Heart of Steel Ch. 01

2. Tristan, this is Arthur McKinley. Don't mean to bother you, but the rent is a few days overdue, and you're usually so punctual with it, Anita and I are a bit worried. If you need us to hold off on bugging you about it for a few days, just let me know, and we'll be fine with that, we know you're good for it. See you around.

3. Hey man, its Dave, I saw you at the show last night but I was with this chick and couldn't leave her alone in that pit. Fucking brutal shit there, my brother. Anyway, I heard from my manager that Discs and Records was hiring, and I thought that might interest you, so just passing the word along, man. Come by and I'll set you up with a job application, if you want. Okay, talk to you later brother! Keep it metal!

4. Sweetie, it's your mother. Your father and I haven't heard from you, and the account shows that nothing has been taken out from the checks we sent you're way. Honey, is everything okay? Please call me?

5. Tristan, this is your father. Call me or your mother as soon as you can. I know you're busy, but we're worried about you, son. Bye.

6. Tristan, your mother and I are worried about you. We came up to visit you but couldn't find you on campus or at the apartment. We phoned your friend Dave and he said you've been doing alright. Is everything okay? Call us.

7. Tristan, I got your back my man! It's Dave, by the way. Your parents called me, asked if you were okay, said they hadn't seen you in forever or some shit, so I bluffed for you, said you were fine. Made up some shit about going to get pizza or something that we did together recently. Whatever, it's cool. Anyway, you owe me dude, I covered your ass!

8. Tristan, this is your mother again. I know you're busy, but it seems like you're avoiding us. We've called, we've come by, and yet we haven't seen you. Dave says you're okay and very preoccupied with work, but I've got the feeling something is wrong. Are you avoiding us? Please call son. If this goes on any longer, I'm going to the police.

Tristan stared at the phone for a little while, not quite knowing what to do. He had to call his parents, obviously. That last message from his mother was dated just today, this morning. Then he had to take care of the checks, but calling was parents was his immediate priority. He had to take care of all of this, quickly. / So I don't sit still and have to deal with what's been happening,/ he noted to himself, self-aware as ever he'd been. He clicked his speed-dial, calling his mother's phone, then held the phone to his ear and listened to the digital tone of ringing.

"Tristan!"

"Mom," he said, his voice suddenly cracking, "I uh... how are you?"

"I'm fine, sweetie, where have you been?" his mother sounded relieved, that hyper exuberance ringing heavy in her voice. "Have you been avoiding us? I was just about to drive to the Pine Ridge Police Station and file a report, to make them look for you. Your landlord said he hadn't seen you, I asked him to look for you but not to tell you it was because of us, just in case you were avoiding us. Where have you been?"

It was all one torrent of words, one great outpouring of pent up dismay and fear, all let out for Tristan to hear.

"I've been... busy, really busy." he said.

"Too busy to call?"

"My phone lost its battery until now." he lied quickly. "I just now found the battery, after I dropped my phone earlier this month."

"Oh, oh God," she exclaimed, in the tone of someone who didn't quite believe him but desperately wanted to, "Tristan is that all? We've been so worried!"

"And I have the checks," he assured her, "just haven't cashed them yet, I've been swamped with work."

"Take care of that rent, sweetie, it's a month late," she encouraged sternly, "I've already sent November's rent, it should be there too, okay?"

"Okay mom, I've got it." he said hastily. "Sorry about all of this, I'll keep in touch."

"Yes you will, I'll be calling to keep in touch, okay?"

"Okay mom. I love you."

"Love you too."

The phone went silent and went promptly back in Tristan's pocket.

He had to keep moving, had to go do more things, he couldn't sit still, couldn't wait for his thoughts to catch up with him. He wasn't quite self-aware enough to know what would happen if they did, but he knew he didn't like the sensation that lurked at the back of his mind, didn't like the cracking in his voice when he talked with his mother, the weight on his throat as he tried to talk, or the ease with which his lies came, even if they weren't convincing. How often would he have to lie like that? To how many people? Could he do the same for himself?

Rising from his bed, he trudged out of his apartment, locking up after shutting the door behind him. The mailboxes were down on the first floor, near the corner where the apartment's exterior trash bins were kept for routine pickup. Tristan used his apartment key to open the box designated with his apartment number and sure enough, there were four checks. Two months rent and allowance. Pocketing the personal checks, he made his way to apartment 101, the McKinley residence, and knocked on the door.

"Tristan," exclaimed Arthur, a stubble-faced, grey-haired man in his late 70's, "thought you up and ran out on us."

"No sir, I've got two months' rent for you right here." Tristan answered, handing over the checks.

"Oh I knew you were good for it," Arthur said, "Anita and I were just worried about you, son."

"I've been... busy as Hel." Tristan explained, compulsively touching his Thor's hammer pendant as if it would lend strength to his words.

"Well don't be a stranger now," Arthur said cheerfully, "you know you're always welcome with us if you need anything."

"Right, thanks sir."

Slam, click, and he was alone on the doorstep. It wasn't really a slam, but every closing door sounded loud to him, sounded like an echoing steel door slamming in the depths of a prison. Tristan turned away from the door and made his way down the sidewalk, a few blocks to his bank, where he deposited both of the checks in his account. A nice lump sum: $300. Added to the $150 already therein, he was happy with the amount of money he had available to him. He'd have to get a job eventually.

/Discs/ /and/ /Records./ He could go by there and get a job if he wanted, but it was a Friday afternoon, and Dave wouldn't be there to give him that potentially useful in with the management when he submitted his application. So he resolved to wait, at least until tomorrow, before going down to the record store to try and get a job. It wasn't that he needed one, /but a little increase in income couldn't hurt, right?/

/What the fuck am I thinking about?,/ he suddenly mentally erupted. / Bank accounts, job applications, income?!/ Suddenly his heart was pounding, panic erupting in his system, whilst he just stood there on the street corner. How could he be thinking about this everyday stuff, just going through the motions? This wasn't right, he felt so alien. He didn't belong here, doing this shit, thinking this mundane stuff. Sweat stood out on his skin, his neck shivered in that peculiar way that necks shiver when struck by cold or fear. Everything was wrong, everything about this was wrong. He needed to be elsewhere, he didn't know where, but not here thinking about jobs and money when he felt like he was losing his grip on his humanity.

Then, just like that, the sensation was gone. The overwhelming panic, the futility of his actions, the confusion, was all faded and Tristan felt like he could once again move on about his journey homeward. But as he walked, he thought: /what/ /was/ /that?!/ Why had he stopped like that, frozen and felt so confused, so suddenly and thoroughly vulnerable. So much like he had lost his touch with humanity? What had pushed him to that point? He truly could not tell...

[Author's Note: Like I said this is just part one, there's more to come. Reviews are encouraged; your words--both of praise and criticism--mean the world to me.]