Page 57 of Two Marlboros

Next to me was a policeman, and I had even made a statement about it. I could always have said I was wrong, but how could I know where the investigation stood? Retracting my statement could have had too unpredictable and dangerous side effects. Moreover, Alan had also been present at the party. It was dark, yes, but he could always have seen the color of his eyes.

I found myself in a panic, even though I had nothing to do with it. I had only had the misfortune of running into him that day at the post office, but nothing more. I had bumped into him, and we had made eye contact.

Nothing more, nothing less.

However.

“What help do you need with the study?”

I turned back to Alan, who was looking at the dark horizon ahead, casting cross glances at me. Perhaps he had thought my silence stemmed from my worries with the seminar. I ate the leaf.

“I need someone to get Plastics into my head, I think.”

He let out a thoughtful groan. “Is this seminar important?”

“I need it for the scholarship,” I replied in a hushed voice. “If I get a good score, I have a better chance of getting it awarded.”

Alan bellowed again. “Didn’t your family set aside money for college?”

“No, just for my brother.”

The truth was: yes, they had set it aside for me, like all families. Then, one fine day, my father had decided that I was not worthy of having those savings funded and that they would go to Jimmy.

“Right, you have a little brother.”

“And when did I tell you?”

He chuckled. “You didn’t. But as a witness we did gather some information about you.”

That sentence disturbed me. How much and what information was in their possession? I didn’t have who knows what secret, but still Alan felt compelled to reassure me.

“It’s all about generalities. Family, work, studies - these kinds of things.”

I breathed a sigh of relief and we both giggled. My smile faded first. My family was a mess, work was bad, and studies couldn’t get any worse. Would there ever be at least one good thing in my life?

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Was I ever going to make up with my father? Would I ever be able to find a job worthy of the name? And the studies - did I really have a chance to graduate?

So many things seemed uncertain to me at that moment.

“I’d like to ask you a question,” I replied.

“Tell me.”

I turned to look at him, and he stared back at me.

“In your opinion, does calm always come after the storm?”

His gaze planted itself on me, amazed. He shifted his eyes to the street and the building in front of us, after which he returned to look at me with a smile.

“Yes. In my opinion it always comes,” he whispered, with a caressing look that seemed to brush my face. “Sometimes, when you least expect it. It comes, though.”

His smile disappeared and he looked down at his feet for a moment. I felt cuddled with renewed hope: if he said so, it must surely be true.

We watched the sunrise together and let the first rays of the sun caress our faces as the breeze grew warmer and the air sultry little by little. We walked back into the house, me still with the unlit cigarette butt between my fingers.

As soon as I crossed the threshold of the kitchen, I felt that moment fly further and further away, and when I closed the window, I had confirmation. The kitchen was no longer hiding any secrets, and our talk had the echo of a faded dream.

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