inside, wondering what I had done wrong.  That night, I lay awake, going over every minute we’d spent together the day before, looking for a sign.  A mistake.  Anything.

The next day, bleary with lack of sleep, I stumbled back to the front door, not even bothering to get dressed.  All that awaited me was the sticky glass of juice I’d abandoned the day before.  I dumped it out on the sand, and carried it to the sink, rinsing it out and letting it dry.  Then I sat in my chair and started to wait again.  The day passed glacially slowly, as I sat torpid in my living room, arising only when my body required my attention.  The next day was much the same.  And the day after.  And the day after that.  The only variant was the temperature, as the mercury climbed to uncomfortable levels, not that I noticed or cared.

Finally, the heat broke, as the skies opened up and drenched the shore in a rare summer squall.  As I was already short on sleep, the noise of the pounding rain on my roof proved to be the last straw, and I lay on my bed twitching with discomfort.  Finally, as the sky lightened above the clouds, I forced myself to stand, and wandered aimlessly to the living room, accompanied by the staccato rhythm of the storm.

I looked at the shorter of my two swords, and wondered how it would feel against my stomach.  There was a sudden lull in the downpour, as if the world was holding its breath.  I reached out, ready to turn theory into practice, when I heard a quiet tapping on the sliding door.

I turned, and Nicky was standing there, looking like a drowned cat.  My heart leapt into my throat as I dashed over, tripping over an ottoman in my headlong rush.  I ripped open the door and took him into my arms.

“‘m all wet.” he mumbled.

“I don’t care.” I replied, voice thick.  I pulled him inside and squeezed him tighter.

“C-can’t breathe” he gasped.  I carefully let him go, afraid that if I went too far away, he’d vanish.  But he was real.  Soaked to the bone, but real.  He looked up at me, through sodden bangs.

“I missed you.”

I could only nod in agreement as I thumped into a chair.  Finally, my mouth reconnected to my brain.  “What happened?”

Nicky slumped next to me, and looked up into my face.

“After I left you last time, I stopped by the library to check out one of those books we talked about.” he began.  “The librarian was really nice, and she pointed out some other books I could read too.”

His eyes grew moist, and it wasn’t due to the rain.  “When I left, someone had stolen my bike!”

I cuddled him close.  “I’m so sorry, Nicky.”  He snuggled against me, nose wrinkling slightly.

“The day after, I asked mom if I could walk here, but she said it was getting too hot.  And it kept getting hotter.” He sniffled.  “I had to come today.  I just HAD to.”

“I’m glad you did, my boy.  So very glad.”  I glanced at the sword rack, and shivered.  Actually, Nicky was shivering too, but not due to emotion.  I stood him up.

“We have to get you out of those wet things.  Your mother would kill me if I let you catch a cold.  Go take a hot shower while I put your clothes in the dryer.”

Nicky nodded, and started to strip.

“Not here!” I cried, grinning slightly.  “Go into the bathroom.  You can just toss the clothes out as you go.  I’ll find something you can wear.”

Nicky grinned. “You’d better take one too.  You’re stinky!”  He giggled, and ran to the bathroom, trailing water and merriment.  As damp garments flew out the bathroom door, I rummaged through my drawers, finally settling on an old karate gi top.  It had fairly short sleeves, and while it would be long on him, it would at least preserve his modesty.  I carefully peered into the bathroom, and saw Nicky behind the frosted glass of the shower door, singing some tuneless melody as the warm spray filled the room with steam.

“I’ll just leave this by the sink, Nicky!” I called.  He yelled a quick thanks and continued his warming up process.  A short time later, he stepped out, wrapped in the over-sized top.

“Your turn!” he announced. “But I think I used up all the hot water.”

I shrugged, mussing his damp hair as I passed by.  “Grab what you want from the fridge, I won’t be long.”

He straightened his hair with a look of mild annoyance, and wandered over to the kitchen area.  I grabbed my clothes and took his place in the now humid bathroom.  The shower was indeed cold, but it helped shock my brain back into function.

A short time later, freshly bathed and shaved,  I returned to the living room, where Nicky was lying face-down on the floor, ankles crossed above him, engrossed in a book.

“Tell me, grasshopper..” I intoned, in a bad Keye Luke impersonation, “What wisdom have you uncovered?”

Nicky looked up quizzically, and I gave him my goofiest smile.  He scooted over, and we spent the rest of the morning discussing what he’d been able to glean from the books, as well as some of the texts in my own library.  The only pause was around noon, when the dryer dinged and Nicky redressed himself in my bedroom.

When he returned, I handed him a PBJ and a glass of milk.  He looked up at me, puzzled.

“I peeked in your bag, and saw you forgot to bring lunch.” I replied.  “Bad Nicky.”

He pouted, somewhat unconvincingly, and I pulled him into a quick hug.  By the time we finished eating, the rain had finally stopped, and the skies began to clear.  The ground was damp, so I pulled out an old blanket, and we sat together on the beach, watching the waves roll in.  As Nicky snuggled under my arm, I realized one truth.

No matter what tomorrow would bring, I did not have to face it alone.

Advertisements