Featuring Hugo and Livvy

November 5, 2005

present day

He did not know for how long he stayed there on the porch of the abandoned house, staring blankly at the sky. He only moved when the sun shone too brightly for him to stare on ahead at it, and he went back home before the roads begin to get busy and people wonder why he's there.

He passed by his mom making breakfast in the kitchen, and lingered for a while at the doorpost. He could see her whistling an old song, holding a spatula in her hand. An egg was sizzling on a pan. The TV was on in the living room, buzzing on about the news.

The sight was reminiscent of when he was younger, when life was a lot less complicated-for a second he imagined the voice of a much younger Livy from outside the house ("I'm here, idiot!") and his head instinctively snapped to look at the window, but she was not there. Instead, his mom took notice of him.

"Where did you come from, so early in the morning?" She looked at him so earnestly despite how awful he looked: his eyelids were heavy, dark circles lined under his eyes, his clothes were tattered and he smelled of booze. "Don't tell me..."

"I'm sorry."

"Sit down."

He did as he was told. She sat opposite him on the dining table.

"What's going on?"

He took a deep breath, and he told her everything.

*

She said nothing until he finished his story, listening intently with an expression on her face he couldn't read. Then and only then did he realise he's seen this look before, and it was when he left–for the first time, and all the times he left after that.

The eggs were cold and long forgotten on the pan. The TV buzzed on, he heard it say his own name a few times. He wished everything could turn off for just a second. Just for a second.

"My baby..." He looked back at his mom, "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I don't know, mama," his voice began to shake. "I don't know. I was young and stupid and I wish I could do it over again."

"Well," she took a breath in, "you don't get to do that."

"I know, mama. It kills me. I'd give everything up if it meant I was the one with her. I mean it."

"My baby..." His mom went around the dining table to hold him then, and he did not know if it was because of how tired he was, or the alcohol that hadn't worn off yet, but he cried in his mom's embrace like he was six years old again and not twenty six.

*

"Bad news, you need to cut your holiday short," was what his manager says when Hugo picked up his phone call, finally, after he had just let the last three calls ring all the way through.

Hugo was laying down on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. His mom had made him something to eat, but he ate only half of it, and left the rest on his bedside table.

The words of his manager made him sit upright. "You told me I had two weeks, Sam."

"Yeah, I know what I said. I'm sorry, bud. Some scenes from the movie need to be re shot. You know how it is."

A long sigh. "Yeah, okay."

"We're booking a flight for you tomorrow, 8 a.m. Emirates."

"Okay."

A pause, as his manager clicked something on his computer.

"You don't sound too good, man. What are they doing to you back home?"