Chapter 61
Ella
Wednesday
There were these beautiful flowers, still, on my wooden kitchen table.
In front of the half-open window, bathed in bright sunshine.
Half in the light and half in the dark, the blue of the tiny petals is mesmerizing, reminiscent of the shade of blue on the horizon sea at the end of a summer day — the one I used to say would be the color of my wedding dress one day.
The light passes through the white petals, and they offer no resistance in their transformation to transparency.
Often, too often, life speeds us up. It makes the outside blurry. We end up making little stops between the passage of one thought and the embarkation on another. I always took a lot of notice of everything and everyone around me. That’s how I used to be.
Two months ago, when I moved away from Verryn, I found myself with months missing from my so-called “daily journal”, and it was a frightening realization. I hadn’t even been paying attention to my own thoughts.
But here I am, focused, as immobile as the flowers, simply writing about them. Finally.
Yesterday I bought a few things at Evermere’s local fair to make this country house even more of a home to me, my sister helped me pick them out.
Although now I realize that I already used the words “going home” before when I was referring to this space of mine here in Evermere.
For some reason, I never referred to Bill’s apartment as “home”.
This is home. I’m not in Evermere because I have to be. I’m here because I want to. Not for a man in my life, not for a parental figure, not for a boss in some job, not for any duty imposed on me. For me. It’s for me. And it feels liberating to make a decision like that, for myself.
On Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays I catch the train back to the city to spend the day at the Research Institute, and at the Elmwood Center.
I had a conversation with my boss, Dr. Curie.
She was truly supportive. I assured her that I was willing to come in as many days a week as she would consider logical.
She said that our jobs require constant learning, a lot of discipline, and commitment to the patients, and that she believes more in votes of confidence than in extreme control.
By the end of our conversation, I wasn’t sure if I was asking for her permission, letting her know, or sitting there listening to her convince me to do it.
I’ve been realizing that the balance between these two worlds has been good for my soul. Verryn and Evermere.
Like on the first Wednesday I came home from the city.
The day I sat down to play the piano in its new home.
An old piano placed in a new corner, one that had never been its own before.
I sat down, as if trying to apologize for the distance I had created, for the sadness that had led both of us to abandon our once-familiar place.
I played, lost myself in the notes, and for a moment, I forgot we were no longer where we used to be, and it felt right to be where we were.
Carried away by the music to our old days, our forever home.
Evermere. Tears welled up in my eyes, but not a single one fell as I stood there in silence, broken only by the sound of the piano.
I have decided to buy a movie camera. Nothing professional. An older model I had passed by and observed several times in a shop window. You can say it was anything but an impulsive buy.
I have always paid close attention when I’m behind a camera.
Last week, I climbed up the trunk of a tree to watch the sun set into the sea. When I placed my hand on a branch, I noticed that it seemed to have the shape of a wave drawn into it. It felt unreal. Had someone else climbed the same tree, or was it just nature sketching symbols of its own?
A few weeks ago, I sat in the sand on a gray, cloud-filled day, and cried.
I didn’t know exactly why, it felt like many whys, all at once, but it was instant, necessary.
When I stood up to leave, two rainbows stretched behind me, enormous, arching from one end of the beach dunes to the other.
The sun went down, and the clouds lit up in a pink so intense I don’t think I could ever describe it.
I’m convinced it was the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen.
We can choose to believe, or not, that signs and chance carry meaning.
But the truth is: some things are simply astonishing, and there must be a connection between us and the nature that surrounds us, that looks after us.
It’s worth paying close attention to this connection.
When I’m behind my camera, capturing moments, I really am paying attention. I’m present.
Even those of us who are clumsy and forgetful, or head-in-the-clouds — the ones who accidentally store napkins in the fridge while clearing the table — should pay attention to the right things. Because I believe that’s a big part of what it means to live.
To notice a wave breaking. To mark the night when the moon is full. To see the colors in the sky as the sun sets and slips to the other side of the world. To stand at a high point and look out over a view, watching the thousands of little lights that blink on as darkness falls.
I don’t know. I like noticing the flowers, the stars, the shells in the sand. But each of us notices more closely the things we feel most connected to.
Last night, I went to my mother’s house to share with my siblings some short films, little moments I captured on my camera when I was paying attention.
To the nature around me;
To the smiles of my people;
To strangers in their parallel lives;
Among other beautiful things.
I wish Miles had seen this.
That’s a thought that’s passed through my mind a lot these last weeks.
Six days ago, I walked inside the music room at the Youth Club. Those four walls felt very Miles. I had endless flashes of memory from every time I sat there to listen to him play an instrument, or every time I went there looking for him and witnessed his deep concentration on the music.
I thought that part of me missed those old days, but the truth is that all of me misses him entirely, more than I miss the old us.
In a way, being in the company of 27-year-old Miles felt exactly the same as being in the company of 17-year-old Miles. Easy, familiar, safe, fun, real, like stepping into our truest selves.
But what about the sense of being under a spell cast by his eyes? The way he pulls me into a bubble and makes the world disappear? The way I keep wishing he wouldn’t leave? What about the butterflies? The nervous kind of attraction? The pull toward him?
Isn’t that contradictory?
The newness beneath it all.
I feel the urge to walk over to my sister’s house, to sit in her kitchen and sort through this out loud, to examine it the way we’ve done with so many other things in life. But Mira is traveling with Leonard.
My sister and Leonard go on a big trip to a different place in Portugal every year to celebrate their love. A new destination each time and always the same excitement.
My dad lives with my stepmother, a woman whose hand fits perfectly in his, who laughs easily with him and gets his personality. Like the right lid finally found for the right pot.
My brothers have been talking about girls, about working up the courage and offering them flowers. My brother Simon has been saving all his allowance for expensive, thoughtful gifts for a girl, as if he’s already ready to be an adult in love.
My mom has been seeing a guy she hasn’t introduced to any of her children yet. But she’s been going out at the weekends for long nights of dancing and coming home with her heels in one hand, sneaking in after dark, as if she’s been swept up in a teenage kind of love.
Yesterday, Mr. Cofrino, who works at the bank, told me that he left his wife because she had a deep dream of working abroad with humanitarian missions. He said he realized their paths didn’t lead to the same place and that he made the decision “out of love”.
Letting go because of love, not the absence of it.
Acting grown-up because of love.
Feeling young because of love.
What is love?