It was time for friends, and so Feli strolled down the sidewalk towards me, a combination of certainty and ease, shoulders back, barrel chest out. He pulled his hair back behind his ear and stated the obvious, just to get things started:
“Hey man, that house is rockin’. Like, literally rockin’.”
He must have realized he had gotten (justifiably) distracted from niceties and turned towards me, with the same look of light amazement he had cast over the house, and shook my hand. He had to have seen the barely veiled pain in my face.
“So what’s happening with you?”
I told him that I had seen Moist, and that I had lost Jack. I did not tell him about our earlier conversation, in the basement, as I did not think it was his concern. Though with Feli, more information is usually the better move. He watched my face carefully as I tried to stick to observations rather than inclinations, and he nodded at intervals to suggest he was digesting what I told him. I wasn’t asking for solutions, because the problem was not entirely clear, and any broader advice would have fallen on deaf ears, and he knew that.
“So are you going to go in?”
It was the only thing to ask. But on this, I needed to engage him more directly.
“I don’t know. Even if it’s not unsafe, I may not be wanted in there. It’s like the whole place has come alive.”
“Well, the first thing you said might be true. It might not be safe.”
“But then Jack is in there. And Moist is either on the roof or probably somewhere else inside.” I realize I had neglected possibilities in my previous description. “And Dallow is supposedly in there as well.”
He raised his eyebrows at this information, not so much surprised as simply registering that this might alter his assessment.
“You could leave him?” He read my face. “You don’t want to leave him?”
“If it’s not safe in there, don’t I have to go in?”
“But you don’t know for sure.” There was a booming report from the house in response, as the hum had evolved—for want of another term—into what sounded like a slow, oscillating arpeggio, stuck in one key, skipping through a couple of octaves of one chord. “Wow! That was beautiful!”
It was difficult to argue with that sentiment, but the more structured version of the hum did me no particular good. I attempted to hum along with the arpeggio, but was having difficulty predicting which interval it would hit next and so lagged behind slightly in my head. I let him speak next:
“But then you said you might not be wanted. Why would you think that?”
It was another reasonable query. Feli can ask a question and then give you such a genuinely interested look in your response that if you do not know him well, it seems almost certainly condescending and falsely paternalistic. This particular line of inquiry made me reconsider my original reservation.
“Maybe not so much unwanted as not belonging. Is it too late to go in? I let my friend go in there, and I saw another who may be imperiled. It would look strange to go in now, especially if it is safe.”
Feli’s look now exposed the ludicrous nature of this last couplet. I relented slightly.
“I guess it doesn’t matter how it looks. But I don’t see any clear answer, anyway.”
Feli was nearing solutions, his hands started sculpting invisible globes as he paced the sidewalk a bit.
“You know, it’s your choice, obviously.” Hands spinning. “What’s the risk here?” Kicking invisible stone out of the way. “I know exactly what the risk is: it’s time, man. There’s only so much time.” Leaning against the tree, frenetic energy tethered. “There’s only so much time. In a day, in a few years, in your life. It’s your career, man! Your life is your career, not the other way around. You can change careers, or you can invest everything into one, or you can pretend you have none. But that doesn’t sound like you.” At this he tilted his head up at me, looking from under those eyebrows. “It sounds like—”
What it sounded like was a rather aerodynamic plank of plastic flying out the now-missing window and careening off of the neighboring house before inverting itself, perpendicular to the ground below, and javelining into the pavement, revealing itself as a cheap keyboard as the top couple of keys jumped ship dramatically at the bottom of its fall.
Feli looked at me with widened eyes and then burst out laughing, holding his belly as he choked out:
“You saw it! I’m here with you, and you saw it. I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it!”
He recovered himself almost immediately and returned to the matter-of-fact delineation of my options. I had to admit, I felt a bit less alone, but still foreign in the place, in my own skin.
“Talk to Cashman. He’s close in, he’s been around. He’ll have something to say, that much we’re certain of. Whether he thinks it’s a good idea or not, you’ll get an opinion. I think he wants what’s best—actually, I know he wants what’s best, otherwise it would be a waste of time to talk to him. But you should talk to him, and then do something. There are only three options anyway: go in, go away, or stay here, and staying here for a minute isn’t going to hurt you. So talk to Cashman. That way, at least you don’t have to make a decision right now. That thing is not going anywhere, and Jack’s fine.” He reassured me, and possibly himself, though it sounded less certain the second time, if anything. “Jack’s always fine. I’m calling Cashman.” He stopped, about to walk away past me, continuing his initial path. “I gotta set up. Always setting up and tearing down. All that matters is what’s in between though, brother. And man,” he reached out to shake my hand goodbye, the arpeggios got tighter, and it sounded like a choir was just about to break through the sonic cloud, he winked, unironically, “watch out for keyboards.”
