Matthew Newton

Something Maple May Be: (part twenty-three) by Matthew l Newton

“We can’t keep doing this.” Griffin sat on the edge of the small couch, leaning over to pick up pieces of glass and shattered pottery around his feet. There were piles of dirt and old newpapers every where, so I wasn’t sure why he bothered.

“Do what?” I asked him, taking a seat on the floor near the cabins entrance.

“Fight over the same shit. How many times have we been here?”

“We just got here yesterday?” I looked up at him, questioning the dumbfounded look on his face at my comment,
“Didn’t we?”

He stared at me for some time before answering, I could tell that there was alot more to him then the idiot I’d been arguing with all evening, but he had not made any attempts up until now to convince me otherwise.
“You really don’t remember?”

“Remember what? You?”

“No, well yes, but that’s not all, we’ve been here before.” He moved off the couch and stood up next to the broken window to my left, a slight breeze blowing swirls of dust around him as he looked out at the lake.
“I remember all of this, like it was only yesterday, and you, and our friend who is never truely there.”

“What’s he got to do with any of this?”

“Who is he, and where does he come from?” Griffin walked over and took a seat next to me on the floor. He picked up a torn fragment of an old map beside him and ran his finger along its edge. “He’s never quite there is he? Just slightly out of focus our friend. And he’s only here when your here, never when your not.”

“What?” I said startled, leaning away from him,
“What the fuck are you talking about? He is always here, he’s here right now, look!” I pointed over to the window where our friend was sitting. He must have been there the whole time because just as I mentioned him he looked over to us and smiled.
“See! Now ask him. Go on, ask him what’s going on.”

Griffin stood up and started towards the misty figure who called himself our friend. Just as he got close enough to reach out and touch him the figure dissappeared.
“See! I’m not crazy! Look!” He screamed, rushing the air where our friend had stood. He thrust his hands around in the empty space before him, repeating the same word over and over,
“See! See! See! I told you so look!!” Griffin rubbed his eyes furiously with the backs of his hands, every second becoming more and more dillirious.
“I could see him here, he was here.”

“Griffin,” I stood up, closing the distance between us, he kept his hands to his face as I approuched.
“Griffin it’s over, relax, he’s gone.”

Griffing stood quiet for a moment, keeping his eyes covered, his palms smashed tighly over them, blocking out the sunlite that streamed through the window behind him. In this light he himself appeared a ghost. I placed my hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to look at me. He kept his hands to his face, muttering to himself.

“He’s only here when your here,” he said. The breeze through the window cooled and I heard what sounded like a girl screaming in the distance.

“He’s only here when your here.”

Matthew Newton
DOC #81868

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