Home is Not a Place

Chapter Three

Sebastian was used to seeing strangers in the house. He grew up with it, and it never occurred to him that there was anything odd. His father brought in all sorts of people. And Sebastian learned not to judge anyone from the way they looked. People were fascinating that way. So when his father stepped into the front door, a new kid in hand. He knew how to offer a smile.

"Sebastian, go patch her up," his father directed, prompting the girl forward into the foyer where the lamps cast a hollow glow on her face. "I'm going to make a call. You know what to do."

He made a beeline for the phone at the end of the corridor, and Sebastian watched his father punch in the number sequence of Luis. There was a brief moment of amused surprise before the unsettling tug of unease. Father never phones Luis first. He thought. There was once a time when he did, but that was over a decade ago, and Sebastian was only ten back then.

The girl in the foyer looked like an abandoned statue. She stood there, nearly lifeless, without a single movement to animate her. Her head was bent, angled awkwardly at the carpet, as though there was something curious about it. Sebastian wondered about who she was, and how her presence somehow managed to convince his father to phone a friend he never wanted to call again.

Luis is going to have one heck of a field day. He smiled to himself, already picturing Luis's s**t-eating grin. It was going to be a pleasant surprise.

Sebastian tapped the girl lightly by her shoulder. It was a friendly gesture, but the girl recoiled bitterly under his touch.

"Oh, I'm sorry. That was rude of me." Maybe he should have called out to her first.

"I'm Sebastian," he offered out a hand, "I know I should have started with formalities first. But I tend to be a bit rash sometimes."

The girl stared at the hand before her with an unreadable expression on her face. Sebastian didn't know whether to put his hand away or leave it open. But it was starting to strain a little. Sebastian opened his mouth to speak but closed it again when the girl squatted down to align his hand to her cheek. There was an air of confusion, and Sebastian didn't know anything about this kind of greeting tradition.

"Uhm, nice to meet you?" He tried, patting the side of her face gently. It was the least he could do for being so culturally ignorant, but the girl looked more alarmed than appeased.

"Look. I'm sorry, but I'm not sure how you go about with these things."

"Don't you hit people here with force?" For once, the girl spoke up, but the words didn't quite match up.

"Now, why would I want to hit you?" He asked.

"You just do," she said, "adults always do."

"No, they don't," he defended, " Not unless you're naughty."

"I'm always naughty."

Sebastian wasn't sure if she was joking or not. But the look on her face was so intent he didn't have the heart to laugh.

"Well, I don't think you're naughty."

The girl considered this.

"Maybe not today."

"Maybe," he agreed, "but how naughty can you be?"

"Naughty enough. Zian says I'm a riot."

"Who's Zian?"

The question was enough to shut her up. Sebastian made a mental note not to ask about Zian again.

"Okay. Well, I guess you are kind of naughty."

"I told you," she sighed, "I'm always naughty."

"So, you need to be punished." Her curled-up response was heart-breaking. Sebastian thought about adults who shamelessly hit children and felt incredibly sad, "with a warm bath and a long lecture about handshakes."