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This week had not gone as it had in his carefully maintained planner or on the animal-themed calendar in the corner of the hut. Hadn’t gone like it was meant to. First in the week was the jazz cafe he was meant to attend as a kind of treat. The one that Horace was meant to accompany him to, they’d agreed weeks before with voices crackling through the phone. He hadn’t shown. Which at first wasn’t so much of a problem, he simply enjoyed the lackadaisical tunes and a nice cup of tea on his own. Later on he’d phoned, asking why he hadn’t been there. Horace said he’d simply forgotten, had stayed at home instead. Perfectly reasonable, especially considering the man’s methulesalan age. Next was a run in at work with the gate attendant who, yet again, refused to believe he worked there. Ever since Fossil had hired the man after one too many valuable lemurs had gone missing, he’d been nothing but trouble for Howard. An interruption in his routine and a sting of humiliation. The altercation ended this time with both men on the ground, all elbows and knees where they shouldn’t be. His arm was still tender and purple in places.
There were other unnoticed incidents here and there, just throwaway comments and small mishaps. Things that began to fill his pockets and weigh him down. Making it exceptionally difficult to get things done. Even when he’s used to those little things, not too much out of the ordinary. There are always stones in Howard Moon’s pockets, everyone plonks one in here and there. It’s just a matter of having time to empty them out at the end of the day, slump into the sofa and listen to the idle hum of the fridge and Vince’s enthusiastic babbling. But the last event had really pushed the week into a bad one rather than an ordinary one.
Sure it was fine that Horace had forgotten their meeting and that the buffoon of a gate attendant had forgotten him even if it was the 100th time. Even if he was very tired of saying the words “You know me!” All of them were easy to explain away somehow. There was no way to explain the last day.
In his planner, in the navy pen he used specifically for family events, written in sensible letters and circled. “Call from Cecilia.” A day that he looked forward to, talking to his sister. They made a pact, they’d talk on day every year after she’d moved so far away to follow her dreams. As children they hadn’t been as amicable as they could have been. Not being very close in age. Still, it was their day. So, as the day came and went with radio silence Howard’s heart began to sink. His first anxious instinct was that something had happened, maybe she’d tripped while collecting some field data in Norway or been eaten by a bear. So he’d called instead, no harm done. The receiver picked up, he got to talking, he asked the question.
“Oh I completely forgot, sorry.”
“Oh,” he didn’t know what he expected. “Oh, that’s alright you’re quite busy, aren’t you. Busy scientist, my sister the busy scientist.” He’d laughed, trying very hard to keep his voice level.
The quality of the call made no difference after that. No matter how much he enjoyed hearing about what strange algae she found or recounting the latest strange happening at the zoo. It felt like it was all so flat. When he hung up it was as if she hadn’t even picked up the phone at all. Had he even talked to her? He couldn’t stop sinking, just sat in the musty old armchair and stared at the green plastic of the telephone. Plummeting until he felt like he couldn’t get a breath. Stuck at the bottom of a pool unable to make a move back out.
So when he’d woken to the patter of rain hitting the corrugated roof outside he had sighed with relief. Rain was a blessing, the stormier the better. It meant that no one was enough of an animal fanatic to come to the zoo today and Fossil wouldn’t bother to show up. Weather like this meant a peaceful day in. Maybe he’d even make good enough tea that Vince wouldn’t complain so much about the weather. Could stew indoors all he wanted. He’d made them tea, plucked a book from his part of the shelf on the wall and sat down on the sofa. A book about history to take his mind off the rotten week. He’s barely read the first few pages before Vince squirms in his sleeping bag and cranes his neck up with barely open eyes.
“G’morning,” he croaks, though he doesn’t move to get up. “What’s that sound?”
“Rain, Vince.” Howard mumbles, waiting for him to doze off again. Normally he’d be sleeping like the dead till noon on days like this. Without the sun or Howard waking him. He’s awake nonetheless, staring at Howard with a face of infinite puzzlement.
“S’raining?”
“Yes, go back to sleep. No need to be up now,” he comforts. Though really he could use the company. If it were someone else he’d rather not, Vince’s presence was in its own category. In some strange way it didn’t feel as though there was someone else in the room, more like another part of his own mind kept in another place. An unexplainable phenomenon that Howard had stopped trying to figure out somewhere in the middle of university. So he makes no protest when Vince makes a frustrated little huff, gathers up his blankets and stumbles onto the sofa next to him. He’s still in his own space, curled up with his knees to his chest and his sleep rumpled hair pushed into the back of the sofa. Not many more pages later, he’s leaning over, raising his brows to get a look.
“What you reading?”
“History.” He knows Vince will only scoff at it. Not his deal. Then prance off into a tangent about whatever wanders into his mind.
“Bit broad,” he wrinkles his nose. “What history?”
Howard pauses, not expecting the continuation. It dawns on him he’s got no idea what it is he’s been reading and glances at the title of the book in the corner of the page. Realization dawns on him then, of which book it is. “Unseen and Unheard: the story of those forgotten by history.” He’d only really seen the word history and grabbed it off the shelf.
“It’s about these people who’ve done small things. Not the grand gestures of history, not the great leaders.” The wind shakes the tiny building, rattling the pans in the cupboard. What a cruel joke to play on himself, grabbing this book. Opening his mouth to talk about it. “Just people.” He adds quietly.
“What just normal people?” Vince says indignantly. Howard turns from his book then and Vince jumps a bit and some of his enthusiasm fades. Something in Howard’s face has shrunk him down. Which only makes him do the same. Curling in on himself a bit more, he himself further onto his side of the couch.
“Yes,” he grumbles. “Normal people.” He picks the book back up, sticks his face further into it than needed. Vince, of course, does not take the bait. Does not know the week Howard’s had or the way he’s fighting to keep sob threatening at his throat. He desperately wants some tea. Something to drink and banish it down his gullet and back into his gut.
“Thought you were about heroes, ya know, big people n’ that?”
“I am,” he hunches further. “Sometimes, just, want to read about something else.”
“Something else?” Vince prompts, probably looking in the other direction.
“People who, ya know,” he wishes he could just say it. He feels Vince shift next to him. The words in the book are just lines and lines of letters now that mean nothing to him but he keeps on looking. He doesn’t want to say it. But it won’t stop repeating in his head unsaid until he doesn. “People who have been forgotten.” The word breaks something loose in him that he wanted kept in place. He feels hot, feels his hands grip the book too tight as he continues. “People who did something small, just-just enough that they showed up on the radar. Just something interesting enough that hundreds of years later some astute historian with a waxed mustache noticed them. That someone saw the handprint they left in clay or the people they helped or-or-” he waves his hands, drops the book into his lap. “Anything to make their lives not just another tick in the population count, not just a name you see on a gravestone worn and full of moss. What did they do? Who were they? Why did one day, someone stop going to that grave, stopped caring who they were?” His throat has closed. Tears have blurred his vision. He doesn’t want to cry. The thought makes his cheeks burn with embarrassment and welled up emotion. He swallows but the last words are strangled. “I don’t want to be forgotten, Vince.”
It’s the last thing he’s able to say before his body gives out. The pressure that’s been building in his head is painful now. All the week crashing in. He covers his face. No one’s meant to see this, not even Vince. If he’d just picked up a different sodding book. But there’s no wiping his face and going back to reading now. He holds in a sob that aches in his chest and prays for the couch cushions to swallow him up.
“Howard,” Vince’s voice comes soft from beside him. He feels him come closer, still bedwarm and his voice rough with sleep. Then something soft and warm is on him, he realizes it’s the blanket that Vince has flung half over him. A bit of safety that he’s trying to share. “Howard?”
He takes a shaky breath, not quite trusting his voice yet. He has to speak though, hearing Vince so small and concerned. He tries. “What Vince.”
He hears him sigh with a rattling in his breath that makes him slowly lower his hands. He’s still there, his body turned towards Howard and his chin resting on his knees.
“I won’t forget you Howard.” He says it so gently but filled with overwhelming sincerity.
For a few moments neither of them speak, letting the words hang in the air. Such a simple phrase and yet the words go right to his heart. Howard wipes his eyes quickly as more tears spill out. Stalling for what to say. As he takes his hand away he just catches Vince try to swipe at his own tears unnoticed. He lets quiet noise of notice and Vince looks up to see he’s been caught and seems to freeze. Staring openly with big wet eyes. Not a single worry line, not even bags under them. The same eyes he’d give Howard when he’d told him he was finished trying to go to University. Or when they were small, when Howard would dry his tears just like this walking home and Vince would always tell him the next day would be better. And with Vince it was always true.
“Thank you, little man.” He sniffs, having to look down at his hands or he’d start blubbering again.
“Howard,” he asks, a bit apprehensive.
“Yes, Vince,” he answers easily.
“Can we have a cuddle now?”
Howard nods, lifts his arm in invitation. Content to feel the warm familiarity of him cozy into his side under the shared blankets. The small patch of sunshine that found its way into Vince. A sunspot that somehow Howard has gotten lucky enough to talk to every day. A light for Howard to pull himself to the surface and feel the warmth on his skin.
“Comfy now?”
Vince pushes his cheek further against his chest, his eyes peacefully closed again. “Yeah, might have a little sleepy.”
“Alright.” He settles in too, slowly dozing to the hiss of the rain and Vince’s calming breaths.