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Greater Than the Still
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Greater Than the Still
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Greater Than the Still is told through the eyes of 15 different New Yorkers. Let's get to know them...
Chapter One
On those sporadic mornings when Juliette smiled her way into his deli, Sal held on to the image of her ear to ear grin for the rest of the day, knowing that it had been months since he had seen his own daughter’s happiness.
The last time he spoke to Isabella was four months ago, and the last time he had seen his daughter smile was a month before that. It wasn’t because she had moved away to another state and visiting had become hard physically or financially. That wasn’t the case at all. Isabella lived in Queens, just a mere borough away. But that imaginary line between Brooklyn and Queens stood as a fiery hot barbed wire that neither of them wanted to cross, separating the two of them indefinitely.
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Chapter Two
He hung up the phone with a wry smile on his face, knowing he would ultimately get his way. Aaron Brooks was a charmer. It was that kind of personality that got him free coffee at least once a week at the bodega down the block from his apartment, the kind of personality that would find him at Angela’s doorstep later that night. It was that kind of personality that helped sell his last three bedroom two bathroom apartment on the Upper East Side. The couple wasn’t sure about the west facing view, but Aaron’s magnetism and soothing accent convinced them that having unlimited access to daily sunset views was something they wouldn’t be able to live without. It only took two days for them to get back to him with a cash offer.
Aaron glanced around the train station with eyes accustomed to the daily morning rush. On the platform of the Manhattan bound F train stood a web of strangers. More invisible than a spider’s thread, a single silky strand of commonality strung them together in a way that could be easily defined, and yet as easily went unnoticed. Strap hangers of all ages stood within the confines of the dark, gloomy subway walls, waiting for their ride. Aaron leaned his back against the station’s wall, his eyes bouncing from one person to another. It was beautiful how effortlessly lives intersected, but so underwhelming when no one seemed to notice.
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Chapter Three
Gloria lost track of the days while Scott was deployed, but always knew how many were left until he was to come back. Weeks at a time would pass without word from him, which only left her imagining for herself the green tents he bunked in, the desert storms that blew grains of sand into the crevices of his ears, the one beer he was allowed to drink on Christmas Eve.
She never cried as hard as she did on the day he left, until the day he came back. The train stopped abruptly in the middle of a tunnel and jolted Gloria’s mind back to the present. What was important now was that the days of Scott in Afghanistan were over, and would never happen again.
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Chapter Four
It had been a long time coming but Samantha retreated too. Kevin didn’t have the line of vision to realize it until it was too late. He was too wrapped up in the routine of architect life to look up from his blueprints and realize that the days of random road trips and evenings of coffee and pastries were gone.
Six nights prior was when it all came to light, as the lamp on his drafting desk lit up his latest blueprint. His graphite pencils were ordered according to its shade and even though he just came home from work, he picked one up and continued where he left off. He had no idea there were three missed calls on his phone.
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Chapter Five
Emma stepped off the tube and out of the Angel station, where she headed up the streets of Islington with nothing on her mind except wild ideas. The brick row houses of a neighborhood she knew so well welcomed her home for the evening, and the sounds of the cars whizzing by on Upper Street raced by as fast as they did earlier that morning. There was nothing left in London, let alone Islington, for her to uncover. When she went to sleep underneath a fresh London moon, her wild ideas had transformed into one magnificent one, because all the rest of the world had still remained untapped.
Emma knew London well, and in return London knew Emma well too. It was the city that gave her life and took her mother’s when she was five years old. London was the place where she grew up with a father who was too busy with worldwide conferences to be there for her important milestones. It contained all the memories of blissful joy and bitter endings, within its city limits were all Emma’s years knew. It had been a few months coming, but Emma knew it was time to move on. It had been a nice twenty year stay in the center of the United Kingdom. She sincerely hoped she’d come back one day when she’d be more mature to appreciate it all.
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Chapter Six
Sweet Tooth was a small shop, with Manhattan real estate being hard to come by and prices constantly soaring a little higher above into the clouds each day, Rosalyn was just happy that she had found a perfect place with a central location. But that didn't help the droves of customers that visited her shop daily. The line was almost always out the door, and even though that was in a sense a good publicity stunt, she felt like she owed her customers more than a couple of tables and barstools to enjoy their treats.
That’s when she let her imagination take control. She thought up a plan to create an extension to her a bakery, a sunroom in the back that would bring in elements of the countryside and a garden, where her customers could enjoy their pastries with the natural sunlight pouring down on them. Rosalyn stood in the middle of the newly opened extension of Sweet Tooth, one year after her televised interview with the local news, and all she could do was marvel in its existence. To see it come to reality for the first time on that day of July 12 was one of the happiest moments in her life. It was like she could have her cake and eat it too.
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Chapter Seven
For the first time in a long while, Henry plugged his headphones into his computer and turned on some music. The small buds tucked into his ears played soft classical music, allowing the monotonous typing of nearby computers to be muffled by the steady flow of constant songs. His choice was Chopin, he had always been Henry’s favorite. The softness of the melodies floated through his body, as if the combination of notes were the blood flowing through his veins. He had been away from it for too long. Elle couldn’t stay more than a day without playing or listening to music, let alone two years.
The thought of sitting down at his piano crossed his mind for the first time in years. The ivory keys were a testament to his brilliance, if only his music could escape from the confines of his apartment walls and the muffled echoes of his building’s hallway. His songs would tell a story of heartache and his passion would be deeper than ever before. If only he had enough courage to let his music take control, he could serenade and trap others in his stories, the way Elle had forever trapped him in her beauty.
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Chapter Eight
There was fondant that waited to be rolled out. Rachel’s strong hands were able to knead it until it could be rolled through the machine that could turn it from a ball into a thin sheet of decorating canvas. The plain white fondant sat atop Rachel’s work station, wanting to be dyed every color of the rainbow. She could turn it into a crimson red with speckles of deep orange, because autumn was far away but always just around the corner. The fondant sat motionless, not because Rachel feared she’d make a mistake with it, but because she felt the passion escaping from her grasp.
Decorating brushes sat it in a neat row, their new bristles could tell a tale of softness if only Rachel reached over and ran her fingers across their tips. Rachel occasionally used them to embellish decorations with dustings of color, but it had been a while since that idea had crossed her mind. Rachel could never find the strength to decorate anything when she was annoyed. She was at a standstill, more with herself than anyone else.
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Chapter Nine
Cynthia Wilson lit tea candles around her living room. The rough edges of the lighter struck her thumb with force, but she was hardly attuned to the pain. With a series of flicks, small wicks came to life and burned through the darkness. The stillness in the apartment was almost paralyzing. Cynthia had just enough energy left to breathe a sigh of heaviness. Jonathan wouldn’t be home for another few hours. He hated the smell of candles.
Cynthia sank down into the couch that smelled of last night’s whiskey and sorrow. With a glass of cabernet and a tired hand, she took a sip and hoped it would help. The newly opened bottle sat atop the coffee table, next to the lighter and an ash tray overflowing with butts. Smoke was woven through the fabric of the couch, it hung on the drywalls and coated the surface of the television, but Cynthia had never been a smoker.
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Chapter Ten
It had been six years since Maria San Jose and Theresa sat on their plastic chairs together. One was sea foam green and reminded Theresa of the province, where the ocean swayed like mouthwash in a bottle and the coconut trees helped provide shade against the raw sun. The other plastic chair was pink and ever since Theresa was a young girl, she called it the flamingo chair. Theresa grew into a young woman on the flamingo chair and as she became a teenager, Maria had to stand in order to braid her long black hair.
The midsummer humidity of the Philippines hung low above their heads. A cloudy afternoon exploded before them, a million raindrops scattered across the concrete front yard. Only covered by an awning, light splashes of rain tickled at their toes. Maria San Jose had a feeling it would never rain that hard in America.
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Chapter Eleven
Raymond may have only been related to her through her father’s side of the family but she felt as if he was an older brother she never had. When he was around, he was like magic. He made her keel over with stomach pains and laughter, the kind that warranted a stream of tears and cackles. He made her feel protected even when she didn’t need a bodyguard, and guided her through growing up because he was already a few steps and a few years ahead of her.
But when he wasn’t around, it was desolate. Kylie felt like he simply chose a card game over her, that blackjack took his life by the reigns and steered it carelessly down Las Vegas Boulevard, underneath a canopy of artificial lights that promised nights of adrenaline and flows of cash. When he was up, the whole world seemed to know. Expensive cars lined his driveway and suits were tailored to his frame to make him look like a man off the cover of a magazine. He catered to the people around him, buying them five course dinners and alcohol infused nights at clubs they’d never remember. But when he was down, only Kylie knew about it. It was on those nights that clocks didn’t exist within the casinos, where behind the leather outline of the table it was always midnight.
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Chapter Twelve
Katherine put the flowers in a vase for display. She arranged them until they sat in perfection. Robert knew the flowers would only last on the dining room table for a few days, until she would have to throw them away like it never happened.
Katherine made breakfast for dinner that evening. It was a surprise to him, but it made complete sense. There were pancakes and waffles topped with the sweetest maple syrup in town. She made scrambled eggs and sausage, and corned beef hash. There was piping hot coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice, so new that the pulp tasted like it only existed for just a few minutes. Katherine indulged him in all the best for dinner. It was as if something inside both of them knew they wouldn’t last until breakfast.
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Chapter Thirteen
Colin wrapped his arm around Juliette’s shoulder, and as the sides of their foreheads balanced against each other, they both broke out in a contagious laughter that went on for minutes. With squinted eyes and laughter lines surrounding them, Colin saw the twinkling lights of downtown Manhattan on the clearest evening of the summer. The steady movement of cars moving on the FDR Drive could be seen by their stream of headlights, people walked past them on their bench, the water of the East River lapped against the concrete wall before them. None of that seemed to matter as they drowned together in a mixture of their love and laughter.
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Chapter Fourteen
The monotonous motions of folding clothes were only interrupted by tiny kicks within her stomach, reminding Megan of what was to come in just one month. A local reggae band sang about missing home when they’re gone for too long, and all Megan could think of was missing Kimo when he left for his shows.
He’d be in Maui this weekend, she always loved going with him to Lahaina whenever he played shows there. He was slated to perform across Oahu for the next few weeks, which let Megan feel at ease that he’d be close in case the babies came early. She swallowed an ounce of fear just thinking of his shows in Tahiti. The boys would be born by then, and she’d be alone with infants while Kimo sang to strangers in another country.
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Chapter Fifteen
By the time I was done cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom and had a slice of the blueberry pie for myself, Colin was snoring only slightly, laid out on the couch. I found a big enough spot to wedge myself onto the couch and watched the late night news with his dreams by my side. My sight drifted to the coffee table during a commercial break, where a few stapled piles of paper sat. I picked them up to see what Colin printed, and immediately noticed that it was for me.
In my hands was an application for the French Culinary Institute. There was an application for the International Culinary Schools at the Arts Institutes in New York City, Le Cordon Bleu’s application in Paris.
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Juliette Laredo never meant to leave an impression on anyone, but in a city of constantly intertwining lives, her impact is greater than she knows. On the brink of deciding to return to a stable career as a mental health counselor or follow her passion as a pastry chef, Juliette’s worries surface when she is faced with a life changing opportunity.
More than a dozen unique New Yorkers narrate their own perceptions and feelings of Juliette, as her story is told through their eyes. Greater Than the Still portrays the love, fears, and heartbreaks of New Yorkers as strangers and familiar faces peel back layers of Juliette’s life. It is through their crossed paths that change the course of Juliette’s future.
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