Darren had breakfast every morning with his mother. She never ate much, even when she was still alive. Now she didn’t touch her omelet at all. Darren had noticed a long time ago that it always seemed to be the same omelet, and he wondered sometimes what was in it. Denver omelets had been her favorite, back when Darren was still making her meals.
She stared out the window while Darren packed his lunch for work. It was Friday, so that meant PBJ and an apple. He folded the top of the brown paper bag down twice to close it, carefully lining up the edges to keep the creases straight. So he wouldn’t forget it on his way out, he set it on the small table inside the front door.
He walked back into the kitchen to check the weather through the other window. Mephisto was asleep on the fire escape. The buildings in his neighborhood were generally shorter the farther they were from the lake, so he had a clear view almost to the horizon from this side of his apartment. There were just a few clouds catching the early morning sun, pink against the still dark western sky, but no sign of Thomas.
He decided on a light jacket, and headed for the door. “So long, mom,” he said out of habit as he left, but she was already gone.
#
Darren’s father was already sitting in the first car on the train. The older man didn’t look up as Darren walked past him and into the next car. All the seats on the lake side of the train were taken, so Darren had to settle for the city side.
The view in that direction was still full of shadows this early in the morning, and they made the buildings look dull and abandoned, the streets empty, deserted. It didn’t help that so many storefronts and houses in this part of town had been boarded up for years. Darren wondered how many times his dad had ridden this train. He’d long ago given up asking what would have happened that last day if his dad had taken the train instead of driving. It just wasn’t worth it. As his dad used to say, no use crying over spilled blood.
#
Angela was already in the coffee shop, sitting at their usual table by the window. With perfect timing, Julie set down Darren’s latte just as he got to the counter, and she gave him her good morning smile. Unlike some of the other baristas, Julie always spelled his name correctly on the cup, and he smiled back.
As he walked to their table, Angela held up her coffee in a mock toast to Julie, making sure to use her left hand so that the engagement ring was displayed prominently in Julie’s direction. The solitaire flared in the morning sunlight.
They sat and sipped their coffees, silently watching the pedestrians pass by the window. Darren checked the clock on his phone, and Angela stood up on cue. He could never decide if she always left the coffee shop at precisely the same time because that was when he did, or vice versa. Either way, they walked together around the corner to their offices in the newspaper building.
When the elevator arrived in the lobby, Angela’s timing was slightly off, and she entered the car a split second before the doors opened. Once Darren caught up, they rode together to the great room of desks on the fifth floor. Nearly half the seats were unoccupied now, victims of attrition over the past few years, but Darren’s was still on the far side of the room. They walked together down the wide center aisle to his desk by the new window.
Angela kept walking straight through the replacement wall and beyond, into the open space where the other building had been before the fire. She took a seat at her invisible desk in the middle of the empty lot, five stories up in the air. With the building gone, Darren could watch her through his window the entire time he was working.
He was still watching Angela out of the corner of his eye when Ernie stopped by on his mid-morning gossip rounds. Darren liked him. Ernie worked in the features department at the paper–comics, puzzles, horoscopes–which always seemed more interesting than the work Darren was doing in classifieds.
Ernie agreed. “Man, that is some boring ass stuff,” he said, looking over Darren’s shoulder. “Anybody ever says they could write a book about it, they’re lying. I don’t know how you stand it. You need something to cheer you up.”
“At least it pays the bills,” Darren said.
“Yeah, but maybe not for long.”
“Oh?” Darren turned in his chair. The gossip game was something Ernie played every morning, and Darren liked the predictability of that.
Ernie’s eyes got bigger. “You haven’t heard?” He looked both ways, pretending to check if anyone was listening.
Here it comes, Darren thought.
“The paper finally got sold.”
“Say what?”
“Some big conglomerate bought it.”
Darren mulled this over. “Maybe they’ll finally put some money into it.”
“Not likely. Word is they’re gonna cut most of the staff and tear this building down to make way for some fancy new development.”
“Surely they won’t cut the classifieds,” Darren protested. “We generate income.”
Ernie smiled. “It’s all going online, dude. Customers will do their own data entry and classifying, so the computers can sort the ads and do the layout. Rumor is, if you don’t get an official invite by the end of the week, you’re not making the move.”
Darren didn’t like the way the gossip game was going today. “Is this still you trying to cheer me up?” he asked. “Because it’s not working. Where will they move?”
“Some strip mall out in the west suburbs. Just a handful of offices is all they expect.”
“But what about the printing presses?”
“Dude, you’re not gettin’ it. There aren’t gonna be any presses. There’s no more print edition. It’s all gonna be online.”
“No print edition?” Darren definitely wasn’t getting it. “Then how can it be a news-paper?”
“I see what you did there,” Ernie said. “Very clever. And you’re right — it won’t be a news-paper. The industry’s changing. Everything’s gonna be smaller, faster, sexier. Centrally packaged and syndicated on demand. The only thing left for print editions will be the rumors that take longer than ten seconds to explain.”
“News is more than just rumors,” Darren objected.
“Is it? Is it really?”
“Well, sure. There’s the facts.”
“Here’s the thing.” Ernie leaned in conspiratorially. “Communications 101 says that all speech is based on symbols — words, images, whatever. But everyone’s understanding of those symbols depends on their experiences, so no two people’s are exactly the same. That means all communication is guaranteed imperfect, ergo ipso facto, all news is fake on some level.” He leaned back against the next desk and folded his arms in victory.
“But what about the truth?”
Ernie made a show of throwing his arms up. “And what is truth? Is truth unchanging law? We both have truths. Are mine the same as yours?”
“Jesus,” Darren said.
“Exactly,” Ernie agreed. “Or actually, Pilate. I guess, to be totally accurate, Tim Rice.”
Darren shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re even talking about.”
“And that, my friend, is precisely my point.” Ernie stood and headed for the door. “Time for an exit strategy,” he called back over his shoulder. “I’m just sayin’.”
Darren watched his friend retreat across the middle of the huge, half empty room. “Jesus,” he repeated.
#
Darren and Angela still went to the park together over their lunch hour whenever the weather allowed. It was a short walk from their office, and had some wonderful views of the lake.
There were only a few clouds today, all high up in the bright, springtime sky. Darren thought he spotted Thomas peeking shyly around one of them, but he couldn’t be sure. His mother was already in the park with Bobby. She sat on the bench next to theirs while Bobby ran and played with the other kids. It always amazed Darren to see how young Bobby was.
Darren loved the park. Because they were usually a fair distance from anyone else, it was one of the few public places where he could talk to Angela or his mom without drawing stares from other people.
He didn’t feel much like talking today. Ernie’s revelations were still rolling around in his head. He wondered if he would go with the newspaper when it moved, and whether he would still see Angela in the suburbs. As far as he could remember, there weren’t many places out there they had visited together.
He definitely was still struggling with the idea that all news was somehow fake. Surely that wasn’t true. If facts couldn’t be trusted, what could? Maybe reality itself was unraveling, or maybe never existed in the first place. Darren had never spent much time considering philosophy, and Ernie’s suggestions were perplexing.
He was relieved when his ringing phone interrupted his thoughts. The display said it was Becky calling. “Hey Bex,” he said.
“Hey Darry,” she answered. “How’s my favorite baby brother today?”
“Pretty good. Having lunch in the park.”
“Good for you. Lots of people there today?”
“Not so much.” He paused as he realized he couldn’t see the faces of the kids playing with Bobby.
“Hello? You still there?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. I think it might still be a little chilly for a lot of people.”
“You’re probably right. Are you gonna be home tonight after work?”
Darren suspected his sister was up to something. “Sure,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. It is Friday. I didn’t want to assume.”
“What’s going on, Bex?”
“It’s no big deal, really. I just have something that I wanted to bring over on the way home.”
Now what, he wondered. “What’s that?”
“It’s a surprise. I’ll see you around six, okay?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Love you, kiddo,” she said.
“You, too,” he answered.
#
After work, Darren did something that he hadn’t done in years. His dad was already sitting in the first car on the train, but this time Darren sat down next to him instead of walking past. His father didn’t look at him but continued facing forward with the same expressionless gaze.
When Darren first started seeing his dad on the train, he’d sat next to him every day, staring at his face, trying to read his thoughts in the lines around his eyes, the curve of his mouth. It hadn’t worked, and Darren eventually gave up.
Now he wondered what would happen if his job changed. He looked around the car to make sure no one was close enough to hear him speak. “Am I still going to see you if I stop riding this train?” he asked. His dad didn’t answer, just kept staring straight ahead.
Darren looked past his dad at the succession of streets and buildings. The shuttered factories and iridescent industrial ponds in this part of town flew by the windows of the train, too many to care about or even keep track. “I never did figure out why you did it,” Darren said finally.
He looked down at his dad’s hands. They were big and worn, with knuckles swollen from decades of physical labor. Darren remembered the times as a child when his dad took his hand, and they walked together on the street or down the aisle of the train. “Am I ever gonna know?” he whispered.
When his dad still didn’t answer, Darren got off the train two stops early and walked the rest of the way home.
#
Friday night meant fish sticks. They were already in the toaster oven, but Darren couldn’t decide if he wanted just the sandwich, or the full-blown yellow dinner. “What do you think, Mom?”
She turned from the window to stare at him across the table. “Dinner, it is,” he agreed, and pulled the two microwave steamer packs of mac ‘n cheese and baby sweet corn out of the freezer.
In a few minutes it was all ready, and he had just finished plating when the door buzzer sounded. He’d forgotten that Becky was coming. He pressed the button to let her into the building, and opened the apartment door.
Becky blew into the room with a large canvas sack in addition to her purse, and set both on the kitchen table. Their mother stared at both bags for a second, then turned back to the window. “Oh no,” Becky said, “I’m interrupting your dinner.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got plenty. You want a plate?”
She shook her head. “I’d love to, but I really can’t stay. Wayne’s bringing home some people from work for drinks later.” She looked down at Darren’s plate. “Ohmigod, it’s the yellow meal! I’d forgotten all about it. I can’t believe you still make it.”
“So, what’s in the bag, Bex?”
Becky turned and smiled. Here it comes, thought Darren.
“Do you remember,” she asked, “when you were very small, we used to have a cat? His name was Mephisto.”
Darren nodded. “I remember. Fat. Black. Cranky. Don’t touch the butt.”
“Exactly!” She reached into the sack and drew out a cylindrical, ceramic bowl roughly six inches across and two inches high, with straight edges and a stylized black cat painted on the side. “This was his bowl. It’s been sitting in our cupboard forever. I was packing up our non-essentials for the move, and I remembered that you said you had a neighborhood cat.”
“We do,” Darren agreed. “I’m not sure what he eats, though.”
Becky pulled a bag of cat food out of the canvas sack like a rabbit from a hat and waved it triumphantly. “Every cat loves Kitty Kibble!” she crowed.
“Nicely done. Do you get a percentage?”
“No, but it is one of Wayne’s accounts. He wrote the slogan.” She opened the bag and poured a generous serving into the bowl, then waved at the window by the fire escape. “Out there?”
“I guess.”
Becky opened the window and set the bowl out on the landing. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.” There was no sign of a cat. Undaunted, she turned back into the room and folded up the canvas sack to fit in her purse, then set both it and the cat food on the counter. Tasks accomplished, she dusted her hands off against each other and sat in the chair occupied by their mother.
Darren’s eyes widened as he tried to sort out the superimposed images. Becky and their mom both turned to look at him, and he was struck by how closely their faces lined up, almost point for point.
“You okay?” Becky asked.
He looked them both straight in the eyes and lied to their faces. “I’m good. You sure you don’t want anything?
“Well, maybe just this one fish stick,” she answered as she picked it up. “Did you make the cocktail sauce?”
“Ketchup and horseradish.”
“Ohmigod,” she said. “This really does bring back the memories. Do you have any tartar sauce?”
He looked in the refrigerator. “I don’t think so. I could maybe make some. Oh, no.” He moved some bottles around. “Mom, we’re out of pickle relish,” he called out, then kept his head buried in the fridge when he realized what he’d said.
Becky just laughed. “Darry, I’m not your mother, even if I do feel like I helped raise you.” Their mother folded her arms so it looked like she was hugging her daughter. “I have to confess,” Becky said, “I feel closer to Mom here than anywhere else.”
Darren wasn’t sure what to say. He closed the refrigerator and sat on the other side of the table. “I know. I’m just so used to her being here.”
“Oh, baby.” Becky reached across the table and took both his hands in hers. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you — all those months with her hospital bed in your living room. I wish I could have done more.”
He squeezed her hands. “You helped a lot. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“But still, you were the one here twenty-four seven. It was all on you.”
“Nobody else is left.” Darren shrugged. “Everyone else is gone now. It’s just you and me.”
“That it is,” she agreed. “That’s why I feel so guilty about moving to Boston.”
“No, don’t be,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s nothing to feel guilty about. It’s a great opportunity for Wayne. You guys have to go.”
“But what about you?” she asked. “I’m leaving you here all alone. Are you going to be alright?”
Darren wasn’t sure. “I’ll be fine,” he said anyway. “Besides,” he nodded at the window, “maybe I have a cat now.”
“That’d be nice,” Becky agreed. “I think a pet might be good for you.” She looked out the window, but there was no sign of Mephisto. “Do you ever wonder…” she started, but then hesitated. “No, you probably don’t.”
“What?”
“Do you ever wonder what if none of it ever happened? Mom’s cancer, Bobby’s heart. The fire. Dad.”
“Thomas being stillborn,” Darren added.
“Yes. Thomas being stillborn. That left a big gap between our ages, but we were lucky you came along. Mom and Dad were so happy when you were born.”
“I know.”
“So, do you? Ever wonder?”
Darren thought about it. “Not really,” he decided. “I mean, yeah, at first. I think that’s natural. Not so much anymore. What would be the point of it? If, if, if. You know what Dad always said.”
“What’s that?”
He changed his voice to mimic his father. “If pigs were wishes, then fish would eat bacon.”
There was a second of confused silence before they both started laughing. “I don’t think that’s how it goes,” she said.
“Well, you know Dad.”
“I do. And how come your impersonations of him always sound like Kermit the Frog?”
“It’s the only voice I know how to do.” He hesitated. “You know, that last day — the day he drove downtown instead of taking the train?” He paused for some acknowledgement from Becky, but her face had frozen. He decided to press forward. “I begged him to let me ride along. He refused. He was adamant about not letting me go with him that day.”
“I can’t go there, baby,” Becky said quietly. She closed her eyes. “I won’t go there.”
He nodded and looked out the window. “You’re probably right,” he said.
She grabbed both of his hands again. “You know none of this was your fault, right? Not any of it.”
“I know.”
“I love you so much, kiddo. I worry about you all the time.”
“I know that, too,” he said, and attempted a reassuring smile. “I’m gonna be fine,” he lied.
She sighed and released his hands to glance at her watch. “Look at the time,” she said. “I have got to go right now or I’ll be late. Promise me you’ll come for dinner before we move.”
“I promise.”
He walked her to the door, and she turned to hug him goodbye, squeezing him just a little too hard as she whispered in his ear. “You and me gotta stick together, baby bro.”
“I’m pretty sure we will,” he said, and watched her safely down the hallway before he closed the apartment door.
When he turned around, his mother had already moved to the living room. She was laying on her hospital bed that was no longer there, floating gently on the air like some magician’s assistant. Darren sat down on the couch next to her as she rolled her head towards him on her invisible pillow. Her hair caught a slice of the last rays of sunlight coming through the window.
“What am I gonna do, Mom?” he asked. “What’s gonna happen?”
She didn’t answer, but she smiled and Darren knew that he would be okay. Everything was going to be alright.
#
He always slept in on Saturdays, but today it was almost noon when he finally got out of bed. When he walked into the kitchen, still rubbing his eyes, there was a single long stem rose in a narrow, fluted vase in the center of the table, but his mother wasn’t there. Probably already at the park with Bobby, he decided.
Mephisto was on the fire escape, tapping on the glass with a single extended claw. Darren opened the window and leaned out. The bowl that Becky had put there the night before still had food in it. Cats, he thought.
Normally, Saturday breakfast would have been bacon and eggs, but it was already late enough that he decided to treat himself by going out. There was a new bookstore near his office that he’d been wanting to visit, and today seemed a perfect day. He dressed quickly and headed downstairs.
Walking briskly to the ‘L’ stop, he took deep breaths of the crisp, spring air. There were only a few clouds, and Thomas was floating slowly above them, glowing brightly in the late morning sunlight.
Since it was Saturday, there was no sign of his dad on the train. Darren stayed in the nearly empty first car, taking a seat on the lake side to watch the sunlight sparkle on the wavelets while Thomas followed the train from above.
When he got to the coffee shop, Angela was already there, but Julie was not. He didn’t recognize the skinny kid behind the counter.
“Is Julie off on Saturdays?” Darren asked.
“Who’s Julie?” the barista replied.
He started to explain, then decided better of it. Momentarily confused, he studied the menu board above the counter.
“What can I get you?” the kid demanded impatiently.
Darren didn’t know. Julie usually had his latte ready when he came in on his way to work. It’d been so long since he had to actually say the order out loud that he didn’t remember what it was called, or what was in it, or even what a latte really was. A word on the menu caught his eye. “I think I’ll try a mocha today, please.”
“What size?”
“Venti. Definitely venti.”
“Name?”
“Darren.” He looked over toward Angela as he waited. She was smiling in his general direction, and he smiled back.
“Darren,” the barista said after a moment, and set the mocha on the counter. Darren hesitated for a second as he looked down at the cup. It said “DARIN” on the side.
The mocha smelled heavenly to him. Angela looked out the window as he sat down and sipped his coffee. “That is good,” he said. “I think I like mocha.”
Angela turned to look at his drink, then pulled a Sharpie out of her pocket. Very carefully, she picked up the coffee cup and added a “G” to the end of his name.
The Tributary 