the foreigner
a short story
The first heartbreak was with her father. She used to know him until he decided to leave them for another younger, prettier woman in a more exciting city. She was ten when she saw him packing his stuff, her mother staring with blank eyes in the corner of the room, chewing the last bit of love on her chapped lips. Alice believed that death came twice for everybody. Once, when the body was buried. Twice, when the last person who remembers them also died. At fifteen she decided that he was dead, once again when Matthew moved out, 10 years later.
Alice zone in just before the bartender asks her to leave, for the second time in an hour. The bartender wipes the counter clean, making sure she will not rest her head there again. She smiles awkwardly, rubs her mouth for any drool residue, and leaves the cash. Walking out of the bar, tightening the fur coat around her body, it’s four in the morning. The road looks haunted and colder than yesterday. She stayed in the bar, waiting for the snowstorm to calm down, and left four hours later.
The snow is a couple of inches deep covering the ground and sinks under her weight, leaving footprints like a migrated wolf. She looks around cautiously, at the empty sidewalks and neon-bathed shops. Imagine getting stalked by a masked man, like in a book, or bleeding out in the middle of the street, blood soaking the snowy ground like in her favorite Japanese movie. Despite loving the movie, it’s not an ideal way to leave the earth. She wants to be surrounded by Aunt Kelly, Little Louie, Adeline, a few other university friends, and his ex-beloved, Matthew. She does not have that many people in her life, but dying alone in a snowy street, despite the grand gesture and romanticism– it sounds awful.
She adjusts the tote bag on her shoulder that threatened to fall. There are a few items in it- a bottle of Wrigley chewing gum, an old a5 sketchbook, an underwhelming contemporary book raved by social media, tangled wired earphones, a small pencil case, and underneath all of that, a taser– just in case. Pepper spray hangs on her keychain, just beside a dangling cherry charm. Walking on the sidewalk with no traffic buzzing along the road, she waits for the light to go green. It’s her habit of following orders, unlike Louie. That boy is the embodiment of follow your heart and the many recklessness resulted in bruises. The bar is a few blocks away from her apartment. She walks down the street, just about to turn around the corner when her phone vibrates.
Matthew: you up?
Her former lover of three years. Brows twitches, not much from an annoyance but the sheer coldness of the morning. Her fingers move slowly, typing.
Alice: barely
Alice: had a drink earlier
Alice steps into the apartment lobby. The heated floor is a blessing on a cold morning. She counted in her journal when she had an episode like this. Matthew appears in her writing more than she wants to. He made a debut in her poetry collections many years ago. Leaving him out in her next project is necessary, although no subject can fill the empty spaces in her words. That man will stay undead as long as she needs him. Her phone vibrates again as she waits for the elevator.
Matthew: your mom texted me yesterday, didn’t tell her your new number?
Ah yes, her mother.
Alice: no. I forgot.
The elevator moves excruciatingly slow. A light ding and she finally reaches her unit. It’s a 500 sqft studio apartment with an open floor design, one bedroom, one bathroom, and windows facing the south. An open floor is just a way to forcefully cramp a house, saving space for more to be built and rented out. Alice had to squeeze her brain just to think of a creative way to make it livable. There’s no dining room, no living room, a small corner for a mattress, on-the-floor storage, just a shared space to eat, sleep, and watch reality shows. She was lucky to find a high ceiling, saving herself from feeling like living in a cage. She puts away her thick fur coat in a closet by the entrance, goes to the kitchen, and rummages through her fridge. Wilted spinach in a plastic wrapper, energy drinks, a half-eaten chocolate bar, three eggs, and some frozen berries. She takes out the chocolate and goes straight to the pale green beanbag.
A new matchmaking show where the contestants, who seem too attractive to be unemployed after the show ends, live together on an island. There are dramas, conflicts, and intentional villain-making in every episode. Alice is not that interested but her heart scrutinize-ly judges everything she sees in the show, which makes it addictive.
Matthew: I gave her your number
Matthew: can’t let her text me again
She imagines his voice while reading that. Matthew has a distinct nasal tone when he’s annoyed like he is about to shout but is unable to raise his voice. She glances at the old clock he left before they were in a relationship. It looks old, like a relic stuck in a bad relationship, still there to serve its purpose. Five-thirty in the morning, the neighbors will be up for work. On the left is a truck driver living with his son, on the right is a nurse with irregular shifts. She makes friends with both of them in a small time frame of opening and closing the door. Sometimes during the elevator rides, holding doors for one another, polite nods, and intentional smiles. Something neighbors should do by social cues. The truck driver once asked for her help after losing his keys while changing shifts. She called the keysmith, paying him out of courtesy. He sent a box of grapes the very next week.
“Just take it. We can’t eat everything before it spoils.”
Alice accepted it graciously, knowing she wouldn’t have to buy fruit for a week or two if she froze it right. Once Matthew broke up with her, she grew stingier by right. His son, Henry, studies at a nearby college. A good kid, all smiles does the talking. He works part-time in a downstairs grocery store. Sometimes leaving extra oranges in her grocery bag. She wonders if he has a thing for much older women
“Thanks for helping my dad.” She was reminded again of her spontaneous gestures many months ago. Some people are too gracious in this unforgiving city. She accepted that with a weary smile, with no energy left to argue. Taking everything by heart has destroyed her twice. Matthew was the third.
Once again, the phone’s vibration shatters her wandering mind. The main villain of the show, a woman– of course, is on the TV. She talks about her decision to choose another man instead of the one she dated in the last episode. It sounds fake for Alice but bad acting is still entertaining if it is done right.
Matthew: did I leave anything there?
She stares at the chat, slightly annoyed by the constant reminder of his departure.
Alice: no. I’ll send it to you if I find any.
She hasn’t cleaned up that much since he moved out, four months ago. Her bedroom is closed and she sleeps in the living area, bothered by what happened in that room. Her nose has been extra sensitive since that day. She gave his perfume to Henry, a month after he left. She continues watching the show until she dozes off, somewhere around six, and the chocolate bar lands on the floor.
Alice wakes up at one in the afternoon after hearing the doorbell. TV is still on with a rerun of a singing competition. The contestant makes a few judges turn their chairs. She gets up, takes the ant-infested chocolate bar, and tosses it in the trash can before walking to the door and opening it slowly. It’s Henry, with a food container in his hand, and a green plaid shirt wrapped around his waist. Oh god, Alice rubs her face, imagining herself looking shabby before, pulling the door open.
“Yes?”
“Hi uhh.. dad made some pasta. It’s more than we can finish,” Henry says quietly, handing the warm food container. “He has a sensitive stomach so he can’t eat leftovers.”
“Oh really? That’s very kind of you.” She looks at the red lid before another smell lingers around her sensitive nose. It’s Matthew’s. Henry rubs his nape, something he occasionally does when they meet.
“I read your book. It was good.”
Her brows raise slightly. She deems her book is too heavy, too moody for a general read. But in this age and time, recommendations might come from someone living downtown with a niche taste, but Henry doesn’t seem to fit that niche circle.
“I don’t see you as someone who reads that kind of stuff.” Wondering if she should be grateful or concerned about the new light he paints on himself.
“I received a DM about your book. So I didn’t think twice.”
She talks about death a lot in her shorter, grittier novella. She wrote it in a month while having a huge fight with Matthew. Her editor has been asking her to tone it down but she defended it as an artistic choice. Her agent rolled with it, knowing it would be sold to an alternative publisher. She didn’t re-read it after the publication. Extra copies were hidden in the storage and ceased to be remembered. She laid her heart bare for thousands of strangers, but when Matthew kept texting her, she couldn’t stand against him that bravely.
“Are you working on the new one?”
“Not really.” She raises the container, smiling. “Thanks for this.” She doesn’t want to talk about her book that much, let alone with this boy. Henry caught her awkward signal, nodding. “Yeah, sure..”
She closes the door first. Bundled in a grey-weighted blanket, she eats the pasta on the bean bag, legs tucked under her weight. A pile of laundry on the floor. The heater needs some fixing. Curtains spent too long without washing. She spent more time building a home with a man. When he was gone, she grew detached from her own house. Four months strong after closing the bedroom door, Matthew is still texting her.
Matthew: found your fave at ridley's
Matthew: [attached image]
Matthew: want me to get it for you?
She left him on read.
The pasta is good and it reminded her of Adeline’s. She washes the container and lets it soak under a medium stream of lukewarm water while she squeezes a generous amount of liquid dish soap. The oil stain is annoying to deal with, but she needs to return the container with some dishes as well. Frozen berries would do. But Henry works in a grocery store. So she thinks about making baked potatoes with cheese toppings. Another grocery trip, another load to carry. Alice has no car growing up. She wonders how heavy Adeline has to carry the groceries knowing they rely on the train by the house to go to and from the city. All these thoughts about Adeline remind her of something. Ah yes, the phone number.
Alice: mom, its me. this is my new number.
Short and purposeful like she always intended to be. The shame got her tiptoes around Adeline. She laid her heart out for strangers, but not her mother– it’s strange to let her know what she’s been up to.
It was the second heartbreak, which happened right after her father. One morning after he left, the shock led Alice to decide that it was Adeline’s fault. It came naturally for her, upon seeing Adeline’s sunken eyes, surrendering to her daughter’s wrath. The quieter she was, the more anger Alice felt. She should have said something or stood on her feet against this absurdity. Mother’s silence is the source of the daughter’s hatred. The frustration lingered until she left the town to study in the city. It wasn’t until eight years later that memories boiled down in her mind, leaving her ashamed albeit knowing she wasn’t wrong about the anger. She didn’t understand how a man could take so much from a woman or how a woman could let herself be robbed that way. The buried frustrations made her excel in the Women Studies course out of spite. However, when she was in a relationship with Matthew, a new fear was unlocked. The fear of becoming numb and letting the silence wash over her, like Adeline. She receives replies a few moments later.
Mom: yes I know. Matthew texted me.
Mom: heard you broke up with him.
Mom: are you alright?
Alice’s impulsive tendency could be traced back to her writings, relationships, or the moment she hopped on a train back home. A one-way ticket is enough to cancel the planned grocery trip. They rarely spoke but she had been funding Adeline’s medical treatments with odd writing jobs she had. Old people’s sickness, aching here and there, which was the result of someone’s betrayal. It’s awkward to mend back the ties she had severed, but she has nothing to lose. She always has nothing to lose. At some moment, cutting ties frees her.
It is a small town near the mountains, two hours by train. She has been ambitious enough to live in the city more than the place she grew up. There is no nostalgia, no era that she wants to go back to. But the house, the same old one-story farmhouse by the train station has been in her dream constantly. Adeline lives with a nurse whom Alice paid. She is away on an errand at the time Alice visits. Adeline is thin with the same sunken eyes she has seen for years, albeit shining brighter than they used to be.
“You didn’t tell me you’re going to visit.” Adeline’s croaky voice greets her at the entrance. They hug. She feels like crushing the old woman’s sharp structures if she makes any unnecessary movements.
“I want to surprise you.” Half truth but she has no other reason to say. She came back with a tote bag she grabbed from the closet. Mostly the same useless items, since the old clothes she left in the old bedroom still fit. The bedroom has no lingering masculine smell like her room and her phone has been quiet for a few hours.
Alice stays for a few days until she receives payment for her writing. It isn’t much, as always. Lying on her bed, she stares at the ceiling. She wants nothing after the breakup. It’s enough. Materials or relationships, she had enough. The curtains are the same washed-out yellow, swaying by the rhythm of the wind. Blending in the sunlight, casting solemn hues on her face. The rock-hard mattress is topped with old foam, and covered in a green cotton sheet, which smells like fabric softener. Her phone vibrates again. Upon seeing the chat, she makes a decision that probably she should have made way earlier– to save herself from misery, a ghost should stay dead.