The call was from Trev, or “Trevor” as he identified himself, something he had never done before. The tone in his voice sounded faraway as if he were referring to himself in the third person. Said he wanted to talk; or so he said. I entered his sterile quarters, just a bit too orderly and clean for your typical male I thought.
The Hynerian I saw was not the Hynerian I knew. His once broad shoulders curved inward as if pulled forward by the black hole of his sunken chest. From a distance he looked like a sullen angel, wings broken; Janus knows he had the face for it. Trev had lost weight, a lot of weight, the kind of weight that made one ask if you were ok. His thin lips, with effort, whispered yes. His dull eyes and hollow cheeks, and, for that matter, every other part of him, said no.
No one knew what to say or do so we did what Hynerians do in situations like this, which is to say, we did nothing, averting eye contact and speaking in whispers. Trev spoke no more than Em could see. One blind, one mute. One had no choice; the other, some would say, did, although opinion was split, mainly between genders. Reports were sketchy on what exactly happened. Mairi seemed to know more than she was saying, and for reasons not completely known, remained reticent, which was an overly simplistic explanation that was, as we learned later, as most speculation is, plain wrong.
This much I knew. Trev had cold-cocked Mairi when she tried to stop him from leaving. From here the story blurred for Trev was, without doubt, the least violent among us. So why he would punch Mairi in the face and why he would arm himself with a las pistol and why he would point that pistol at the head of another is beyond everyone’s comprehension.
To complicate matters, the rescue team submitted terse and conflicting reports. There was no time to get to the bottom of what actually happened, but one version of events had Trev attempting suicide and through his own incompetency failed. So the question remains. Why?
“Morning Trev.”
“Morning Kyra.”
“So what’s up?”
“Just wanted to let you know I’m okay. I hear the whispers.”
“We’re just concerned. Pay no heed to idle chat. If we didn’t care, no one would be saying anything.”
“You have always been so kind to me. Why?”
“Are you implying I treat others unkind?” responded Kyra, her smile and wink faltering as seed on stone.
Trevor spoke without moving a muscle in his waxen face. “I speak only for myself. You treat me kind, always have. I want to thank you for that.” His tone was unnerving.
Kyra hesitated. “You know, I’m always here, if you want to talk.”
“I’m fine.”
Kyra’s expression replaced the words she didn’t utter.
“Really, I am,” said Trev, responding to the unasked question.
“Really? Then would you care to tell me what you were doing with--”
“Kyra, Rog here. Can I see you on the bridge?”
Kyra slapped her comm with restrained irritation. “Not now Rog.”
“I think you want to see this, now.”
Kyra sighed. She placed her hands on Trev’s shoulders. “I meant what I said. Anytime, anywhere.”
6 comments:
Though Trev is perhaps the character calling the loudest at the moment, occupying the most space in thoughts about where the story is at, he is also the one that one is most hesitant to revisit. Just as the crew know not what to say seeing him this way, although they want to know what caused him to act the way he did, to look the way he does and want to help because they care, to hear the next chapter in his story is necessary in order to get to a place that is better, but to see him like this is very difficult.
Painting vivid images with just a few words is one of your many special talents and it comes to the forefront once again here with the description of Trev, his sunken body, face, and in turn spirit. Inward, black, sunken, distance, sullen, broken, lost, thin, whispered, dull, hollow, no. Like a dance through every impression and expression, short, concise and undeniable. One fears for him all the more for his quiet demeanour, for the fact that he insists in the face of such evidence that he is alright.
His thanking Kyra is poignant adding only more to the impressions above. To thank her now for simple kindness must make her worry all the more for what has happened to him.
For her to say that she is there to talk to and then have to leave, not that either of them do not understand those circumstances or that the offer is diminished in anyway, but still, just then the whole scene pulls even more on the heartstrings.
Trevor's shoulders and a burden he will I think carry alone. Alone he will be for if not a long, then a significant period of time.
Pure excellence once again.
Permanently awestruck upon these pages, sometimes I hardly know what to say beyond feeling wowed.
Sunshine, your never tiring kind words are always a joy to me. I feel as if you gift me with comments every time I write a chapter. Always deeply appreciated.
The image, by the way, is suppose the represent the broken and shattered world of Trev. These are his colors, if you didn't know. :-D
The window to his shattered soul.
Gifts. To follow this story feels that way and so it is always interesting when you refer to comments as such. It feels like the most genuine and personal and special and unique gift and moreover you give it all the time. Not much else one can say except thank you and all one can do is keep reading, keep receiving.
interrupted conversations are frustrating !
Yes they are, very. ;-)
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