The old man called my name often.
Before that, he tiredlessly moaned about a name, so I told him it. Although it was me who gave it to him, its meaning gave me something in return.
Russel Mortimer, the cold flesh sack of nothingness.
Interestingly, my name gave me much more than an identity. Context of relation that connected me to others. I belonged.
Soon enough, the sound of it began to feel familiar. It belonged to me. Similarly, other things became mine.
Aldo Vale, as well as all his clients, reached out to me for a smile. I became an acquaintance as well as a house companion. A baker, a lawn mower, a cook, a dishwasher, a friend. As time went by, my identity as a stranger faded.
The rocking chair in the porch now had a second smaller chair by its side.
Aldo would peel oranges for me as I rocked aggressively. When the shadow of the hills covered every trace of the sun, Aldo would lean backward with his feet inclined. His toes would characteristically spread. I would watch over him. I would protect him from others like me.
Sometimes, he'd suddenly wake up with a gasp. He'd call my name and try to reach me with his shaky hands. I would first touch his palms with the tips of my fingers slowly to not startle him.
"The breeze is getting cold," He said with a faint smile.
"I knew better than to respond to that,"
He bumped into every piece of furniture.
"Hah.." he let a laugh hide his embarrassment.
As late as it was, his comprehension of things was blurry. I had gathered it was meaningless to hold a conversation with him during those confusing minutes.
Still, I indulged the words he uttered to me.
"How come cilyth can't find her way home." I said with anticipation.
"She knows her way home very well. She'll return once she's had her fun." He said like the wise man he was.
We walked towards his bed, and I watched as he lost consciousness. I stood next to his resting head. Close enough to hear the sounds of digestion. I liked resting my head on his chest for a couple of minutes. To listen to his heart. Sometimes, he would notice and rub his chin on my head, caressing my hair with his hands.
Other times, I'd have to drag his chair inside, and then I would just leave him there.
Although I sometimes wondered what it felt like to sleep. I couldn't help but fear being trapped in a motionless shell with nothing but my thoughts. I couldn't handle such a nightmare.
Aldo describes detailed stories within his head. Beautiful stories with beautiful people. If I were to dream, the people inside me would eat me alive.
When he couldn't hear me, I'd crawl to the ceiling with all the sheets I could hold on my back. Wishing to keep the bits of warmth the fire was able to impregnate.
I liked watching the sun return to its indifferent ways. I liked that better than when she was not around.
When the light reached Aldo's window, and he called my name, I would once again sneak in for his comfort.
He enjoyed serving me a plate of what he'd consume. To me, it was a clear sign of love.
" Russel...." he said, facing the sun.
"Yes?" I said from the chair on his left.
"What do you prefer, I'll have Vivianne cook that for you,"
The sun was indifferent to me, but Aldo had welcomed me with all the love he could share.
Then, when he chewed on grass and dirt, I had a sudden realization. I was hungry, but I desired something else. I wished I could shove in the warmth that comes so easy to them and hold it in forever.
But I knew better than to say that out loud. I'd have to steal it from someone else.
At night, once again, I seaked out Aldos Home. Hunting for the resolving of an intrusive thought.
I found the house. In it lived Arlea Davenport. A brunnette with big green eyes and a bowl hair cut. She was believed to be a boy by many in town who had requested assistance. Her mother Vanne had given birth to 11 children since the age of 12. Her partner was an old man. A drunk Saggy man. Unpleasant looking.
Arlea held on a baby in a corner as her father sat down to eat. Her mother walked around him with her lips sealed.
4 year old Jonathan chewed on boiled potatoes.
The man stood up as he slammed the eating utensils on the table. Grabbed Jonathan's hair and pulled it, throwing him to the floor.
The boy only gasped as he led go of the food.
The man sat back down where Vanne served him fresh water.
Arlea held on the baby tightly. Enough to make him cry.