The Peculiarity of Obsession - 1. The Peculiarity of Obsession

That love is the greatest joy one can know is perhaps the oldest lie in existence. It is held sacred by those who know nothing greater than their dull, dreary lives. I have spent over sixty years on this earth and yet, for all but a few months, it was a living death. I had a wife whom I loved as most people love their spouses: candlelit dinners, romantic weekends in Paris, and eventually a family. For fifteen years I deluded myself into thinking that the love – and it was love – we shared gave me happiness. So powerful is this lie, this delusion, that I even believed I was happy—until I had a fleeting encounter with true bliss.

But what is love? Love is the savior of the lonely; the desperate, chimerical ideal of the young and the lifeblood of poets; but beside obsession, love is but a candle next to a wildfire. The unruffled, peaceful joy that comes from love, from Cinderella stories, from mundane years of so-called infatuation is nothing – nothing – compared to the fiery, tempestuous ecstasy of obsession—ecstasy so passionately intense that it blurs the lines between pleasure and pain, threatening to consume your very soul.

Obsession is a peculiar thing indeed. It is the driving force of artists and the scapegoat of madmen. It is abhorred by polite society, ever trying to equate it to insane desire. But obsession is something far more powerful than any other emotion. It pays no attention to age or to ability, nor even to desire. It fuels us towards some unseen goal as inexorably as a river wends its way to the sea, regardless of the obstacles in the way.

I was and am a heterosexual man. My thoughts and most private fantasies are occupied solely by women. And yet, the three months of my life where I actually felt alive were occupied by an explosive sexual affair with a young man. I didn’t love him and he didn’t me. I had my life and he had his; the two were worlds apart. But from the moment I laid eyes on him to the moment our clandestine escapades came to an end, my very being was consumed with incogitable desire for him.

The whole life I had built for myself – the wife, the family, the career – was destroyed when our trysts were revealed to the world. And it was unequivocally worth the price. I have lived the last twenty years of my existence looking back on those three months with both great fondness and great sadness. I consider myself fortunate to have ever had the experience of true passion, but compared to the luminescence of those tumultuous weeks, the past twenty years have been but a cruel shadow of the life I know to be possible.

Ignorance may be bliss, but I wouldn’t hesitate to trade the rest of my days for but one ephemeral moment of the bliss that comes from succumbing to a vast burning obsession. Not infatuation, not desire, but pure, unbridled obsessional lust. The unadulterated pleasure of succumbing to something so capricious it could destroy you on a whim dwarfs the satisfaction that comes from reaching the object of your obsession. The fun is in the hunt— in merely trying to survive the storm.

~Wesley Jamieson

Part One

“Oh come ye back
My own true love
And stay a while with me
If I had a friend
On all this earth
You’ve been a friend to me”

~10,000 Miles, Mary Chapin Carpenter

Avery Keeling stared into the broken mirror on the wall, gazing at his haggard reflection. His lips curved upward into a mirthless smile, as they often did when he saw himself. Sallow, gaunt cheeks clung desperately to his high cheekbones, only emphasizing his sunken eye sockets. At best, he was heroin-chic; at worst, he was a walking corpse. The only semblance of life was the two deep pools of brown that were his eyes. Zest had long been replaced by resignation and longing in those haunting eyes, but no matter the emotion, they were always burning with light. In sharp juxtaposition to the dark skin and eyes was his jagged, platinum-blond hair that seemed so incongruous to his brooding features.

Unable to restrain himself, he numbly pulled open his bedside drawer and picked up an old, bent photograph. The only similarity between the emaciated figure holding the picture and the smiling, vivacious boy in it was the jarring blond hair. His fist clenched around the aged photograph, but even as he crumpled it, he knew he would later find and smooth it out as best he could; he couldn’t help himself. He casually tossed the relic back into the drawer and pulled out a plastic bottle in its place. Barely noticing the burn of the alcohol, he wantonly took a long drink from the grimy bottle before sinking back onto his bed.

He had barely closed his eyes when he heard a knock on the door. He didn’t answer, but only one person ever came to his door. Sure enough, he heard the doorknob click as it was turned.

“Avery!” scolded the boy in the doorframe. “You’re not even dressed!”

“I told you, I’m not going to the stupid dinner. You know it’s just a load of bullshit about how special the class of 2011 is. Half the people here are just morons putting off life for another four years.”

“And you’re here why?” snapped the youthful boy.

“I’m here because you begged me to be here.”

“Precisely. Now, put on the suit I bought you, and let’s go,” he ordered. He glanced at the bottle of vodka on the bed and added: “and put the damn bottle away.”

“Alright, Vian, I’m coming.” With exaggerated effort, Avery hauled himself to his feet and stepped out of his faded, tattered jeans. He covered the short distance from his bed to the closet and pulled out the only nice things in there: a gray silk suit and a light-pink shirt.

Under Vian’s watchful eye, Avery dressed himself and ran a comb through his unruly hair before his boyfriend tied a white paisley tie around his neck. If one avoided looking at his face, Avery almost looked presentable. The suit – Armani, and custom-tailored to fit his emaciated frame – would have stood out anywhere, and the bold choice of shirt and tie accented the chic outfit. Vian himself was wearing Gucci, and his vivid teal shirt drew every eye in the vicinity.

“Ready?” asked Vian tersely. Avery only nodded, following his lover out of the small dorm room. The pair walked in silence through the capacious grounds of the prestigious university. Harvard had done much to accommodate the intellectually gifted from all walks of life – as evidenced by Avery’s mere presence there – but as he strode easily through the campus, he attracted the stares of almost every student he encountered. Their disdainful contempt of his haggard appearance was matched only by his arrogant dismissal of what he deemed to be inferior intellects.

Vian received his fair share of stares, too. The two of them had only been there for a week, but already people were wondering what the outgoing, athletic Vian was doing with the misanthropic, troubled Avery. Vian’s parents had wondered why, as had his classmates back in high school, and it was only his deep love for Avery that made him hold his tongue. He knew more about Avery than any other person in the entire world, including Avery himself. He could remember every time Avery had ever opened up to him about anything, and it was those rare, precious moments that gave them the implicit understanding they shared.

And so they walked—Avery, haughty and aloof, and Vian, demure and graceful. Avery, as comfortable in the expensive suit as in the tattered rags he was used to, pushed open the doors to the grand hall where the orientation dinner was to be held and walked in. He cared neither that they all knew his name, nor that they all seemed to dislike him.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our Chess King come down to join us mere mortals,” sneered a heavy boy who was sweating profusely.

“Well, well, if it isn’t another ignorant lout out to prove himself,” retorted Avery without breaking his stride. Vian could only shake his head and sigh. They walked to their assigned seats at one of the tables in the front of the spacious dining hall and sat down beside the table’s other occupant, an aging professor of philosophy.

“Hello,” greeted the kindly professor.

“How are you?” asked Vian politely. Avery merely inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“I’m quite well, thank you. You must be Avery Keeling, then?”

“Yes,” responded Avery.

“And you are?” he asked, turning to face Vian.

“I’m Vian Keaton; I graduated from high school with Avery.”

“Two students from the same class? That is rare indeed. I guess when one is the American Junior Chess Champion, it’s understandable.”

“I can assure you, I had a harder time getting in than Vian did,” smiled Avery. That was the truth. His demeanor in the interview had been rather less than exemplary, and it was only the prestige of his title that had gotten him in.

Apathy and general misery, however, had been much greater obstacles. He had put in the bare minimum effort required to complete high school and had still graduated valedictorian. He had, unsurprisingly, declined to make a speech, much to the consternation of the school officials. Chess and mathematics were his only real passions, and he could spend hours poring over hypothetical problems of logic. When it came to anything else, though, Vian had to prod and poke him until he finished it. He had been a child prodigy, but his rough upbringing and broken family life had held him back from excelling academically as a child. Even chess, his real strong suit, hadn’t received the attention it should have. He had recently won the American Junior Championship – a huge milestone for any chess player – but he was far from good enough to compete with the best in the professional chess world, despite his phenomenal natural ability.

After a few more moments of idle conversation with the old professor, the room went silent, and a speaker walked to the podium at the front of the room. Vian stared ahead intently while Avery reclined comfortably in his chair, tuning the speech out before it began.

“Welcome, Class of 2011, to Harvard College. It is my very great honor to present Dr. Wesley Jamieson, a graduate of Harvard Law school. Please listen well to his words of wisdom.”

The small balding man stepped down from the podium. Taking his place was Wesley Jamieson, a man who exuded poise and dignity. His clothes were impeccably tailored, and his graying hair was elegantly swept to one side of his chiseled face. He wasn’t exceptionally attractive by anyone’s standards, but his angular face with its rigid jaw line and prominent nose was certainly eye-catching. If Avery could have found only one word to describe him, it would have been ‘distinguished’.

Teenage hormones had never seemed to affect Avery Keeling. He enjoyed sex as much as the next boy, but he rarely thought about sex or even other guys unless someone else broached the subject. As with so much else, his standards were so impossibly high that he never had to worry about having crushes on people. Even those rare people he found head-turning invariably failed to live up to his intellectual expectations of them.

And so when he suddenly found himself riveted by Dr. Jamieson, he was quite surprised. He was also, for the first time in years, at a loss for words. There was no word in his expansive vocabulary to describe what he felt at that moment. It wasn’t love, it wasn’t even lust it was simply a burning sense of...desire.

The speech wasn’t a long one, and as Wesley wound his way towards its conclusion he was relieved to get out of the spotlight. He was a man of business, and formal functions were never on his list of favorite places to be. Taking his speechwriter’s advice, he ensured that he let his gaze wander over the entire room. For the most part, these glances were utterly perfunctory. There was no real passion in his speech, and he simply took no real notice of the students he was addressing. Then his eyes turned to the table right in front of the podium, and his tongue froze. It was only one slip – albeit an obvious one – in a five-minute speech, but in that fraction of a moment where he felt unable to move his tongue, a surfeit of thoughts rushed across the surface of his conscience.

Who is he? Why do I care? I…want?…him.

Their eyes locked in a transient moment of understanding, and then he regained the use of his voice. Sweating profusely and entirely distracted by feelings he shouldn’t have been feeling, he wrapped the speech up in a hasty, less-than-inspiring way. When he stepped down amidst tempered applause, he walked immediately out the back door despite protests from his fellow speakers.

“I’m gonna go get some air,” Avery announced as he watched Wesley walk out of the building.

“You’d better get your ass back here quickly,” hissed Vian under his breath. Without responding, Avery stood up and strode quickly out of the dining hall before the second speech could begin. Once he was standing alone in the cool evening air, he looked around for the inexplicably alluring speaker. He didn’t have to wait long; Wesley soon came walking around the corner of the large building. Wesley opened his mouth to speak, but soon shut it without a word.

Avery cocked his head slightly to one side and began to walk towards the older man. He kept walking until his head was almost touching Wesley’s chin and he could feel haggard breath ruffle his unkempt locks. There was no need for words and, indeed, no desire to speak out on the part of either one. They stood there, inches away from a full-body embrace, and simply reveled in the presence of each other.

After what seemed like an hour, Wesley raised his hardened hands to the face of the young waif before him. He let his rough hands roam over the smooth skin, following the contours of Avery’s emaciated face. Avery gave a small shudder and tilted his head back, enjoying the incomparable sensation of such silent intimacy, balancing himself by sliding his own hands under the other man’s shirt. He finally pulled his body away with a look of regret and stared into Wesley’s bright blue eyes. There were no words and so many possible actions at that moment. Avery did the only thing he could without being swept away: he turned and walked back into the dining hall.

He turned once before disappearing into the building, and during the fleeting glance they shared, Wesley knew that he would see this young man again. He must; the very fiber of his being demanded it.

Part Two

“At that particular time love encouraged me to leave
At that particular moment I knew staying with you meant deserting me
That particular month was harder than you'd believe but I still left
At that particular time”

~That Particular Time, Alanis Morissette

“Where are you going?!” demanded Vian again after not receiving a response.

“Out,” came the simple reply.

“Where is out?”

“Jesus, Vian, don’t hover. We’ve been through this before.”

“Oh, shove it,” snorted Vian. “You never go ‘out.’”

“Change of pace and all that. Though it’d be fun.”

“Bullshit, Avery. You don’t do anything unless you have a reason.”

“I just want to get out of this fucking oppressive dorm room. Have I mentioned I hate the people who live here?”

“You hate everybody, on principle,” sighed Vian. “Well, I assume you want some alone time, then?”

“Thanks, love,” smiled Avery.

Why can’t other people see him be nice like this? wondered Vian, not for the first time. He reached up and kissed Avery on the lips before watching him leave.

Avery walked hurriedly through the grounds, content to ignore the hordes of students enjoying the nice weather. He didn’t have a cell phone – there was nobody he cared to call – so he made a beeline for the nearest payphone. He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and dialed the number.

“Hello?” greeted the voice on the other end.

“Wesley?” asked Avery, after a moment of silence.

“Who is this?”

“Meet me on the corner of Thistle and Georgia in ten minutes.”

He didn’t wait for an answer and firmly hung up the receiver of the telephone. He then walked to his proposed meeting place, entirely confident that he would be picked up in ten minutes.

Sure enough, after a few minutes of idly watching traffic go by, a black Jaguar pulled up in front of him. He stood up and got into the front seat. Wesley – looking as strangely compelling as he had before – said nothing as he began to drive. There was no explanation that either one of them could fathom, and it was that very lack of sense that drove them to it with such concupiscence.

They drove in silence to a cheap motel that Wesley owned. Wesley got out of the car and pulled out a large keychain, fumbling for the correct key. Eventually he found the room number he wanted and opened the door to the small, dingy room.

Avery stepped in the room first and cast a quick glance around the dimly lit space. It was hardly the Ritz, but as he felt himself being pushed onto the bed, that lost all significance. Wesley started tearing his shirt off and began to unbuckle his belt, while Avery merely watched. There was no romance there, or tender words; there was only lust. Lying limply and making no effort to move, Avery let Wesley roughly pull his ratty T-shirt over his head. After a savagely passionate kiss, the older man succeeded in fully stripping the young Avery. He stared down at the slender, naked boy on the bed, but not once did a lucid thought cross his mind. Avery, wearing a muted smile on his face, reached over the edge of the bed to fumble around in his pocket for some lube.

Wesley tore the lube out of his hand and, despite his inexperience with men, began to liberally apply it to his throbbing cock and the waiting, inviting asshole that was staring up at him. Standing at the foot of the bed, he grabbed Avery’s wrists and pinned them to the hard mattress. Without thought, he lined up his glistening cock with Avery’s spread cheeks, and thrust forward with all his strength. Once inside the younger boy, he paused for a brief moment, looking into Avery’s eyes as he felt the boy writhe about beneath him.

He wasn’t sure he could have stopped even if Avery was in pain, but as soon as he saw that intriguingly unreadable smile return to Avery’s defined features, Wesley began to move his hips back and forth at an ever accelerating rate. There was something different than when he was with a woman and, within no time, he could feel his impending orgasm approach quickly.

Avery sensed the change in his partner’s ragged breathing, and he deftly brought his feet to the same level as Wes’s chest. He kicked out hard with his legs, and heard Wesley grunt as he crashed into the dresser behind him. Wasting no time, Avery grabbed his shoulder and shoved the graying man back onto the bed. After a quick application of lubricant to both himself and Wesley, he gave Wesley the same abrupt entrance that he had just received. As he forcefully shoved his hard cock into the man’s virgin ass, he smiled in satisfaction as a look of pure pleasure spread across Wesley’s face. He hardly lasted longer than Wes would have, but as he gave the final thrust into the man’s ass, in an intense, vocal orgasm, he saw Wes’s cock shoot all over his chest without even being touched.

Shaking from the intensity of his orgasm, Avery collapsed onto the bed beside Wesley and stared into his eyes. After another transcendent stare had passed between the two, Wesley stood up and calmly wiped his chest off before dressing himself. Avery hurried to do likewise, and they exchanged not another word before parting to go their separate ways.

*******************

Avery stared out the window of his small booth on the train and watched the scenery go flying by in a blur. It was the end of November – almost three months since he had laid eyes on the man who consumed his thoughts. There was no schedule, no rhyme nor reason to their affairs. Some weeks they met only once; others they met once a day. Sometimes the sex was gentle and tender, with loving kisses shared between the two; other times were purely animal, making that first time seem romantic.

Lost in thought, he had no idea how long he had been on the slow, archaic train when it finally came to a halt with the announcement: New York City. Avery stepped onto the cold platform and drew his coat around his thin shoulders—meager protection against the driving rain around him. He had no money for a taxi, so he was forced to walk through the dark streets of the City That Never Sleeps in search of the hotel he wanted.

After an hour of walking, Avery was finally standing – drenched – in front of Room 634 of the lavish hotel he had been searching for. He knocked firmly on the door and waited for a moment until it swung open. Wesley looked astonished to see him, but lust soon replaced surprise.

“Go take a hot shower,” he ordered, waving his hand in the direction of the bathroom.

Avery inclined his head and nodded slightly, stripping off his soaking clothes as he walked towards the bathroom. Avery closed his eyes and sighed in pleasure as the scalding water running over his lean body breathed warmth into his frigid bones. He heard the door of the bathroom open, and he opened his eyes just in time to feel his back hit the marble wall of the shower. Sinking to his knees, oblivious to the water in his eyes, Avery steadied himself by pinning Wesley’s wrists to the cool glass of the shower door.

Wesley felt the torrid water rush over his body, and he looked down into the mysterious eyes of Avery—eyes that dominated him even in their owner’s submission. As he felt his back arch in response to an impending orgasm, Avery’s mouth suddenly pulled off him. Wesley let out a loud groan, but pinned to the shower wall as he was, there was little he could do but hope Avery would give him the sexual release he so desperately needed.

Teasing him with phantom touches and almost imperceptible kisses along the shaft of the older man’s cock, Avery basked in the glory of their sheer coruscating passion. Kneeling there in the shower, he had never felt so entirely close to bliss. By the time Avery had finally let his orgasm come to completion, Wesley was so sexually charged that his explosive orgasm spattered the far wall of the shower and left him trembling and weak at the knees. Unable to stand unaided, he sat down on the floor of the shower and looked up just as Avery stepped out of the bathroom. Avery flashed Wesley an inscrutable smile and shut the door behind him.

********************

Though they walked side by side along the platform, nobody would have said they knew one another. Their eyes never met, and they didn’t give off the slightest indication that not half an hour ago they had been having sex in the bathroom of a train. Nobody would have guessed, that is, who wasn’t looking for them to be together.

Wesley saw them first – his wife and Avery’s boyfriend. They were standing together, arms folded, looking down the quay with hard eyes that betrayed no emotion. Avery didn’t falter as he walked to face Vian, but Wesley’s gait became less sure, less smooth.

“How did you find out?” asked Avery simply as he approached his boyfriend. Vian’s mouth dropped at the question, but he was saved the trouble of answering by Wesley’s wife.

“I found your phone number lying on my kitchen table – and your underwear in my husband’s pocket,” she snapped at me, despite never moving her eyes from Wesley.

“He’s practically a child, Wes!” she suddenly screamed, drawing the stares of people around them. “Not a woman, not a young pretty blonde not even a man – a boy?!”

Her eyes welled up with tears, and she turned on her heels to run out of the station. Wesley stared after her – strangely unmoved – and started to walk slowly towards the parking lot, leaving Vian and Avery standing alone.

It would be the last time the two would ever see one another.

*******************

“Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, goddammit?! Why did you do it?” shouted Vian.

“I…don’t know,” conceded Avery truthfully. “There was something between us that defies all words.”

“Well, you’d better come up with some words and you’d better do it quickly,” threatened Vian.

“Or what?” scoffed Avery.

“Come on, Avery, don’t do this. I’ve given so much to you, and I ask almost nothing from you in return other than your love.”

“And I do, Vian… I do love you. But I will not apologize. I did what I did with full knowledge of the consequences, and I would do it all over again.” There was no malice in his voice, but he made no effort to cushion his harsh words.

“You are a selfish prick sometimes, Avery, and I accept that. I accept that you will always put yourself first and that you can’t be any other way. But for Christ’s sake, can’t you even try to reciprocate sometimes? I can’t just let this go and move on. Please…”

“Then don’t. I can’t give you what you want.”

“Yes, you can! Please just try,” he pleaded.

“It isn’t in me to give,” said Avery quietly. His face was ashen and stoic; he never pretended to be anything other than what he was.

“What are you saying? We’re finished? After all these years, you’re ending it over some old man you never knew!?”

“No, I’m not ending it. You are.”

“I never said that!”

“But you will,” he insisted. “I will not end this if you don’t, but I will never be who you want – need – me to be.”

“You really aren’t sorry?”

“You know I’m not. I may be selfish, but I am not ungrateful. You have done more for me, Vian, than anyone else on the planet. I love you, and because I love you I am telling you to let me go. Don’t drag yourself down because of me.”

“We’ve shared so much together, Avery…”

“Vian, this relationship has nothing left for you. I love you, and I don’t doubt that you love me, but Vian, is love still enough?”

Vian opened his mouth to say that, of course, it was, but he shut it without speaking and remained silent. He stared out of the fogged-up window and thought of all that he had given to – and, in a twisted way, received from – their relationship.

“No,” he stated at last. Avery closed his deep-brown eyes and nodded slowly.

“May you be happy with the path you have chosen,” said Vian sadly, leaning forward to give Avery a gentle kiss on the lips before he stood up. He turned to walk out of the dorm, silently hoping to hear Avery call him back. He knew Avery wouldn’t, and he knew it was for the best that he didn’t.

“Love is not enough. It must be the foundation, the cornerstone - but not the complete structure. It is much too pliable, too yielding.”

~ Bette Davis

Part Three

“Hope fades,
Into the world of night.
Through shadows falling,
Out of memory and time.

Don’t say,
We have come now to the end.
White shores are calling.
You and I will meet again.
And you’ll be here in my arms,
Just sleeping.”

~Into the West, Annie Lennox

Vian heaved a deep sigh as he idly traced circles with his finger on Jake’s firm stomach. Lost in the repetitive sound of rain hitting the heavy leaded glass of the windows, he let his thoughts follow their natural course. His eyes were unfocused, as if he were looking beyond the confines of the small dorm room and he was jolted out of his silent reverie as Jake moved to cover himself with a sheet.

“Well?” Jake asked expectantly.

“What?” asked Vian, genuinely oblivious to his questioning look.

“How was it?” he demanded in exasperation. “I’m not used to guys who just drift off into their own worlds after sex.”

“Oh, it was great.”

“Gee, don’t sound so enthusiastic.” His eyes rolled skyward, and there was a definite edge to his voice.

“I’m sorry,” sighed Vian. “It’s just…”

“Avery,” finished Jake.

“Yeah,” Vian admitted. “How do I let something like that go? He was the only guy I’ve ever been with before now.”

Jake’s face visibly softened after this revelation, and he pulled Vian in closer to him, throwing a supportive arm around him.

“I invested so much in him,” he continued. “I made the effort when no one else was willing to. I put up with his shit for ten years. An entire decade of my life was centered around him!”

The two hadn’t known each other for very long, and Jake was unsure of how to proceed. Fortunately for him, Vian – talking more to himself than anything – continued rambling.

“He was a selfish, arrogant son of a bitch, and I knew that from the day I met him. But we shared something that I never had with anyone else. I should have known it would end this way. No matter what, in the end Avery will always put Avery first.”

“Hey,” soothed Jake. “Try to leave with good memories. Yeah, he is an asshole, but like you said, you shared something special with him. Dwell on those days, not on how it ended.”

“Why did he always have to make it so hard to love him?” demanded Vian tearfully. “I tried, I really did, but he never changed. He can’t.”

“He is a genius, Vian. That he has social issues isn’t really a surprise. And if half the stuff you’ve told me about his childhood is true, well I’m surprised he’s even functional. Don’t beat yourself up over something you couldn’t change.”

“Thanks, Jake,” he smiled, looking up at him. But it was a sad smile. He really, really liked Jake; he was a sweet guy who was there for him in a way he wasn’t used to. But for all that things felt right with Jake, there was a hole in his heart that would never be filled.

He closed his eyes and listened to the intense patter of rain hitting the windows and felt those same little driving bullets pelting into his wounded heart. The rain against the windows, interrupted only by their heavy breathing, played a bitter lament of love lost with no room for new hope. There was only tragic melancholy.

*******************

The gentle rain falling from the sky was enough to clear most of the crowds from the cobblestone streets. Vendors looked distinctly disgruntled, but the Venetian gondoliers looked relieved that no tourists wanted a ride. Wesley Jamieson, however, was enjoying the rain. He ambled slowly through the winding streets of Venice, buying deli meats and cheese as he passed the innumerable merchants and stopping to look at whichever artisans caught his eye. In fact, Wesley had made it a goal to do exactly what he wanted when he wanted. He had been living there for less than two weeks, but it already felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He had packed his bags in the middle of the night and sold all of his shares in the company he had founded. Combined with his personal savings, he had more than enough money to live out the rest of his days in rustic comfort. Not a soul from his old life knew where he was, and he had never felt so free.

He tried not to dwell on the void that had been left in his life, but when he lay in bed at night, his thoughts invariably turned towards the enigmatic Avery Keeling. He had no idea where Avery had gone, and he didn’t suppose he would ever hear from him again. But that was beside the point, now. What mattered was that his eyes had been opened to feelings and emotions that he had never known existed.

The rain splashed carelessly against his aging face, and he smiled as he threw his head back into the wind. After much walking, he finally came to the wooden door of the old, classic Italian flat that he had purchased for cash not two weeks ago. He stepped into the quaint foyer and was overcome by a sense of inner peace. He was no longer in the rat race, he was no longer in a strained relationship and he no longer had commitments to other people. He was a free man, who had experienced true passion and learned how to truly live life to the fullest.

And he was happy.

The sound of the rain splashing against the ancient cobblestones sounded like the delicate bells of a celeste. Lively and frivolous, they played a merry tune that made the waters come alive in song and dance.

********************

Avery stared blankly out of his car window as the wipers vainly tried to keep the driving rain from obscuring his view of the road. He hadn’t been up that winding dirt road in nearly 10 years, but he drove as if he made that trip every day of his life. He pulled into an empty driveway and numbly stepped out of his car. It was the middle of winter, and nobody would be staying at the rustic summer house for another few months. His muscles moving of their own accord, Avery walked aimlessly around the grounds of the house. He was drenched in seconds, but the rain didn’t even register with him.

After he had thoroughly covered the front yard, he walked around the house and down a narrow, muddy path that led to a beach on Cape Cod Bay. The beach was empty and so foggy that he could barely see what lay fifty yards down the sand. The air was still, and the heavy fog created a shroud over the gray water of the bay. Avery pushed the surging memories to the back of his subconscious and started to walk along the familiar beach.

An old garden swing with peeling paint, sitting where the grass met the sand, drew his attention as he neared the next beach house – a full mile down the beach. His eyes tightened as he saw it, and he walked slowly over and up to the ancient seat. Oblivious to the driving rain and icy cold, he collapsed onto the sodden, rotting boards of the swing and let his mind drift back through the years. His eyes closed, and – for a moment – he was no longer a broken boy sitting alone in the rain and fog.

It was sunny with big, fluffy clouds floating overhead; the swing
sported a fresh coat of vivid, fire-engine-red paint. He laughed
with delight as he made it go higher and higher, pushing in sync
with the brown-haired boy on the other side. They tired of their
game and, giggling, ran out to play in the sand. Avery shook his
blond locks out of his eyes and excitedly nudged his companion.
The two boys squealed loudly as a big, furry golden retriever
bounded over to lick their faces.

A rare mirthful smile materialized on Avery’s face as he afforded himself the luxury of nostalgia. But just as he began to let down his guard – even with himself – the smile turned to a twisted, pained grimace. The pleasant reminiscence that had momentarily transported him back to a happier time was replaced by a raging anamnesis that trapped him in his own mind.

“No!” he shouted, leaping out of the pit he had dug in the sand.
He started to run, but no matter how fast he ran, the looming figure
seemed to be gaining on him with each slow, methodical step. He
soon tired, and, panting for breath, he knew he would not escape
what was to come. Vian looked up from the sandcastle he was
building and watched his friend with sadness in his young eyes. He
heard Avery call out his name but shut his eyes tightly in an
effort to block out the soul-scarring sound…

Avery’s eyes snapped open, the water from the rain masking his silent tears. Some wounds were too deep, some pains too severe to recover from. His life had been shattered long before he had met, and long before he had lost, Vian. But it was only then, sitting alone on that dilapidated swing, that he fully accepted his defeat.

He stood up, no longer stiff, but calm and assured, and started walking to the water’s edge. His immeasurable earthly hubris was replaced by a profound cosmic humility as he waded into the water. No matter how much his monolithic intellect separated him from the rest of humanity, as he became acutely aware of his own oblivion, he realized the utter insignificance of his futile life. He would not be remembered any more or less than those poor fools who deluded themselves into thinking their lives held meaning. In the end, he was just as subject to obscurity as those he disdained so much.

He had been haunted his entire life by memories, and the idea of ceasing to exist and being forgotten was oddly appealing to his tortured mind. When the cold water reached his neck, he smiled for the second time that day. For the first time in a very long time, the carefree boy from the photograph was the same person as the waif who gazed into it.

Feeling lightheaded as the freezing water rushed into his lungs, he made no effort to raise his head above the sea. As his body succumbed to oxygen deprivation, his thoughts melded into a single amaranthine void that precipitated complete nihility. He finally felt at peace with himself and with the world, as the last vestiges of life drained out of his body—content in death as he had never been in life.

There was no one there to witness his death, and there would be no one to find out about it and mourn. As the last strands of platinum hair vanished beneath the waves, the sound of raindrops hitting the sea, accented by occasional peals of thunder, played a despondent funeral dirge that fell upon only the deaf ears of the deserted beach.

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