Re: Living Room: Hannah & David
David was dressed in...roughly the same clothes he always was, salvaged from somewhere and made clean; a pair of jeans and some sturdy boots with a worn old wool jacket. He didn't have a fixed address, per se, still sleeping in the attic of a house near the lake. It could be made warm, and serviceable. He didn't require much, except piles and piles of books.
In the evenings - evenings like this one and, indeed, all others - he felt the pull to be someone else, somewhere else. Six months of withholding involvement from death made it easier not to be it. The distance created a buffer from the immediacy of suffering. There was guilt with that, though, a low hum, and it persisted through whatever cheer surrounded him.
He was always willing to go when Hannah called him. He still barely understood the truth of her, but he knew what was important. She lived in the earthbound circle of people he would do just about anything for. What was a night standing with strangers? They were just kind Christmas ghosts, celebrating the festive season. He was about a half-step outside reality in ordinary company, friendly and distant. They were ghosts to him, as he was invisible to them.
Not to Hannah, though. He set the treats on a table near the rest of the snacks, and then stepped aside with her. She looked soft and comfortable, and she fit into the setting so neatly that this could almost be her house.
"You fit in here," he said. It was meant as a compliment. With these kind people, in this warm place.