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OLD FRIENDS
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JASPER HAD NEVER BEEN special. Never been chosen, never been idolised. He had never been anything but plain old Jasper. He even looked plain in every way imaginable. Plain brown hair, falling over plain brown eyes, covered by plain black glasses.
Plain, but familiar, he reminded himself.
Familiar, reliable, and classic were the words most often used to describe him. Words which he tended to take as passing compliments. He had better things to occupy his time with than feeling plain. The stars above and the bones below being two of his favourites. In fact, he hadn’t even noticed his own plainness, and might never have if he hadn’t met her.
Jasper remembered it like it was yesterday. Somewhere around the cove, in a spot he’d claimed for himself when he was just a boy—a spot that no other soul had reached because it involved a lot of climbing and was rewarded with very little beach—he caught a glimpse of the most enchanting creature he’d ever laid eyes on—his soon-to-be best friend.
The night sky expanded infinitely above, the perfect place to stargaze. Secluded, unpolluted, with only the sound of the rolling waves as company. Jasper had been waiting all week to come out to see a forecasted meteor shower. Of the only two routes to this hidden sanctuary, he chose the one through the water. The other was barred by jagged and shifting rocks that were unfriendly at best. He swam part of the way and hoisted himself up the rest. It helped that in his fourteen years he was lanky and agile, as his arms could reach the stable edges and his body was still light enough not to be a burden. He climbed over the last rock gracefully only to fall flat on his face out of sheer shock.
She sat on what little beach there was, stroking the back of one of the largest nesting sea turtles he’d ever seen. Somehow, she’d managed to get right up close to it. Jasper blinked the water from his eyes to make sure he wasn’t going mad. She was petting its back as though it were a house cat and... talking to it? He cleaned his glasses with his shirt and replaced them high on his nose, staring incredulously at the scene, all but entranced by the strange, beautiful creature, and the turtle she talked to.
The girl paid him no more mind than that which it took to press a finger to her lips before she rambled on to the sea creature. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her. In a town as small as theirs, you either knew everybody or at least had seen them around. She was neither, yet there she sat. Not more than a year or two younger than him. Talking away to... a turtle.
She glanced over at him again, nodded her head, and tapped the sand beside her. Her silent command to sit won him over. The rest of the night was spent in equal silence, save for her occasional murmurings and the sound of the waves against the rocks. And it was this friendship, started in silence next to a nesting turtle under a sky full of stars, that first alerted him as to how plain he really was.
Even now, as he sat answering questions made to judge the content of his soul, he couldn’t help but think that his soul, compared to those of the people of this household, lacked value.
The man’s gaze was predatory. His eyes glinted like those of a hawk as they homed in on its unwitting prey: Jasper. His stony face was almost impossible to read, save for the occasional involuntary twitch of disgust betrayed by his lips.
“I like your...ring.” The words came out feebler than Jasper had hoped. “That’s the symbol for the third eye, right?” Luckily for him, the topic seemed to pique the man’s interest.
“It is,” he replied, leaning in closer. “And what exactly is it that you do, boy?” Coming from anyone else, the question might have been casual, friendly even, but Jasper knew it wasn’t a question at all. Marked by the stiffened emphasis on the word “exactly”, it was a statement meant to intimidate and belittle without sounding tyrannical. One that subtly meant, Tell me you’re not useless, and to which there were many wrong answers, and even the right ones could be wrong depending on the mood of the person asking.
“I’m an archaeologist, sir,” Jasper replied, making a conscious effort not to look away, though his stomach recoiled.
“Hm...” The sound was not entirely of disinterest. That was good. Jasper had never faced this kind of scrutiny before—at least not before 10:00 a.m. and especially not after having stayed up late reading about one of the latest archaeological digs.
He regretted this now, realising it was a mistake as he strained to keep his eyes open, sat before a legend. This disappearing-reappearing uncle of Savara’s who had taken her in under a decade ago was the subject of most of the town’s gossip. Stories circulated throughout the island of a shadow man who spoke to spirits, because even in the disbelieving modern world, talking to spirits distinguished you, ostracised you, or as Savara put it—in her uncle’s words—earned you some god-damned peace and quiet.
One glance at this frail old man made anyone question the gruesome gossip. Those delicate, veined hands couldn’t have strangled goats and summoned storms. His off-kilter gait couldn’t have taken him further than the back fence, let alone across deserts and abandoned isles. But something in his manner seemed false... restrained.
Jasper, having worked with hidden things before, knew the man was hiding something. His manner was too perfect. Too well-studied to be true, like an actor lost to his scene. Even the wrap of his fingers on the table seemed practised.
It’s his eyes, Jasper realised. Those endless blue eyes.
Jasper had always believed that the eyes told more about a person than their dress. They couldn’t be altered to suit a need. They grew with you, bearing witness to all you’d done and all you would do. Pride, deceit, will. The man’s eyes spoke volumes. Without realising it, Jasper found his sceptical mind running over the stories of this man again, wondering at which point he’d started to believe them.
On a second glance, this frail old man didn’t look so frail after all.
The man stroked his beard lightly. It seemed the two men had reached their conclusions about each other at the same time. Jasper hoped that maybe there was something interesting about his soul after all. When the man finished his contemplation, not a single hair of his beard was left out of place.
“Uncle, I told you to behave yourself,” Savara admonished. “Jasper, I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s fine.” He laughed, nervously trying to hide his relief. “Happy Birthday, Sav.”
“I have been perfectly civil with your friend,” Hyrum replied. “Happy Birthday, my child.”
“Thank you both.” Savara smiled and took the seat next to him. “I hope my uncle didn’t scare you too much,” she whispered.
“No,” Jasper replied, scratching the back of his head. “We were just picking each other’s brains,” he added, but he let out a soft sigh of relief all the same.
“No more brain-picking,” said Ms Short as she laid out the last of the plates. “Eat before it gets cold.”
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BREAKFAST WAS QUAINT. Conversations were kept trivial, for the benefit of Ms Short. She often admonished conversations with words that took more than a breath to say should be left for the study—anything that ended in “ology” fit under that category nicely. But as at ease as everyone was, even Jasper, the newcomer, could tell there was something noticeably off about the esteemed patriarch of the household.
The fire in his eyes had been replaced by something devoid of feeling but not quite empty. A hollowness in his voice told them he scarcely registered the conversation. His eyes were fixed on the window, looking past the shrubberies and the fence, well past the neighbours’ houses below, towards the blank canvas that was the open ocean.
“Uncle, are you alright?” Savara asked.
“What?” he scoffed, shaking himself out of a trance. “Of course I am.” It was a lie.
“I was just saying, I think it’s time for me to move out. I’d like to explore the world—”
“No.” The finality in his tone startled everyone.
“But Uncle, I’m eighteen and this house has become a prison.”
Jasper thought he saw the old man tense at the word prison, but he shrugged it off with a soft huff.
“Sav,” Jasper chimed in barely a whisper, not wanting to incur the wrath of the stately gentleman opposite him. “Maybe it’s not the time.”
“Stay out of it, Jasper,” she growled.
“No,” Hyrum repeated, no longer fazed by her comment. “I believe your fate lies closer to home.”
Savara clenched her fist at the word fate. Clearly the two left much unspoken. Jasper sipped quietly on his tea, wishing not to be part of whatever argument ensued. In part, he was hurt she hadn’t told him of her plans to leave, but then he noticed the nervous quiver in her lip as she spoke and realised there was something more to her sudden drastic decision.
“Uncle, you don’t control fate,” Savara continued. “No one does.”
“Savara, I am not asking you.”
Savara stood up forcefully, rippling the tea in her cup, and turned back to her uncle. His gaze had returned to the window, as though finished with their conversation. “I’m eighteen now. I will find a way to leave, whether you fund it or not,” she huffed before storming off to her room.
Jasper stood awkwardly and inclined his head towards Ms Short. “Thanks again for breakfast,” he said, before running off behind Savara.
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HYRUM HARDLY NOTICED them leave.
“Another successful breakfast,” Ms Short said anxiously as she began to clear the table.
“For once, Liz, I believe we agree.” Hyrum fiddled with the ring between his fingers, gazing out past the garden once more.
