Owen Linwood died in the spring of 1986, two months before his 15th birthday. He was a bright boy with a deep passion for botany, and presided the chess club at his school. He is remembered fondly by his friends as a happy light always willing to listen. He is survived by his mother, father, and older brother. His favourite flowers were anthuriums and orchids.
Calvin has that obituary memorized. And, in case he ever forgets a single word, he has a cutout of it framed and hung on one of the walls. A single paragraph - sixty-four words - to contain the entirety of his brother. Right now, he is staring at it as if it’ll stop existing the moment he glances away.
He is standing awkwardly in the middle of a small rectangular warehouse of sullen red bricks and an almost entirely broken glass ceiling, abandoned sometime during the fifties. Calvin had found it while exploring the woods near the town and taken it as his own when he was eleven: Between the two metal beams that jutted up from the center, dividing it into thirds, he placed a carpet which progressively got filled with all kinds of comforts and amenities.
When he showed it to Owen about three years later, the boy discovered it to be a wonderful place to keep his plants. Thus, the longer sides got slowly lined with tables covered in potted flowers, grasses, bushes, and so on, religiously well-kept. The shorter sides, meanwhile, stayed mostly empty - Except for the entrance on one (A mildly crumbled doorway), and a table for knicknacks on the other (Which currently holds a calendar and Owen’s gardening tools, above which hangs the framed obituary).
After a long, long time staring at it, Calvin finally relents and approaches the table to mark the date on the calendar: August 15th, 1989. Then, he grabs the clippers and gardening scissors, and starts to work on the plants.
“Knew you’d be here.”
He freezes.
Kelsey looks at him from the entrance, expressionless. Or, rather, with the slightest hint of sorrow and worry.
“Kels,” is the reply given by Calvin, after a moment, without looking at them.
They look at the room without entering, standing just at the doorway. Their attention, of course, falls on the carpet: On and around it, there are dusted cushions, a shredded armchair, empty and half-drank soda bottles, piles of their own books, Virginia’s old telescope, and an intact, pristine chess board midway through a match. And, of course, the creeping vines that cling to each and every brick, and the ivy that climbs the metal poles.
Calvin seems misplaced, taking care of everything with the tact of a surgeon.
They step in, walking slowly, too slowly, like an interloper who used to belong there. When they reach the beam nearer to the entrance, they speak: “Virginia’s leaving in a week.”
He freezes for a moment, then continues without replying.
They take another step, accidentally kicking one of the bottles on the floor with a label reading ‘Orange Soda Mix’. It had gone out of business a year after Owen died. But before they can skim the memories (Kelsey’s memory functions much like archival drawers), Calvin pushes them slightly aside in order to place the bottle back where it was.
He does so with a worrying speed. He knows Kelsey notices how awkward- No, how laughable that action was. He hopes they’re still just as unexpressive as always, and will just ignore it. He returns to carefully pruning the plants.
“She’s… She’s worried about you, you know,” Kelsey leans against the beam.
“I’m fine, you don’t have to worry,” says Calvin. He knows she isn’t the one worried.
“I mean, are you though?”
“Yes, I’m fine, Kels. Fetch me the garden scissors, please.”
After a moment of silence, of observing Calvin, Kelsey speaks: “Remember the time I got poisoned by one of Owen’s plants?”
“Yeah, Owen got grounded for a month afterwards,” Calvin laughs.
“And I got an emergency visit to the hospital. Your mom was so angry at you.”
“God, yeah,” Calvin smiles, but doesn’t stop pruning, “did she have to be the one to treat you?”
“Eh, at least she knew what kind of poisonous plants Owen kept. Much easier-”
“Keeps.”
A moment passes. Two, three.
“The poisonous plants Owen keeps,” Calvin repeats.
Kelsey exhales sharply, with an ounce of resignation.
“He’s gone, Vin. His plants won’t bring him back.”
“I know that.”
“He also isn’t his plants. These,” they hesitate, “these aren’t him.”
“I know that too. Do you think I’m dumb enough to think taking care of these will magically bring him back? To think one day he’ll just come out of a flowerbud?”
“No, I- You-” it’s rare for Kelsey to not know how to say something.
“I don’t want to lose this,” Calvin continues, “I don’t have your good memory. I want to keep something good, from back then. I don’t want to forget it.”
For a while, both are silent. The only sound is the clipping of Calvin’s scissors as he combs over each and every growth. Kelsey’s eyes fall to the chess board at the center of the carpet.
“Did Virgo ever make her move?” they say, after some time.
“What?”
“On the board. It’s the match she and Owen were playing, right?”
“Oh. Oh, yeah, she did. Knight to cee-two.”
“Why do you keep it, then?”
It takes Calvin a moment to respond: “Because I can’t figure out what move he would’ve made in return.”
“I don’t think that’s something you can figure out.”
“Then I’ll just have to keep the board as-is.”
“I mean that you, specifically, couldn’t figure it out. You’re terrible at chess.”
Calvin laughs, Kelsey smiles. Both know that wasn’t what Kelsey meant.
“May I sit?” says the latter, after a handful of moments. It’s not a question done for polite niceties, but out of a true worry that not asking may constitute an unspeakable offense. “I’ll set everything back after, don’t worry,” they add. Calvin considers the question, finishes pruning the plant he’s busy with, and finally nods subtly. Kelsey’s back slides down the metal beam, until they’re sitting on the carpet, wrapping their arms around their legs.
They look up, past the missing roof. At this time, at this spot, the light is exactly as beautiful as they remember. The sunlight filtering first through the remaining glass shards of the roof, then through the leaves of the plants of the table; the filigree of thin shadows made by the vines, and interrupted abruptly by Calvin’s shadow. For a second, Kelsey understands Calvin’s desire for preservation: They, too, would like to keep this in a snowglobe.
The trance is dispelled by Calvin’s voice: “I did bring some drinks. Here,” he extends a plastic bottle.
“Seltzer? Come on, I didn’t walk all the way to here to drink seltzer!” their tone is theatrically offended. He doesn’t reply. Instead, he places the bottle next to Kelsey, then carefully sits crosslegged on the cushions on the opposite side of the carpet.
“Then why did you come here, Kels?” his eyes drill the ground, furiously.
“Can’t I just want to see my friend?”
“You could’ve gone to my house, then.”
Kelsey stays silent.
“You haven’t been here since- Since then.” His tone isn’t angry, but it does have emotion. “So, tell me. Why come here now, of all times? To tell me Virgo’s going off to college? Why should I care?! She hasn’t spoken to me since then either!”
Kelsey recoils slightly. This wasn’t what they wanted. They want to go back 15 minutes, to the casual conversation. They want to go back to when none of this was an issue, when everything was fine, when they were happy.
They want to go back to when Owen was-
‘No use in thinking that,’ they chastise internally.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t get angry at you of all people,” Calvin says before Kelsey can finish preparing a response.
“It’s fine, I get it,” they finally say.
“How is she doing, anyway?” Calvin looks up, to the side. Away.
“Oh, you know. Same as she’s always been, more concerned with whatever’s happening up there than down here.” Kelsey’s relieved to be so unexpressive. They wouldn’t want to show their desperation to have a lighter conversation. Calvin can tell regardless.
Their eyes drift together to the old telescope.
“She’d kill you if she saw how badly you’ve kept her telescope.”
“If she cared that much, she would’ve come to pick it up already,” he shrugs.
“I… I didn’t know she hasn’t spoken to you, if that’s worth anything.”
“She was closer to Owen, I get it.”
“That’s not the reason,” they clarify before they can stifle the comment. Calvin’s eyes whip back to them. He stares for a moment.
“So you did know,” it’s not an accusation, he says it in the same tone as one would clarify what they had for dinner.
“What is it, then? The reason,” he adds.
They hesitate, but eventually speak: “You remember how she was at the funeral, yeah?” Kelsey glances to Calvin, before looking away again, “She… hasn’t gotten better, not really. I haven’t seen her play chess since. I think that’s really why she wants to leave, you know.”
“Oh.” There isn’t much emotion in his voice, just reasonable acceptance.
“I did try to convince her to at least tell you goodbye herself, but…” they raise their hands in faux-defeat, “no luck.”
“Don’t bother. Virgo’s as smart as she’s stubborn. Besides, all you need to do is tell her I’m using her telescope as a plant pot and I assure you she’ll be here by the hour.”
They both chuckle. ‘It wouldn’t’ve been the first time,’ Kelsey thinks, ‘Owen did that once. How very angry Virgo got.’
“I disagree, by the way,” Calvin says, interrupting the reminiscing.
“Hm? With what?”
“You said the plants aren’t him. I disagree.”
Kelsey doesn’t reply, but pays attention.
“The same way the telescope is Virgo, and the books are you. You all used them for a long time, so they must have a part of everyone.”
“I suppose it makes sense. What’s you, then?”
Calvin isn’t surprised by the question (It was fairly expectable), but he doesn’t have an answer. Or, rather, he doesn’t like that his first instinct was to reply ‘Owen.’
“I don’t know. What do you think I am?”
Kelsey eyes the warehouse slowly, combing over everything, until they finally decide on the answer: “Seltzer. I’m yet to see anyone else actually like this thing.” They hold the bottle by the cap, pretending disbelief.
“Oh, come on!” he exclaims.
“In all honesty, though,” they begin after both finish laughing, “I couldn’t tell you. I don’t believe in that kind of thing. You’re you, and that’s it.”
“Alright, alright,” he says, getting up, “I need to finish watering these, swap the dirt of a few. Better get to it.”
Kelsey stays seated, watching Calvin walk over to the table at the far end of the room to grab a new set of tools. They frowned slightly. They had always disliked delaying things - Put them off, procrastinate them, postpone them, anything of that sort. They really dislike that they’re doing it right now.
It takes more effort than they’d like to admit, until they blurt out, rather quickly:
“I’m also leaving.” Their eyes are nailed on the floor. Calvin freezes.
“What?” he says after a moment.
“With Virgo gone, it’s a bit weird to stay in her house, you know? With her parents and all.” Their tone is apologetic, diplomatic.
“You could stay with me.”
They don’t have a rebuttal.
“We have a spare room,” Calvin mutters.
Kelsey still doesn’t reply. They know from many sleepovers that Calvin doesn’t have a guest room.
“Yeah, Owen’s,” he adds reading their surprise.
“I couldn’t.” They hug their legs tighter.
“Yes, you could.” Calvin’s smile is nostalgic, as if he were walking through that room right now. “Assuming you can handle more seltzer. I get it from my dad, you know.”
Kelsey laughs. They have always been unexpressive, but a tear pools in their eye.
“Alright, now help me change the dirt, will you, Kels?”