Chapter 46
Hunter
It pained me to use my one phone call on Doily rather than Max.
But he was up in the air, and Doily was the only person I could rely on to be in touch with both Max and the Hamlet team.
Not that the latter matters any more. Who cares if I can make the meeting when I’m going to be deported?
Doily insisted she would get her lawyer on it, but the law is pretty clear.
If the government wants to deport me, it will.
But I could cope with that. All I care about is Max.
I asked Doily if she could go and meet him at the airport and make sure he’s OK.
She said yes, before revealing that she was in the middle of taking her calligraphy group to see the Lindisfarne Gospels.
I’m not sure that what Max needs upon being told that I’m about to be deported is a minibus load of young people with a passion for calligraphy, but the call got cut off before we could get any further.
So that’s it. I’m being held in a cell with no privileges and no information. I’m sure the people I love are doing everything they can to get me out of here. But will that be enough? I doubt it.
The light in this cell is broken, but I don’t think anyone cares, myself included.
I’ve completely lost track of time. I feel like I’ve been here for hours by now, but if someone told me it’s only been forty minutes, I wouldn’t argue with them.
When I was locked up, I needed a moment to myself.
Now, it’s chewing at me, every second stretching out. I’m craving contact with anyone.
The absence of Max is unbearable. It pains me to think that, even if I get out of here, we could be forced to separate in weeks. Being here is really bringing home to me what it would mean to part ways. No more laughter, no more crazy optimism.
But worse than that, who will I be without him?
I recall the Hunter I was in New York. That Hunter was miserable, skipping meals, hiding from the world in a fog of cynicism.
Max changed that. He made me come alive again, capable of joy and hope.
I can’t go back to that other version of me. I don’t know how I’d cope.
Without planning it, I pick up a pen and paper from the side. I don’t have my phone. I don’t have any photos of Max. Writing to him feels like the only way to draw him closer.
At first, it’s painful to consider everything I love about him and might lose. But gradually, it brings me comfort, reminding me of what’s good in the world. How much I have gained simply through knowing him.
By the time I’m done, I feel lighter. It’s impossible to think of Max and feel complete despair. He wouldn’t allow it. This situation might seem futile. I sure don’t see any way to get out of it. But by entering Max’s mindset, I’ve let myself feel a tiny ray of hope.