Deja vu

The car’s interior remains cloaked in silence as we navigate the road towards New Jersey. Liam’s quiet introspection keeps me company, and I let him be, knowing that he’s grappling with questions that have no simple answers. I turn my attention to the passing scenery, my thoughts spinning like the wheels beneath us.

I peer out the window, absorbing the familiar yet ever-changing cityscape. The towering skyscrapers, like sentinels of ambition, reach for the heavens, their glass facades reflecting the morning sunlight. People hustle and bustle on the sidewalks, a diverse tapestry of lives intermingling in this concrete jungle.

Why am I still with Liam? It’s a question that reverberates in my mind, echoing with the logical conclusion that I should distance myself from him for my own safety. He’s a potential danger, a ticking time bomb that could transform into a monstrous dragon at any moment. He’s scared of it, and I should be too. It’s the rational choice.

Yet, no matter how I try to align my thoughts with reason, my heart and mind are resolute in their agreement that I must stand by his side. It’s a perplexing loyalty, a connection that defies logic. I’ve seen the fear in his eyes, the uncertainty that gnaws at him, and it only strengthens my resolve to support him, even if it defies all reason.

Amid these contemplations, I entertain another notion—am I falling in love with him? It’s a notion that tiptoes into my consciousness, whispering softly, but it’s far too soon to tell. For now, we’re friends—nothing more, nothing less. And that’s enough to hold on to.

As we enter the Holland Tunnel, the world outside blinks out, replaced by the low hum of the tunnel’s expanse. The walls close in, enclosing us in a cocoon of concrete and steel. It’s a strangely intimate moment, the silence stretching between us, each heartbeat echoing in the confined space.

Liam breaks the quietude, his voice a gentle disruption. “I brought a bottle of red wine to give Aleksander when we arrive.”

His words pull me from my introspection, and I turn to face him, a smile tugging at my lips. “Good... I never thought about that,” I admit, grateful for the diversion. “I’m not used to being invited to other people’s houses… and bringing stuff...” The chuckle that follows is light, a small release of the tension that coils within me.

The tunnel’s embrace eventually releases us, spitting us out into the open expanse of Jersey City. City lights twinkle in the distance, a reminder that we’re but specks in the grand scheme of things. The path ahead stretches on, a dark ribbon leading us to our destination.

“You have an appointment with your shrink tomorrow, right?” he says.

For a moment, I wonder how Liam could veer from one topic to another. And it surprises me how he remembers my appointments as if he’s memorized them. Without my phone reminding me of my schedules, I’d be a complete mess.

Liam’s question about my therapy appointment surprises me. A jolt of reality amidst the surreal events of the night. “Yeah, at four in the afternoon,” I reply, my mind racing to keep up with the conversation. “I’m going after my last subject, which ends at three. Why do you ask?”

“Can I go with you?”

His request catches me off guard, an unexpected twist to our conversation. “Seriously?”

“Yeah… well… I’d like to meet your therapist…”

I study his face, searching for any hint of ulterior motives. “Are you thinking of going for it?”

“Maybe… I’ll decide when I see her…”

I nod, accepting his decision. “Sure. It’s your call.”

Finally, we arrive at Aleksander’s haven, a quaint house in a quiet neighborhood in Woodbridge Township that glows with a welcoming aura.

Aleksander Kapel’s house stands before us, a charming relic of the 60s era, its character etched in every red brick and paneled wooden surface. The structure exudes a timeless grace, a testament to the care that has preserved it through the years. The lawn in front, a lush carpet of green, invites with its vibrant hue. White picket fences frame the edges, offering a picture-perfect view of the spacious garden that embraces the house.

Amidst the flowering shrubs and small fruit trees, an ancient oak tree stands sentinel, its branches reaching toward the sky like ancient fingers, whispering tales of seasons long past. The scent of blooming flowers mingles with the earthy aroma of freshly cut grass, creating a fragrant symphony that envelops me.

“You’re right on time,” Aleksander greets us warmly, his smile genuine and inviting. “Come in, come in…”

I hand him the bottle of wine, my eyes wandering over the idyllic neighborhood, where neighboring houses share the same comforting familiarity. “Nice place you have here, Mr. Kapel… it’s like the ultimate American Dream…” I remark, acknowledging the cozy charm of it all.

“Well… this house was my mother’s American Dream. I’ve lived here since I was a kid, and will die here as well, I guess.” Aleksander chuckles, guiding us into the living room. “And please, call me Aleksander… or Alek, as everyone calls me.”

Aleksander, or Alek, exudes a warm and welcoming aura. The wrinkles etched on his face tell stories of a life well-lived, each line a testament to laughter and joy. Though his hair has turned gray with age, his lively demeanor betrays the youthful spirit within.

As I step into Aleksander’s living room, my gaze sweeps over the living room. A curious sense of déjà vu wraps around me like a thin veil. The familiarity of the space tugs gently at my memory, coaxing it to the surface. The couch, adorned with plush cushions and a cozy throw, seems to cradle its occupants in a welcoming embrace. Heavy wooden shelves, lined with an assortment of books and cherished mementos, speak of a life well-lived and stories well-told.

My attention lingers on the wall panels, each one bearing its own tale in the grain of the wood. They seem to resonate with whispers of conversations, laughter, and shared moments that have woven the tapestry of this home. Then, like a beacon, my gaze fixates on the mantle.

Resting atop the sturdy wood, the marble urn draws my eye. It’s a masterpiece, meticulously sculpted into the form of a graceful goddess figure. The delicate curves and flowing drapery of the statue evoke a sense of ethereal beauty. The pendant, hanging from a slender chain around the goddess’s neck, glimmers with a soft, subtle radiance.

I find myself drawn to this elegant depiction, as if an invisible thread connects us. It’s an object of both reverence and intrigue, carrying a presence that resonates within the room. Its significance is palpable, yet shrouded in mystery, leaving me with an unspoken question that hovers in the air.

As I stand before the mantle, a peculiar sense of connection washes over me. It’s as though this exquisite figure holds a piece of a puzzle, one that I long to unravel. The pendant gleams, capturing my attention like a beacon, and I can’t help but wonder about the stories it could tell, if only it could speak.

Yet, I resist the urge to inquire further, not wanting to appear intrusive or overly curious.

With a gentle shake of my head, I let the mysterious sensations wash over me, deciding to focus on the present and the company around me. The déjà vu may linger, but it remains an unsolved riddle, a puzzle piece waiting for the right moment to fall into place.

Liam's nudge jolts me back to reality, his worry clear in his gaze. “Are you alright?” he asks softly. “Hungry, perhaps?”

I chuckle softly, grounding myself at the moment. “Yeah… I think so… I didn’t have anything for breakfast.”

“I’ve set up our barbecue in the garden out back,” Alek announces with a hearty laugh. “Let’s get you a bite of appetizers. A good host must never let his guests go hungry, heh?”

The scent of barbecue teases my senses, a mouthwatering invitation to a meal that promises to be memorable. The garden looks inviting, a serene oasis amidst the urban sprawl, its vibrant foliage a stark contrast to the mysteries that swirl in the background. With a deep breath, I step forward, ready to embrace the company and the food that awaits.

The garden beckons with its rustic charm, a sanctuary of greenery and tranquility amidst the bustling city. The large wooden table takes center stage, bathed in dappled sunlight filtering through the surrounding trees. A long wooden bench stretches along one side, inviting guests to gather around the communal feast. On the other side, an eclectic mix of deck chairs offers comfortable seating, each chair telling its own story with its unique design.

The heart of the gathering lies at the wood-fired pit, where smoke billows out from the grill, carrying tantalizing scents of cooking meat and barbecue sauce. Alek, the genial host, bustles around the grill, his apron adorned with an array of spices and sauces. The anticipation of a delicious meal hangs in the air like a promise.

I settle into one of the deck chairs, its cushioned seat providing a sense of ease. Beside me, Liam takes his place, a comforting presence as we prepare to enjoy this feast. Alek approaches with a platter of delectable canapes, each bite-sized treat topped with slices of savory ham, creamy cheese, and pitted olives. A bowl of fresh popcorn and a pitcher of chilled lemonade complete the spread, a delightful prelude to the main barbecue.

Alek’s friendly demeanor and warm hospitality make me feel at ease, erasing any lingering worries from my mind. As I take in the scene, my eyes are drawn to a pile of well-worn photo albums at the center of the table. They offer a glimpse into the past, a treasure trove of memories waiting to be explored.

Alek, now seated across from us, suggests we delve into the albums while we await Professor O’Leary’s arrival. I can’t help but wonder about the stories hidden within those faded photographs, a silent testament to Celina Kapel’s life.

Curiosity piqued, Liam and I open one album together. The first page reveals a captivating image of Celina, a youthful smile gracing her face as she stands beside a newly planted tree, a shovel in her hand. Her joy radiates from the photograph, capturing a moment of pure happiness.

Liam is the first to break the silence, his voice tinged with admiration. “She’s beautiful.”

I glance at Alek, expecting to see a resemblance, but he quickly dispels any assumptions. “Whoa! Don’t look at me,” Alek says, jerking his shoulders. “You won’t find any resemblance… as I was adopted.”

“Oh?” I nod with understanding. “So Celina never bore a child?”

“Nope. I was her only family, especially after my father left us. That picture was taken around the time me and my parents moved into this house,” Alek says, gazing wistfully at the photograph. “Happier days… 1962. I was only a toddler then.”

“Wait— your father left you and your mom?” I slap a hand over my mouth, thinking too late that it’s not the right thing to say. Tact had never been my strongest suit.

Naturally, Alek’s expression hardens. “Yes… I don’t know what happened. I was barely ten years old, and kids weren’t allowed to know adult stuff like that. One night, I heard them yelling at each other, and the next day, my dad just upped and left with a trifle of his belongings. Not long after that, my mom takes her life in her hands and jumps off the subway platform on Broadway.”

As Alek recounts the circumstances of his childhood, a mixture of empathy and sorrow wells up within me. The weight of his past, the fractured family dynamic, paints a picture of resilience in the face of adversity. My own life pales in comparison, and I find myself humbled by his strength.

The truth behind Celina’s fate pierces the air, the heaviness of loss settling over us. Her story, once vibrant and full of promise, takes a tragic turn. The subway platform in Broadway becomes a poignant symbol, a place where hope and despair converge.

I exchange a glance with Liam, our shared understanding transcending words. In this moment, we bear witness to Alek’s pain, to the chapters of his life that shaped him into the person before us. The photo albums, once mere mementos, now hold the weight of a legacy—one that we are privileged to glimpse.