Diminished

When I woke up, I understood several things. The first was that I smelled smoke and the second was that the smell was smothering me. These sensations overshadowed the understanding that I’d fallen asleep on the couch, and that I was holding an empty bottle of wine. At least the smoke gave my headache a convenient excuse.

There was smoke and it was in my apartment and I began to panic. I ran over to the window, wine bottle bouncing on the carpet, and opened the window to the fire escape. City air wasn’t fresh. But it was definitely fresher than smoke. I took a deep breath. The oxygen seemed to exacerbate my headache much like running cold water over a wound. This was another thing I understood: I was hungover for the first time in a while.

I jogged over to my sink, wettened a dish towel, and held it over my mouth. I walked up and down my apartment looking for the smoke’s source, then decided it was coming from somewhere other than here.

The open window beckoned to me. I supposed this is why fire escapes were invented in the first place. I went to my closet and gathered a set of clothes. I’d need something to wear that didn’t smell like smoke. I had work, after all. Then, I grabbed a hoodie and put it on and climbed out the fire escape.

It was cold. Extremely cold. The sky was amber and I realized it couldn’t be much later than 6AM. I shivered in my hoodie and walked over to the large group of tenants gathered to watch the smoke billow out of the apartment windows. It had happened in a room a floor below mine. My room was directly above it.

Someone set a hand on my shoulder.

“No fire alarm. We could sue, I think,” Linda said. She was wearing an oversized hoodie and sweatshorts. She hadn’t brought anything with her and I could see her shivering.

“This place doesn’t have a fire alarm?”

She pursed her lips. “Well, if it does, it definitely doesn’t work. Also, your breath smells like wine.”

I said nothing. I didn’t know how she expected me to respond.

“Do you know the tenant?” she asked as she motioned to the now blackened window.

“No, who was it?”

“The rumor going around is that it was the landlord’s cousin, or something. Someone who’s related, at least.”

“Did they make it out?”

She shrugged. “Not sure. They could be standing in that group for all I know. But they certainly aren’t drawing attention to themselves. I wonder what caused it, you know?”

“Maybe an electrical failure.”

“But these are tenuous times, with the election and all. It’s more fun to think that it was on purpose.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

“What do you mean?”

I studied the pavement. “I mean sometimes there’s just nothing. And reading into it can be a waste of time.”

We stood there and watched the room burn for a few more minutes. Then the fire department arrived and put it out. Eventually, we were allowed to return to our rooms.

Everything in my apartment smelled like smoke.

“Ah, welcome back,” Tessa said.

“Thank you.”

She walked up to me and handed me a manilla folder.

“Assignment for the day.” she put her hands on her hips and scrunched her brow. “You come straight from a barbeque?”

“Something like that.” I supposed my change of clothes had been a pointless idea. I wondered how much extra smoke I had inhaled just to retrieve this outfit.

“This one’s… weird. But they asked for you by name.”

“Alright.”

Tessa smirked. Then she turned and walked back to her office.

“It’s always ‘alright’ or ‘ok’ with you…” I heard her mutter. Then she was in her office.

Inside the folder was an email conversation with Tessa and an address. I started to read. My eyes widened.

It was the jazz cafe.

I knew something was different about the place as I approached it. It took me all of ten seconds to realize the ‘Eat’ had somehow fallen off the theater signage. It now read ‘Shit and Die! The Musical.’

I walked inside and approached the barista. The phone was already on the countertop.

“I’m not speaking with him,” I said callously.

He didn’t look at me. “I just do what I’m told.”

I stared at the phone. It remained silent. I looked around the place and noticed that the piano stool was tilted, as though it had been pushed back at an odd angle. Normally it was parallel with the piano. Someone had played, and recently.

“He’s been back, hasn’t he?”

“Yup.”

“When?”

“Who can say…”

“Was it this morning? When I was at work?”

The barista said nothing. He wiped the countertop.

Then the phone rang. It vibrated, causing it to rotate toward me.

“I don’t want to answer it.”

It continued to ring. For a full minute, then two. I stared at it and found myself to be paralyzed. The ringing was hypnotic and unending. There was nothing to be done but watch it spin. Then I watched my hand extend toward it and answer.

“I’ve got another job for you,” the same distorted voice said.

“No. I just won’t do it. Not anymore.” There was… nothing in my voice. Like my hand picking up the phone, it seemed I was answering on subconscious instinct.

“The barista will slide you the envelope,” he said as the barista slid me the envelope. “In it you’ll find your next instructions.”

“I told you, I won’t do it again. I can’t.”

“What of the pianist?”

“What about him?”

“If you refuse now you’ll never meet them.”

“Fuck the pianist. And frankly, fuck you too. I’m done.”

“Would you like to know why she did it?”

I froze.

“Why she did it not once, but twice? The reason why you’ve fled here now, to this monstrous city, to avoid your pain? I know you do.”

“I… I-”

“Come back another time. You’re not fit for much of anything right now. Leave the envelope on the table.”

A click.

I could smell the smoke from down the block. Seemed that it would take longer than a day for the scent to clear out. Richard was in the lobby, he nodded to me. I wondered where his bottle was.

“Sir, the fireman said you shouldn’t stay in your room. Management is going to pay for a hotel for you.”

“Why can’t I stay in my room?”

“The ceiling of the room below you is almost burned right through. Apparently the fire burned at some of the supports that keep the floor up. They said you shouldn’t test it, sir. They said you could fall straight through.”

“I’ll be alright.”

“Sir, they sounded serious.”

“That’s alright Richie. If I fall, I fall. That’s all there is to it.”

It was true. Plus, what would a fall do to me? And I’d just bought fresh groceries a day before. I wasn’t going to let them waste away.

The door to my apartment was open. There was a middle-aged woman in a bright blue pantsuit inside.

“Hello,” I said.

“Getting your things?” Cecile asked me. There was a hint of a smile on the edges of her lips. A liveliness. She reminded me, of all people, of Tom.

“No. I’m staying here.”

“But look around!” she said as she waved her hands.

I did. The walls were sootstained. It reminded me of the jazz cafe. I examined my furniture. Nothing had burned. It was just the smoke I had to deal with.

“Plus, your floor is going to fall.”

“How do you know that?”

“I was an architect for a time. This place isn’t built particularly well. With the fire, I’m sure your floor will fall through eventually. Faster if you’re walking on it.”

“How does an architect end up here?” I asked, my annoyance leaking through.

Unlike Tom, my remark didn’t break her smile.

“I never said I was any good,” she said. “Additionally, I’ve always thought my true calling was politics.”

“I’m sorry but-”

“However! It doesn’t take a great architect to know if a floor will stay up or not. I’ve seen the damage below you. And your floor will not hold.”

I thought about this. I didn’t like the idea of falling through the floor. I had books and magazines and Ikea mugs. If they fell they’d all be ruined.

“Why did you wait for me here?”

She cocked her head. “Why? I need to know the building I’m managing. I’d just come here from the room below.”

“If you win, wouldn’t you just be managing the community?”

“The community of what?”

“The apartment building.”

“Now you’re getting it,” she said. She wasn’t smug about it… just proud.

I nodded, then went around my apartment packing my things. Cecile told me it would probably be a few days before they could reinforce the floor. Once I’d packed I went into the lobby and asked Richard for the details on the hotel.

“It’s not ready yet sir.” There was whiskey on his breath but his words were clear.

“It’s what?”

“It’s not ready for you, sir. The hotel. Management needs to find a cost effective option.”

“But Richie, I need a place to go.”

“I know, sir. I’m sorry.”

I shook my head and considered my options. There was Eli and there was Linda. When I thought of each I felt the same strain within. Then I had an idea.

“I need a place to stay for a little while.” I said.

She stared at me for a few moments. “Your clothes smell like smoke.”

“Everything in this building smells like smoke.”

“Not my apartment.”

I thought about this. “Alright.”

“I’ve got a free couch, but there’s a condition.”

“What’s the condition?”

“When you leave you’ve gotta take a cat with ya.’”

Her hair was just as frizzy as ever and it seemed to bounce when she smiled. This wasn’t fair. I didn’t have any other options and she knew it.

“Fine.”

She stepped back from her doorway. “Then come on in!”

There were three cats in the living room and none of them seemed very interested in me. I set my things against an empty wall in Zoe’s living room.

Cats aside, her living room was tastefully decorated. Potted plants adorned wooden shelves, and a litany of books were stacked in rows. I scanned the titles. Most of them were scientific in nature. Advanced enough that I didn’t understand a majority of the words on the spines.

“Say Zoe, what do you do for work?”

“I’m a chemical engineer.”

I blinked away my surprise. Of course. This woman who talked to cats and smiled far too widely was an engineer. I told myself it made sense and sat on the couch.

“You’re gonna make the couch smell like smoke!” she said in her sing-song way. It wasn’t an admonishment. Just an energetic fact.

“All my clothes smell like smoke.”

“I was just about to go on a bit of a shopping trip. Would ya’ like to come with me? You could buy some new clothes. Otherwise, I’ve probably got a few shirts that’ll fit. You’re out of luck with pants though.”

I shook my head. A shopping trip with Zoe…

“Alright. I’ve got nothing else to do. So why not?”

She clapped her hands together and smiled.

“We’ll leave in five.”

“So,” I started as we walked through the cat food aisle of the department store, me pushing the cart, “I don’t know how to ask this properly, but can you talk to cats?”

“Why do ya’ ask?” she asked more quietly than normal.

“I saw you. That night a few days ago. It seemed like you were talking with a cat. I guess you could be crazy, but I don’t really get that impression of you.”

She nodded. “I see.”

It seemed that was all she had to say about that. She scrutinized more cat food. I’d gotten the impression that I’d troubled her.

“Listen, if you can talk to cats, I’d believe it. There’s been some things going on lately. Some things I can’t understand. So what I’m telling you is that I could safely put ‘Zoe talks to cats’ in that box, and that box would still be something I found to be true.”

She grabbed a bag of cat food and set it in the cart. We walked a bit farther and she grabbed another bag of a different brand.

“Then we can trade,” she said. Her voice had changed. It was like she was talking to the cat. Like the character she was masquerading as had vanished. “You tell me about something in that box of yours. And I’ll tell you about the cats.”

I pondered the offer. It was fair, but just because it was fair didn’t mean it was enticing.

“What do you want to know about me?”

“That would be pretty easy,” she said. “But I asked for something from that box of yours. Not answers to my questions. So you pick.”

She smiled at me. Not the caricaturistic smile from before. This was genuine. It was understanding. She knew she was asking me to share some kind of pain with her. She didn’t take that lightly. But what to say… there was the voice on the phone. The woman I’d killed. And…

“It’s funny,” I said chuckling, “I didn’t think it would be you I told my story. Of all people, I really, really didn’t think it would be you.”

“We’re the same, I think.”

“How so?”

“We’ve got things that isolate us. That’s the read I got from you the night you came by my apartment, at least.”

“I see.”

I took a deep breath.

“Basically, my fiance cheated on me. Not once, but twice.”

She nodded, her brow furrowing. We were in the men’s clothing section now. I pulled a gray polo off the shelf and held it against myself.

“The first time, she told me it was some kind of… magic, maybe. I still struggle to interpret it. But it wasn’t her fault. I have no doubt about that.”

“The second time, it was her fault?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I really don’t see the difference. I had to go. As soon as I saw it, I had to go.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you saw it happen. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. Anyway, at that point I knew I couldn’t be there anymore. I couldn’t be around anything that so much as reminded me of her. Even that would be too much. So now I’m here.”

“That’s not a very long story. Is there more to it?”

“Of course there is. There’s the force that made her do it, there’s the other men, there’s the puppeteer pulling my strings…”

That was it. That was all I could tell her. I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

“I see. Well, thank you for sharing. I know it’s not easy.”

“It is what it is.”

She sighed. “Right. Well, I guess it’s my turn.”

I sifted through a few stacked pairs of jeans. I found my size and threw it in the cart.

“Yes, I can talk to cats.”

She said nothing. The silence became a bit uncomfortable. We’d made it to the socks aisle when she continued.

“I was in college. There was a boy…” she began to trail off again, then shook her head as though shrugging something off the top. “I was in a dark place. Nothing too serious, just something that was difficult to manage. I was lonely. I had friends, but I was quite lonely in a way that only love can make you feel. I was walking back to my apartment late at night. There was a cat that jumped out onto the sidewalk. It was gray with these dark stripes. I knelt down to pet it, and it spoke to me.”

“Was that the first time something like this happened?”

“It was.”

“Ok, sorry for interrupting. Keep going,” I said as I threw a multipack of underwear into the cart.

“The cat told me he understood my pain. That he could help me. I asked him how, and he told me that I’d never have to be alone again. All I had to do was make a deal with him.”

“I see.”

“It’s hard to explain it with words, even talking about it I realize how foolish it all was. But when you feel like I did in that moment… if I felt like that again, I might do the same thing. Even now.”

“So what was his offer?”

“There was no offer. I trusted him. I don’t know why, but I did. I told him I’d do it. I made the deal, sight unseen. The cat looked me in the eyes and told me I’d be a beacon for stray cats. Sentient, talking cats. They have personalities, you know. Hopes and dreams. They’re not human, but they’re people, I think. In return, I’ve gotta find them homes. Give them away, and such.”

“What happens if you don’t hold up your end of the bargain?”

“He never told me that. I just do the best I can. Sometimes I can only find one cat a home in an entire month, sometimes it’s several in the span of a week. And I’ve never experienced any repercussions. That makes me think that as long as I’m doing what’s reasonably in my power, I’ll be ok. I prioritize my job over the cats, and that hasn’t seemed to matter either. So I haven’t really had a reason to stop trying. To tell you the truth, by now I’ve gotten used to it.”

“I see.”

She looked me in the eye. “You don’t think I’m crazy, do you.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, I don’t.”

She studied the tile floor.

“That’s… that’s good.”

A thought flickered across my mind. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Sure!”

“Why do you do that strange voice?” I asked, chuckling, “I can’t imagine it makes giving the cats away any easier.”

She stopped walking and turned to me.

“If I were to act normal all the time, and someone were to see me talking to a cat, I think they’d start asking questions. That’s not the most convenient lifestyle. Hence, the persona.” Then she resumed pushing the cart, and by the time we were in the towel aisle she was talking about something else.

When we got back I sorted my new clothes, took a shower, and put on pajamas that didn’t smell like a fire.

Her couch was comfortable and the blanket she gave me was warm. I fell asleep quickly.

I didn’t dream.