The vacuum of time sucks me in and doesn't want to spit me out. According to the calendar it's been a week since Tall's death and four days since I've seen Ben, but it feels longer. 

It could be because the minutes draw out. I follow my therapist's advice, close my eyes, lie still and count ten breaths, focusing on the air as it travels through my body, and not the thoughts of Tall. I open my eyes and thirty-seconds remain on the timer. 

It could be because my days lengthened. I'm helping Angie and Marguerite organize the funeral, on top of my workload and going through things in Tall's apartment in the evening, additional visits with my therapist, the daily crying sessions that leave my eyes raw and streaked with red—my days overflow. 

It could be because of the loneliness that crept back into my nights. I miss the previous two weeks when Ben and I spent our nights together, when I showed up in the room I rented, only to pick up a fresh batch of clothes or a mold or utensil from my cookware stash.

I've spent eight empty nights on Tall's bed—the longest stretch since the move. It's been the most my house-mates have seen of me. The very first night Leslie and Shelly accepted my brief explanation about a death of a friend as a plausible one and did not knock on my door again, when the thin walls of the condo and my pillow did a poor job at muffling my sobs. When their attempts at chatting me up when we crossed paths in the morning or evening didn't get more than a one sentence reply or a grunt from me, they got the message and the last two mornings I pushed my French press in silence and poured my first cup into my to-go tumbler without any questions about how I was feeling. I'm surrounded by people every day and yet utterly alone in all the ways that matter.

Evenings are the hardest to be with myself without welcoming the company of self-pity. Tonight the chatter of the TV in the open living-room and kitchen hurts my brain, so I choose to eat in my room while I grade the next batch of papers. I should've insisted on a Teacher's Assistant, but I was so eager to get the job, it didn't seem like a big deal. I forgot how long grading takes. The surface of my eyes is sandy and dry, and I squint at the poorly formatted stack of research proposals from the first-years. I need a break. I spoon the remains of the canned chicken-noodle soup into my mouth and take the stack of my mail off the floor by my bedside table. 

Leslie is in charge of sorting through the mail. He throws the junk mail into recycling, stacks my portion of whatever came that day in front of my bedroom door and I transfer it into a pile by my bedside. Today a legal-sized envelope is part of the stack. It isn't heavy but it does not look like spam. I'm tempted to ignore it like I've done with all mail that's not a bill, but it looks a bit too official. If it is spam, those spammers did a damn good job of making it look legit and a bit scary.

I prop the pillow in my bed up, lower myself onto the comforter, because even though Ben said it's fixed, I'm afraid to put any additional pressure on the poor old thing. Ben wasn't as careful with my bed, but he's not here. My calls with him while he was in New York lasted minutes. The group chat has been the lifeline, but not a private one. I've offered to talk, to come over, but Ben said he needed to be alone. I wanted hugs and commiseration, he asked for us to let him be. I did what he asked and I will do it again, because I love him and it's not about me anymore. I wait until I get my hugs from Angie, and I'll stay away if that's what's best, no matter how much I want to do the opposite. The envelope contains several legal-sized pages, stapled at the top.

"LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT
of Patrick Kilpatrick,
BE IT KNOWN THIS DAY THAT I..."

It feels wrong, because I shouldn't have Tall's will, should I? I stop reading. I pick up the envelope and examine the to and from address. The name of Mr. Parsons and Associates and Amelie D'Amico with my current address don't dissuade me from thinking it's a mistake. But it's not my mistake. I have it, it's addressed to me. Curiosity wins and I read Tall's wishes. I'm surprised to see that most of his book collection is going to the Chicago Public Library, anything they are not interested in, donated, the rare books and first editions go to Ben, as Tall mentioned so many years ago, token book bequests to Linda, and to Ben's parents. It all makes sense. I get to Article Four: homestead or primary residency. 

There in black and white it states "I devise and bequeath all my interest in my homestead to Amelie D'Amico." What does it mean, exactly? I read on, looking for more information that may explain this. Article five is about all other property and talks about furniture, a storage unit I had no idea Tall had, as I scan the remaining pages, it's Kora gets  most of the moneny, a sizable donation goes to a children's research hospital, and some people I don't recognize the names of, get small sums. I go back and my name appears only in the Article on homestead. What the hell is that? It's too late to call the lawyer, but it's not too late to call Ben.

My phone is almost out of charge, but there's plenty for a short conversation. If Ben picks up, that is, if he even decides to talk to me. Three rings later I hear his voice. It's his usual voice, a bit tired but he's no different than what I've heard so many times, yet it brings me so much comfort. I should ask about his trip, how he is doing, how he is feeling, instead I say nothing, and absorb the sounds from the phone like a flower does the sunshine.

"Are you there? Can you hear me?" Ben asks the trivial questions, but pleasure spreads wider through me and I smile.

"I'm here. It's nice to hear your voice."

"You don't sound like yourself," says Ben.

Between crying and endless classes and office hours, I sound horse and I'll have to use the home remedies Mom showed me, like wrapping my throat in a towel drenched in alcohol and wrapping a plastic bag around it and letting that sit for several hours or overnight. I've been made a believer of old wives' tales by my Nonna, she had a non-traditional remedy for many ailments, but when I started frequently loosing my voice after hours spent lecturing, Mom shared this trick with me and I have no scientific explanation as to why it works, but it does. "Overuse. I'll have to avoid talking this weekend. What are your plans?"

"I'll be packing up Tall's apartment. Linda needs to choose the books she's taking to the library. Are you coming?"

"I don't know." I've been to Tall's apartment twice this week, always with Angie as the thought of being there by myself sends me into a panic mode. I packed up the kitchen and sorted through the clothes and documents in the bedroom closet, but I was unable to enter the room where it happened. Not the living room, where I didn't notice his state and where I did the CPR. Tall's apartment became a mine zone and my mind found cruel ways to trick me into believing its owner is merely out for a walk around the block, back any minute. My phone beeps reminding me of the low battery. "I'd rather not if you don't need me." I wanted to see Ben and spend time with him but not in the living room of Tall's place. But Ben and Linda don't have that issue and they, according to the will, need to deal with them. They can finish what I started when I packed the books off the floor before Tall got home from the rehab. "You've seen the will then as well?"

"My copy was waiting for me here when I got back from New York last night. Sound like you've read it?"

"I did, and what is homestead? My name is next to it. Does he have some land somewhere that he owned and I didn't know about?"

"No, it's his apartment. The only property Tall had. It's yours."

Glad that I'm in bed and don't have to catch myself from falling when weakness spreads across my limbs. I got Tall's apartment? "Are you sure?"

"Yes. It's clearly stated. There are documents that need to be processed and it will take some time, but it's yours. Will be officially yours. Are you going to keep it or sell?"

My mind hasn't caught up with Ben's words. I will own an apartment. Tall's apartment is going to be mine. Tall left it as a gift to me, not Ben or Linda or Angie or the Library. Me.

"If you plan to move in here, you don't have to wait until the official papers are done, you can do it once we have figured out what to do with his stuff, and you can keep whatever furniture you want. It's technically mine, but I'm not planning to take anything but the humidors for the books that I'm moving to the spare room at my place, and Tall's recliner." Ben sounds prepared. The plan of what to do with Tall's things is not new to him, it's not a shock to his system. It's doesn't seem harder for him than making a to do list for the week, or planning the groceries for one of the meals. My brain strains to grasp his words and the concepts they are offering. I've never owned anything in my life. Dad rented all his life. Nonna has her restaurant and the apartment above it but I've never asked her how it all worked. I know there are taxes and what else do I need to pay. Can I even afford to own an apartment in Chicago.

"I don't know. I need to absorb it, I don't' think I have space in my head to go over this." My phone beeps again. "I'm running out of battery, in case we get disconnected, I'll call you tomorrow."

"I understand, let's talk—" and my phone dies. No bad choice of words. It turns off and I am left with Tall's will and my skull overflowing with memories and questions. I fall asleep and in my dreams a cheerful Benny with Tall's smile runs around the apartment that will be mine, and fill it with laughter. 

4.9.21

Did you expect the apartment part? Or was is a surprise?

The exciting news today is that I FINISHED writing the last chapter today. It's official, today is the day I finished the first draft of my second FULL-LENGTH novel. I did it!  

For a while there I was doubting I can, and yet, here I am. So totally celebrating it tonight, no clue how, but it's happening.  I'll post the rest of the chapters next week, so you get to read the ending next week as well. 

THANK YOU-THANK YOU-THANK YOU for sticking with me on this one. 

First draft is done, but that is step one in the process. 

Over the next months I will be editing it and some time (July or August, I'd say) I will be looking for Beta readers for this novel. If you have been a Beta or would love to be one  - please let me know (comment here or DM me).

What I'm looking for in a Beta is to read the whatever draft I'm at at that time (probably 3 or 4) and give feedback. I can provide a questionnaire or it can be general. Anything from your reactions to plotlines, charachters, language, descriptions, or any specifics you want to go into.