Chapter 56
Ella
Tuesday
A lot of work was done in two weeks. Objects, clothes, furniture, and other items had been packed and transported to where they were needed. The domestic appliances were last. I spent this morning at the CIC helping to place the fridge in the cafeteria, where it’s in high demand.
Every day, there were more than enough hands to help with everything.
I had forgotten about this sense of community.
Living in community, being in community, feeling in community.
Exchanging solitude for sharing. In Evermere, you can often see how “sharing company” is enough to make someone feel whole.
I look around the CIC’s garden and see a group of individuals who, in their very different individualities, have crossed paths.
And when they crossed paths, they found themselves partly mirrored in each other.
They share appetizers. They share stories.
Beers are passed around, ideas are sown.
I hear feelings.
Distance is bridged; proximity is created.
Words echo. The laughter is contagious, it spreads and multiplies.
There’s a sense of peace within me when I observe happiness from the outside, as a spectator. I could never explain why. It may sound strange. But I know I’ve always felt it. I just hadn’t felt it in a long time.
Between my time here at the CIC and my focused hours reading papers and writing on my laptop, I managed to stop by my sister’s business almost every day. Some days she was spending the day in the office; on others, she was out setting up an event.
My mother would show up at the CIC to see how everything was going and check if she could help with anything, without even asking what. She’s been the mayor for years, but her care feels more like a mother’s embrace than a title.
Being with her feels like coming home: taking off my shoes and bra, letting go of the day’s worries.
And it’s incredible to see how her children are not the only ones who feel that way around her — how she attracts that in other people who need a motherly figure in their lives.
Do we naturally attract others based on the life stories we carry?
I always found time to call my mom from the city, but I’ve missed her hug on many gray days.
I sit on the grass at the CIC’s garden, in the spot beneath the majestic tree where Miles and I used to lie and sunbathe before Miss Amara came to call us for the Thursday shift.
Miles and I have texted each other once since he went back to New York, firm in our decision to stay friends. Two texts. Three days ago.
I carry so much care for him.
During this last goodbye, my heart felt heavy, tight, disoriented by the possibility of not seeing him again. It had been comforting to hear him promise not to disappear. To know that I wouldn’t have to miss him endlessly.
I miss him.
In my text, I had told him that everything worked perfectly with the CIC, that I still had to move Miss Amara’s piano, that I had found his lost harmonica during the move, and that I hoped he was doing well in New York.
He replied the same day, said he was ecstatic to know that his harmonica still lived, and asked if it had been donated somewhere or if there was a chance he’d be allowed to incorporate it into his band.
He added that he was glad everything went smoothly with the CIC and thanked me for letting him know.
At the end of his message, he wrote that the piano was lucky to be given a new home, and that he hoped I would find myself in its melody.
Find myself in its melody.
I didn’t text back.
I’ve been playing piano.
I kept Miss Amara’s folder of piano sheet music with me, and I recognized all the pieces she had taught me.
Some still stir the same emotions they used to.
I’ve been feeling emotions.
All kinds of them.
Some I had missed.
I said before that I am constantly missing my people. My small-town.
But now I understand who else I’ve been missing: myself, with my feelings.
And that’s the first person I need to find.
Myself in the piano’s melody.