Chapter 38
Ella
Saturday
Here we both are. Standing on the lawn, in the middle of an immense garden, in the great unknown city of New York. The two of us, who once became unknown to each other.
“Ella,” he calls my name, as if a recognition to himself that I am me. “What are you doing here?”
“I landed yesterday. I’m going to a work conference,” I explain. “What are you doing here?”
I think I’m daydreaming. Sleepwalking. Feeling the cold winter air against my ears and living in a dream.
The world suddenly seems so small and life so imaginary.
“Wow. I moved here,” Miles says, beginning to answer the various questions that swirl around in my mind. “About five years ago.”
“After Cadence?”
He keeps his eyes fixed on mine.
Yes, I know which college he went to. Miss Amara had waited for me to ask that question. And when I did, she told me.
“Yes, we moved here right after college.”
“We?” I imagine him happily entering a new apartment carrying a girl in his arms, ready to start their new New York adventure.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. My roommate from college, Asher, who’s still my roommate here. I guess we’re going everywhere together now.”
I chuckle, his voice sounds happy. “And what are you two doing here?” I ask.
“Well,” he begins, and then he explains part of the journey to me, how he and Asher weren’t sure what they were doing five years ago, when they started looking for jobs, how a professor helped them connect to an indie film project taking place in this city of dreams, and how the New York answer came to them via a phone call while they were kind of drunk at a sorority bar.
How they met the other two guys who are now also his closest friends, and how they had decided to create a band together. The thrill of landing their first gig after performing at an open mic night, and the excitement of releasing their debut album.
I smile, it’s surreal to be listening to him.
Here, live and in full color. My mind had wandered around our memories together, several times, over the years that had passed.
It would be unwise to deny it. But those memories became so distant that, at one point, they seemed to belong to some other person, some other reality.
“That was when I got the opportunity to compose. And the band is our part-time thing, our hobby.”
“I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks, Ella,” Miles smiles. He seems whole, fulfilled. “But what about you? What’s this conference? What’s this work?”
We have years of news, decisions, disappointments, and victories to share. And I don’t think either of us knows which window to open first. But it’s nice that we’re opening them so comfortably, effortlessly, as if we’ve seen each other just hours ago, as if these windows aren’t full of old rust.
The moment seems so unreal that I feel I have to seize it, before opening my eyes, waking up in bed, and realizing that it had all been a dream fabricated by my brain, trapped in a drawer in my past.
I start by answering his question about the conference, and part of me wants to explain everything to him in detail, to share the moment I left the interview for this job, to tell him about the nervousness and euphoria I felt three years ago.
Another part of me wants to shut up, to remain silent and attentive, to find out about his life over the last few months, and years, to see if the reality I had once imagined for him was the one he had actually been living in.
We’re still standing on the grass, next to my picnic blanket, where I had put down my bag, and my book.
“Do you want to...” Miles still sounds a bit shocked, and that makes me smile even without hearing the rest of his sentence. “Do you want to go for a walk and keep explaining it to me?”
“Yes! Let me fold this into my bag.”
“So your agent finds and negotiates TV ads, and movie projects, takes care of contracts, and networks in the industry?”
“Yeah, he’s the best. I talk to him almost every day. He was the one who found me and saw potential in me. The music composing part can get lonely, but I love it. Do you have a team at the Research Institute? How does that work?”
“You can say we all work together. Neuropsychologists and neurologists. Sometimes we split into smaller groups to study specific topics. But my job also involves analyzing results from tests, reading or writing articles and reports, and that part is mostly on my own.”
“And you said the Residential Care Facility is not just like a nursing home for elderly care, but also a residence for people with disabilities?” he asks, and I nod. “So your job includes helping those people?”
I shrug one shoulder. I’m not sure how much I can help them. I wish I could find the cures for all their suffering. “I spend a lot of time at the Center. I hope I can help in some way. But sometimes I just… sit there and talk to them.”
He looks at me silently and gives me a quiet smile. “Time is the most precious thing you have to offer someone. A wise girl once told me.”
I let a smile tug at my lips. I’m looking at Miles standing in front of me with his dimples and a grown man’s beard, using my words from the memory dump to comfort me.
A bus passes us and pulls up a few meters ahead. I look at Miles, he seems to have a light bulb go on above his head, tells me to quicken my pace toward the stop, and I just follow along.
Gasping for breath and searching our wallets for coins to pay for two tickets, we sit down on the bus seats.
I listen to Miles talk about the experience of moving to New York and the funny things that have happened to him over the last few years in this wild city, as he humorously calls it.
I lean back and let myself go, not knowing where I’m going.
With him.
On an unthinkable present.
I just let myself go.