[Summer 2015.]
{Cyrus hovers the wide glass separating him from the gravity of air. Scoping below. He snuggles his hairline and eyebrows to see above his wristwatch. 11:45 AM. He unfolds his forehead to see below to the bustling Double-City Street. There she was. On schedule again. The caramel expresso in her hand. Cyrus's stomach folded smelling the expresso without being close enough to smell the expresso. He could never forget the steam from the cup whizzing upward towards the smile of Elizabeth Wilson. Just two weeks ago.}
[2 Weeks Ago...]
{He'd just so happened to have been taking an early lunch. He usually never had lunch before 1:00 PM. "There's too much work to be done before 1." He always quoted. But he was terribly hungry that day. He skipped his bag of cheddar potato chips the night before that always made sleeping difficult because of his dairy intolerance. Though it was never an issue after the age of 18 when he started to use painkillers before bed.
He flashed quickly onto the pedestrian crossing when the street's "WALK" switched to a blinking orange hand and a countdown from "10" by the time he reached the middle of the crosswalk. His hunger caused the rush. Not the sign. He reached the other side. Dodging pedestrians. As he turned 'right' down the sidewalk, he met eyes with Elizabeth Wilson for the first time.
Whenever he could see her, he jumped at the opportunity. Whenever he could not see her, he wished he could rewind time to. He couldn't; there were too many possibilities. She could have chosen not to work that day. She could have chosen to go to lunch elsewhere. She could have chosen to visit a friend instead of work. Maybe she went to lunch earlier. Maybe she went just slightly later. In the cold of the winter, he hoped he could keep her warmer than the expresso she carried in her patterned mittens. Dreaming of one day being able to do so.}
[The Year 1967.]
{Cyrus awoke again from a flashback. This was his reality again. Strapped into a chair. At this point, the sedation wasn't as effective as the shots he received a week ago. Maybe it was his tolerance he had already been developing from years of drug abuse.}
{On the other side of Double-City, a man nearing his 50s awakes from the sound of a morning cargo train. A general morning going through his routine of washing and brushing with self-care products designed from bareness. "Bareness"; baking soda toothpaste with little additives and a bar of soap you would find at your grandmother's house in the early 2000s. He went down to the kitchen and stood in front of his ivory-colored kitchen sink that shown it was severely stained by remnants of spilled coffee. He gazed left past his diner styled steal kitchen table with a baby blue top. Designed the same was the chairs surrounding it. 4 of them. He stared at the connected baby blue landline with a pearl-colored dial hung on the slim wall hung above the grey, aged, carpeted floor from the diamond tiled kitchen floor which was also ivory colored. His eyes glared through the coined shaped lenses with golden rings on his face. Specs showing as the windows needed a cleaning past a couple of month's use. His eyes motionlessly waiting. And waiting... and waiting.}
*RIIING!.. RIIING!..*
{He seemed to have only waited for the second ring as a modesty. He rushed quickly past the left diner chair gimping over right to avoid bashing his right hip against the chair. he placed his left hand against the darkly tanned wallpaper and answered the phone call.}
MAN: Hello... This is Detective.--
MAN ON THE LINE: It's Holt! He's cleared now. They say you can come down now and see him.
DETECTIVE: ... Okay... Bye.
MAN ON THE LINE: Bye.
(Hangs up the phone.)
[Back in the year 2017.]
{11:29 AM in a summer morning, Elizabeth Wilson sat at a table near the windows of Frappe's Cafe drinking her usual with that Broche from before on her finger. She wore dark thinly framed shades that had a red gloss on the lenses and her brunette hair down past her shoulders. She wore a navy-blue short sleeved shirt that squeezed her arms just below the pits of her arms and a thin gold necklace with charms on it.
She looked down at her cellphone on her table and squeezed both vertical sides to check for a notification. Nothing. She squeezes the sides again to turn the screen off.
4 minutes later, Curtis Loans comes stomping through the front doors of the cafe shuffling & struggling with the strap of his men's shoulder bag. He too wore shades, but his had a blue gloss. He wore his grey blazer over a silver button down that was starting to wrinkle from his shoulder bag.
He looked to his left for less than 2 tenths of a second and then off to his right and immediately spotted Elizabeth. Curtis flashed a beautiful smile and clicked his chin quickly as to say hello to Elizabeth whilst approaching from some paces away from the center of the cafe. He was the first to speak with haughty breaths.}
CURTIS: Hey Liz, how are ya'?
{Elizabeth put her head down in an un-pinned focus as Curtis approached as though she lacked a confidence in her eyes. She lifted her head again as Curtis placed the strap of his bag around the back of his chair and slid onto the chair. Liz placing a smile of her own just as white yet not as encouraging.}
LIZ: Hey Curtis, I'm doing fine.
CURTIS: Okay. That's... good.
LIZ: Were you going to order anything?
CURTIS: Eh, maybe. As soon as she comes around.
(A split of silence.)
CURTIS: So, how's working going-- treating you?
{Liz pointed her neck outward exposing a false attentiveness to the current conversation topic.}
LIZ: Great!--
CURTIS: Good!--
LIZ: Yeah, great-- we just... we just got everything organized on some up-and-coming business marketing ideas so... it looks like things are... looking up for us, hahaha.
CURTIS: Well, that's actually pretty good. Cool.
(More silence.)
CURTIS: Have you...
{Elizabeth knew what the question would be. Her mind stayed on the moments and future conversations surrounding it. She welcomed them, but they could never amount to the relief she wanted.}
CURTIS: -- Spoken with Cyrus's mom since the... the funeral?
{Even with the shades Curtis wore, Liz could see the grief of Curtis like a blue aura surrounding him.}
LIZ: I... haven't really...--
CURTIS: That's okay.
{Elizabeth could see the lip of Curtis quiver slightly. In her mind were the words, "Please don't." Curtis sat up and readjusted himself. Wondering behind his shades.}
CURTIS: I think we should go and see her. Ya' know?
LIZ: ... Yeah! I think, that would be a great idea.
CURTIS: When?
LIZ: When?
CURTIS: Yeah, when do you wanna go?
LIZ: Uhm...
CURTIS: Well my dad always said "There's no time like the present." Right? What time do you need to be back at work?
{The thought of spontaneously ditching the afternoon of work came down like a traffic light before you could pass the train tracks.}
CURTIS: I'm just gonna... cancel a meeting or two this afternoon. Because I've been putting this off.
LIZ: ... Okay.--
CURTIS: Okay?
LIZ: Yeah, let's do it.
CURTIS: Okay. I'm gonna wait for my coffee though.
{Curtis surveys the room for the nearest waitress.}
CURTIS: I'm gonna need it.
LIZ: Okay.
{Liz looks down at her cell phone dreading the phone call in to work.}
CURTIS: Did you park around here?
{Liz was still distracted with her face set on her phone. The thought of the phone call was less distracting than the lingering shroud of Cyrus like an underlying disease.}
LIZ: Hm?-- No I... parked on the job's lot. I generally don't bring my car down this way, ahaha. It's always so busy and--
CURTIS: Yeah parking is terrible. But I got a spot.
{Curtis leans over the surface of the table inching his voice closer to Liz as he looks out of the café's large windows pointing to his car. Elizabeth’s eyes follow Curtis's out of the window stringing onto his pointing finger as they spot his car.}
LIZ: Oh yeah, I see.
{Silence.
Both hover back to their natural sitting positions. Curtis spots a waitress out the corner of his left eye.}
CURTIS: Hey, hey, you think I can get a large cup of coffee?
WAITRESS: Oh, sorry, did you not get taken care of yet?
{The waitress wore a pink dress and an apron straight out of a 1950s film.}
CURTIS: Uhm, no. I haven't.
{Curtis wore a shut lipped and wide-eyed for the woman because he knew she could not see his eyes.}
WAITRESS: Okay, uhm... just a sec'; I'll be right back.
CURTIS: Okay, thank you.
LIZ: I'm going to wait outside and... call-in to work while you wait for your coffee.
CURTIS: Okay. I'll be out in a second.
LIZ: Okay, sounds good!
{Liz slides up out of her seat with her gatherings already beared and heads for the door. Her thoughts barren as she pushes through the first set of the café's doors. As she goes to put her right hand on the right, chipped gold coated door handle of the second set of doors, her hand begins to tremble and shake. She pushes on through the door. Her ears warm, and her stomach quivering. She continued to try not think about how she was currently feeling, and walks left on the sidewalk now with her eyes on her phone searching for the proper contact. She parked herself in front of the café's window in site of Curtis so he would know that she was not planning to escape.
She continued to search for the proper contact. When she found it, her stomach loosened more. Making her legs feel absent. Right hand still shaking. She almost began to think of the outcome of the phone call. No time. She pressed the contact and watched the screen go white. Propping the contact into the forefront. "Calling..."}
LIZ: Hello?... Hey Kelly-- hey, it's me, Liz... I'm doing alright! How about you? That's great... Yes, I'm excited about the presentation... Thank you! Oh, thank you; I really appreciate that. I just... doing the best I can, ahaha. Well... thank you; I appreciate that, ahaha. I just kinda put on what isn't wrinkled, ahaha. No, it doesn't. Yeah a couple of the shops just as you get off the highway going to the Northside has really good, cheap, vintage clothing... yeah, I can do that! I'll just text it to you!
{Meanwhile inside, Curtis receives his coffee. He's now heading for the front door. Liz noticed Curtis and now felt she had to get to the point of her conversation with Kelly.}
LIZ: Hey, Kelly-- listen, I have an emergency I have to take care of so I will just need the rest of the day off...
{Liz's face began to tighten in emotion of the conversation topic. Even with the shades on, if you were close enough, you could see she seemed to have a bitter taste in her mouth.}
LIZ: Oh yes, I'll be ready for Thursday. I've had it marked on my calendar for some time, ahaha... okay I understand, but I will be there. It's very important for us to have that meeting... I will.
{Curtis comes out of the café. Eyes set on Elizabeth.}
LIZ: Thank you, I will. I'll see you tomorrow... okay... you too... b-bye.
CURTIS: You ready? Got my coffee. Ready to go.
LIZ: Yeah! let's do it.
{Curtis gestures his cup of coffee in the direction of his still pearly white car.}
[1967.]
{The Detective arrives just 27 minutes later at the Double-City Psychiatric Warding passing upon a mottled-red paved brick road.
The sky... cloudy with puzzling blue around the basis of gray. The Detective steps out of his sky-blue Chevrolet Impala with silver trim wearing a black overcoat that had a spot or two of outstanding brown from coffee. He looked upward at the ward large enough to hold 10 modern families within.}
[Scene change: A 1960s Television broadcast through the window of a Base Park Entertainment Store.]
{The host on screen of the broadcast had dirty blonde hair and wore what appears to be a gray suit with a dark red tie.}
T.V. BROADCAST HOST: It's been quite brisk here in Double-City -- a little chili. So, let's keep it warm out there. We're going to take a break, but before we do... here again, yes, we know you love to hear it again, the original-- first single from the latest... "The Supremes" album, here's "You Keep Me Hangin' On".
[Back at the Double-City Psychiatric Warding.]
{The Detective rubs the topping brim of his gray homburg that did not match his black overcoat like a genie's lamp with the corner of his eyes like folded paper. He approaches the front doors of the ward.
He enters and heads directly for the front desk placed diagonally from the front door and lobby which had a light cream linoleum floor and darker creamed walls.
He speaks to the woman at the front desk who gives him direction. He then heads off down the older stained dark brown concrete floors. Passing nurses, doctors & patients. He heads up a staircase matching the corridor floors. The stair rails a dark cream like the lobby walls, but severely chipped. He heads down the hall of the 3rd floor before stopping at room "3B6". He watches through the window of the door darker than a coffin. There sat Cyrus.
Cyrus sits gripping the wooden armrests of the chair he was cuffed to. The Detective waits outside of the door staring at Cyrus with his head cocked to the right. Observing Cyrus in his habitat. The Detective hears the clunking of shoes ahead of him as he stands on the left side of the concrete and wood frame of the door. He looks up instinctively at the nurse approaching.}
THE DETECTIVE: Hi!
THE NURSE: Hi! You're the detective here to see "Cyrus O'Brian"?
THE DETECTIVE: Yes, I am!
{As The Detective answered, he was already prepping to stand aside to allow the nurse to open the door for him. She unlocks it without another word and begins to open the door for The Detective.}
THE NURSE: There you go!
THE DETECTIVE: Thank you.
{The concrete floor in the room made an echo like the cries of whaling alone in a chapel as The Detective approached Cyrus. Noticeable to him instantly was the small button design with a fold on the back of Cyrus’s bland blue shirt. Then, he noticed how Cyrus was hunched over, and his long blonde hair just down the length of his neck that may have been in the middle of dirty and clean. Time without a clean shape-up or full cut was showing. As The Detective began to circle around Cyrus, the next thing that he noticed was his wrists tied to the chair with enough slack for Cyrus to place his fists under his chin as he hunched over. Next, the mole on the side of Cyrus's face. Once The Detective finally made his way to the front of Cyrus, Cyrus looked up into his eyes.}
THE DETECTIVE: ... I'm Detective Marion Pitts.
{The Detective extends his right hand far enough so that Cyrus could shake it whilst strapped onto the chair. Cyrus thought of numerous outcomes of perception before reluctantly accepting the hand. But he did not quote his name. He knew the detective knew who he was.}
DETECTIVE PITTS: Listen, I'm going to have some questions for you, and I'm going to need you to answer them.
CYRUS: (There's no way I'm getting a lawyer here. Maybe I can figure things out. Just have ta' choose my words wisely.) Yeah, okay. That might've been quite obvious as soon as you called yourself a Detective. But what can I do for you?
{Detective Pitts looks on assumingly. Surprised at Cyrus's faultless, frontal demeanor.}
DETECTIVE PITTS: ... The murders. Why'd you do them?
{Cyrus was beyond any reasonable hypothesis in his thoughts. His face showed this, but he had to recompose himself if he ever wanted to be free again, and to make it back home somehow.}
CYRUS: What murders?
{Detective Pitts pulls out a small photo...}
DETECTIVE PITTS: The woman. And the other murders. The little boy-- her little boy. You murdered them!
{Pitts revealed the photo to Cyrus of a dead woman brutally massacred aside of dumpster in a shadowed, narrow alleyway.}
CYRUS: ... Is this how all of "The Detectives" ask their questions?
{Cyrus had a prudent thought about the lack of tact of the Detective. Maybe it was a sign of the times, but deflection often meant a form of guilt. So he negated his question.}
CYRUS: May I have a closer look?
{Detective Pitts hands Cyrus the small square where he held it at the bottom right corner with his index, middle finger and his thumb to the front. Holding it just below eye level. Inside, Cyrus felt a negative connotation, but his face didn't show much other than an average scold. Then, a switch flipped upward... remembering the night... the worst night of his life at 16. He immediately felt he needed to cover his emotion. In defence mode. But he also could not pretend to not care enough for his own innocence.}
CYRUS: What happened? And the boy?
DETECTIVE PITTS: ... So, your partner did these murders? And where is he right now?
CYRUS: My "partner"? I'm sorry... you're gonna have ta'-- you're gonna have to explain this to me, because I just flew in from out of town. I was in... in Germany on a small vacation. I came back, did too many drugs, and the next thing I know, I'm locked away in here for reasons unknown to me. So, what-- who is my partner?
DETECTIVE PITTS: ... Are you mocking me?
{Blatantly, Cyrus shrugs for ignorance.}
CYRUS: ... I... I... --
DETECTIVE PITTS: Where is he!--
CYRUS: I don’t know what to tell you. I don't know who the fuck "he" is-- do you have a picture or description of some sorts for me? Who the fuck is "he"?
DETECTIVE PITTS: ... I'm going to give you a small break. I'm going to go get a cup of coffee, and a chair. And when I come back, you better start finding out how to find the answers and the words I'm looking for. Got it!?
{Pitts pointed a stern finger towards the end of his rant for aggression. He didn't want to scream or get too rambunctious in this place. Cyrus on the other hand was still calm with exhaustion and ignorance and did not respond to Pitts who then leaves the room.}
[2017.]
{The silence for the drive was overtaken by local stations. No words to explain the currently odd vibe between Curtis and Liz. So Curtis resorted to the unwanted transmissions from the radio that were finally clear years before the year 2017. Yet still far from bearable. Not because the musical selections, but because of the unwanted interruptions from advertisement, filtered lyrics, and obnoxious opinionated hosts.
Curtis rolled onto the unbalanced familiar concrete driveway of Base Park. As he stopped, so did the radio. He then pointed his neck outward over his steering wheel to see through the windshield. In reaction to the sight, he shook his head. Liz reacted to the loud, non-verbal actions of her conductor by reacting with the same thoughts she had before they entered the neighborhoods of Base Park. Curtis exited the vehicle almost immediately after his reaction.
Curtis wore a grimace on his face down upon the wooden stairs at the stoop. Since 16, Curtis could never walk those stairs without daunting imagery in fictional non-fiction. He could never put into words the pain of Cyrus. Getting Cyrus to open up and express more than recollection of pivotal action from that moment was impossible.
Liz followed alongside Curtis with an uneasiness she had never experienced. Her hair kept her ears warm from the blowing winds. She tucked her shades in her bag on the way to the home. So she caught a clear visual of the home Cyrus grew up in. Thoughts were then created as traces of the embodiment of Cyrus began to connect like DNA strands.}
*KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK*
{Curtis never turned around to check on the current state of Liz. She had only seen the strands of the back of his blazer, and the side of his face when he turned slightly back to look around down at the stairs with the corners of his lips slightly tightened.}
[The door opened.]
{Liz caught a clear view of the woman when she opened the screen door, but not before. Only once before at the funeral. There stood a beautiful blonde woman with blue eyes, and a strong resemblance to her son, Cyrus.}
CURTIS: Hi, Mom.
MRS. O'BRIAN: Hey, son! How are you--...
{Liz saw the eyes of Mrs. O'Brian that instantly locked onto her with a lovely feeling. Older women would always look at her that way if she was accepted, but the look Mrs. O'Brian gave was like she had already claimed her as one of her own. Liz wanted to smile already. Knowing what she burdened herself with kept her from doing so in the moment, but her eyes remained sparkled at the face of Mrs. O'Brian.}
MRS. O'BRIAN: COME ON IN! Glad you're here!
{As Liz stepped up to the doorway as Curtis had already begun to enter, she could see the stress in the face of Mrs. O'Brian's soft and fabulous glow. So she tried to ease the moment with a false smile that showed her bottom gumline at the bottom of her teeth.}
MRS. O'BRIAN: So glad to see you! How are you!?
LIZ: I'm good. Thank you.
CURTIS: I'm doing alright, Mom. Just coming over to check on you.
MRS. O'BRIAN: Well, I'm... I'm very much alright.
{Mrs. O'Brian points a finger at Liz.}
You're... one of Cyrus’s friends, right?
LIZ: Yes, I am.
MRS. O'BRIAN: I believe... I saw you at the funeral. What's your name again?
LIZ: Elizabeth.
MRS. O'BRIAN: Ah-- and what is your last name?
LIZ: Wilson.
MRS. O'BRIAN: We Americans always seem to forget how important family is.
{Liz could tell she was intentionally making her feel uneasy.}
LIZ: (Curtis must've told her about me. How much does she know?)
MRS. O'BRIAN: I am Cyra O'Brian. Nice to see you again. -- Curt' would you mind going into the kitchen to get some tea and coffee started?
CURTIS: Oh we had coffee before we--
{Before Curtis could finish his statement of fact, Mrs. O'Brian turned to him with a straight eye.}
CURTIS: ... Okay.
LIZ: (Oh no. She knows.)
MRS. O'BRIAN: ... Have a seat!
{They both sit. Mrs. O'Brian sits with her fist steady below her chin. Scrunching the skin. The elbow of that fist pressed against her crossed legs. Eyes fixated on Elizabeth with a true smile now. She looked enthused in the moment.}
MRS. O'BRIAN: ... You must be "her". I've heard so much about you.
ELIZABETH: ... Eh, ahaha.
MRS. O'BRIAN: Not from Cyrus, of course; I couldn't get that boy to talk about anything with his mother. From Curtis. I'm just glad he had a friend like Curtis who he felt he could talk to about things. Things just got harder and harder for him as he got older. So, where are you from?
ELIZABETH: Eh, Suburban Lake.
MRS. O'BRIAN: M.
{Cyra was highly intrigued.}
MRS. O'BRIAN: Looks like he found a good one.
Where do you work?
ELIZABETH: "MarkIT".
MRS. O'BRIAN: Oh, the marketing firm!
ELIZABETH: Yeah.
MRS. O'BRIAN: So that may have been how you two met. -- How'd you meet?
{Liz began to feel knots in the center of her body making her feel as though she could have nothing to eat for the rest of the day.}
ELIZABETH: Uhm, we first saw each other downtown.
MRS. O'BRIAN: Okay that makes sense. Do not worry, I won't intrude. I learned some time ago to allow Cyrus to do what Cyrus wants to do. He's such a unique soul that even if you told him otherwise he'd do what he saw fit anyway. Stubborn like his mother.
{Awkward silence.}
ELIZABETH: He was... such a good guy.
MRS. O'BRIAN: ... Yeah...
{Liz was starting to warm up to the moment. But it was so familiar, yet unfamiliar all at once. It was like driving down a dirt road on a motorbike to reach the finish line. The dirt road well paved. No rocks, no bumps. But it was still a dirt road.
The only differences between Cyra and Cyrus was that she had a jawline that was wider, but still a distinctive point at the end like Cyrus. And she had fuller cheeks. Maybe because of age. The eyes, eyebrows, forehead, and nose were all the same. If they were the same age and height they'd have been twins if she wasn't about 5 inches shorter. They even had similar mannerisms.}
MRS. O'BRIAN: I only wish he knew that.
So, did-- I promise I won't get... jealous, did he... open up to you?
{Liz's heart took a higher leap at the sound of the question causing her back to straighten and her mouth to open. She breathed and then answered.}
LIZ: Sort of. He told me some things. But I don't know much about his childhood, haha.
{Mrs. O'Brian put her chin on her fist and presented her face again with a slight curvature at the edge of both sides of her mouth.}
MRS. O'BRIAN: Cyrus was... "Cyrus". He had an ordinary upbringing-- he would beg to differ. Most kids do.
{Awkward silence.}
LIZ: Sorry to intrude, but, what happened to... Mr. O'Brian?
MRS. O'BRIAN: Oh it's no intrusion at all... Cyrus's father, Alex, was shot...
{Pointing towards the front door now leaning into the armpit of her chair with her chin on the armrest of the old-fashioned silver love seat. She wore a shiny golden bracelet. Definitely carrots on carrots of gold.}
MRS. O'BRIAN: Right outside of this front door on the porch...
{Following the finger of Cyra, Liz was floored.}
LIZ: (Why would he not tell me this!? I thought I was much more important to him than this!)
{Curtis was preparing his entrance from the kitchen way, but he heard the discussion happening, and stayed put.}
MRS. O'BRIAN: Cyrus was there-- outside with em'. His father pushed him from the porch before the shots fired. He saved his life. Ultimately, Cyrus never forgave himself for it. I did. I forgave him because he was my only son.
{Liz could sense the emotion rising in Cyra. This affected her own state of emotional even more. Her inner being splattered all over a white canvas in an array of colors.}
[Scenes of Elizabeth pausing in a white room in all white. Buzzing of silence. Then, picking up buckets of paint in all different colors. Dumping them at a white canvas in a large white room.]
MRS. O'BRIAN: And... I think I needed him... more than he needed me.
[Back to the O'Brian's home.]
{Mrs. O'Brian wiped her small tears away, and changed the subject. Just then, Curtis began to slowly enter with beverages in both hands in old English mugs.}
MRS. O'BRIAN: He never told you any of this.
LIZ: It was Curtis, but... I never knew that-- how it happened.
{Tears began to fall from Elizabeth's face.}
LIZ: (How can I make any of this right?)
MRS. O'BRIAN: Well I guess we're the same, you and I.
{Curtis seemed hesitant to intervene, but there was something blurringly obvious on his face.}
CURTIS: Mom, I know... you're -- we're all going through a tough time. But coming here has to be making it worse, ya' know? How long have you been here?
{Curtis spoke softly. Telling Mrs. O'Brian where to be right now could easily be synonymous with telling her how she should be feeling about losing Cyrus. Mrs. O'Brian smiled showing no teeth. Her lips were a smile, but her eyes were still close to draining.}
MRS. O'BRIAN: Since... I don't know. A few days.
CURTIS: ... Looks like you've been here all week?
MRS. O'BRIAN: ... Pretty much.
CURTIS: ... Okay, here's your tea. Hey Liz let me show you around.
{Liz stood, and Curtis handed her the cup of coffee he had in his other hand. Liz never looked back at Cyra in this moment.
First, they walked over to an old portrait on the wall near the kitchen. The picture had a translucent smear as if it had just been recently cleaned. Sat in a wooden frame was Cyrus in blue jean overalls on an old Fisher Price bicycle with training wheels. Under the overalls was a white long sleeve shirt with red pinstripes. In this moment, Liz could tell Curtis wanted to tell her something, so she paid attention to him like a game of Simon Says. Patiently waiting for his next expression. So he whispered.}
CURTIS: I'm gonna call Sully. She's been here all week.
{Liz obviously wanted to ask who "Sully" was, but she figured she already had enough on her plate to discover at the moment.}
CURTIS: Come on, let's go upstairs-- show you his room.
{As Liz followed Curtis up the stairway next to the picture on the wall, she paid attention to the detailing of the carpeted stairs. Well kept. The arch over the top of the stairs made Liz feel like she was walking alone freely as she did as a child. A new aged vintage yellow light hanging in a small box trimmed with forest wood from the ceiling.
In the center of Cyrus’s room, Liz felt closer to Cyrus than she ever had. The emotion in her gut and chest nearly brought more tears to her eyes, but she couldn't cry. She needed to hear more about him. She wanted-- no she needed to know more about him.}