8. Olly
EIGHT
OLLY
That night, I fell asleep feeling almost lulled to sleep by the waves at sea. My dreams, however, did not want to be peaceful tonight. Or perhaps there is no grand design, and I simply had a shitty night’s rest.
“We’ve got to get her under control, Charlie!
” my mother, Beatrice, had cried, echoing through my mind.
The rest was a memory lost in a river called My Childhood, affording me only peeks into the past as the memories rushed by and entered the vast ocean inside me.
It was an ocean so deep that I could not see anything from the surface save for the shadows or vague outlines of enormous creatures slowly swimming.
I believe they swam with my memories, and whenever I faced emotional upheaval, it was akin to the movements of these creatures swimming erratically or finding themselves lost. I knew this was just a visualization technique that explained my emotional world, but it felt like more than that.
I mean, psychically, when I would dive, I could feel shifts in the temperature around me.
I could touch the animals and feel their massive heartbeats.
I trusted them completely, and I liked to think that in the ocean inside me, these large and monstrous creatures were not the thieves of my memories, but their guardians—bringers of balance and peace to my mind.
I'd never told anyone about the theory, but I knew that somewhere down the pipe, someone older than me told me about this, and I thought it was so splendiferous that I made it part of how I handled anxiety, stress, loneliness, or even anger.
So, was it helpful, or harmful, to tell a little girl that her mind was an ocean, and she had giants swimming around in it?
I honestly had no idea because it was such a strange concept that my imagination took it and ran with it.
And why was all of this coming to the forefront now?
I think it had everything to do with the black-haired, green-eyed chivalrous man I had just met.
What would he think if I told him that imaginary creatures in my brain were swimming gracefully, peacefully, and even happily as evidenced by their song?
That it was such an outpouring of joy that I couldn't even begin to know how to shut it off, as it were, even if I wanted to, which I did not.
I knew that some of them were joyous because of the baby and did not want me to give it up.
The rest? That was a bit harder to face because it had to do with my new coworker.
But how the hell was I supposed to know what my feelings toward Clark were, and what they meant?
This was why I needed more friends other than just Shepard, so I'd have someone else to go to when shit hit the proverbial fan.
I had considered Gemma Diaz a friend, but look at what happened there!
Dead! That revelation was like a punch to the gut.
Ugh, why were friendships so complicated?
And I wasn't even going to circle back and touch on romantic relationships because that was a whole other nest of snakes.
I thought that children were supposed to learn interpersonal skills from their parents or caregivers, classmates, and teachers.
Something told me that I had a less-than-conventional childhood if I was twenty-nine and these things were coming up now.
But wait! Thomas. He had been my best friend, caregiver, brother, and teacher all rolled up into one.
How could I have forgotten about Thomas, even momentarily in a dream?
I wanted to go to the East River Beach in my mind and sink my toes into the sand while the sun beat down on me, and Thomas examined an interesting rock or seashell.
He could listen to me talk for hours, and he always had some good advice to give.
I wondered when I didn't initiate a visit to him, or he to me, just where Thomas was and what did he do all day?
I suppose I could just ask him, but it seemed too invasive.
He seemed to be trapped forever in the year of the accident as an eighteen-year-old boy, whereas I had surpassed him years ago.
I was moving forward in life, and he was left behind in a place that I thought only I could reach and only the lost souls I called “visitors” lived.
I didn’t know it then, but inside me, way down in the depths of the deepest trench in my inner world, the kraken stirred.
My body was changing due to the pregnancy slowly in some respects, and in others, it seemed to alter overnight.
I still didn’t have a baby bump that was visible to anyone else, owing to my already generous figure, unlike my teen pregnancy when even early on, despite being curvaceous, I’d looked like I had swallowed a watermelon and most of my classmates couldn’t seem to keep their hands off it.
This pregnancy was different in other ways, too.
As the leaves changed colour and my favorite season set in, I felt an odd flutter at work one day that made me panic, which I concealed until Clark went out to the copy machine.
As soon as he was gone, Gemma Diaz waltzed into my office in a fabulous red blazer and skirt combo, to assure me in her no-nonsense Newfoundlander way that everything was fine.
With Maya, she seemed to just start playing soccer one day inside me, the kicking undeniable, but this was more like a moth was inside me, and I could feel the flutter of its wings, ever so gently, and earlier than I had expected.
I thanked Gemma, and as I started sweating on my forehead in surprise, I politely asked her to leave before Clark returned, and she just kind of went... poof.
Then there was Clark. It was getting harder to push aside my attraction and feelings for him, which had immediately been amicable, then had blossomed into friendship, and now hung on a rail of being something more.
Something with the potential to destroy my career and change my life forever.
That was it. I decided that even though it was just almost two weeks, it was time for Clark to leave the extra workspace in my office and join the rest of the team at the workstations on the main floor.
I had started drawing again daily, and my first piece in ages featured… guess what? A pink gown and a red cape. My parents? And why would I be drawing them—did they disapprove of Clark from wherever they were?
Another week passed quickly, and even though I tried to slow things down with Clark so as not to give him the wrong impression, I found myself on a walk with him today.
We had bumped into each other in the lobby coffee shop, and I was beginning to see the perils of living next to each other.
“So just one jump in the teleporter for the rest of my life?” I asked as we enjoyed the Public Gardens.
“Well, if that isn't the easiest question I've ever heard. And here I thought you were going to challenge me.” I loved the gardens at this time of year.
Nothing like their splendor at the peak blooming season, but quieter, less foot traffic, and more time to appreciate the simple things, like the little break we were going to take at the public chess tables.
No one was ever at them when I came through, anyway, so I thought our chances of getting one were rather high.
Clark pointed at the duck that was about to waddle in front of us, probably so I didn’t trip over the poor creature. I made a proper “quack quack” noise, and it waddled off the gravel path and back into the pond.
“Cut the crap, McLeod. The place. Are you just buying time or what?”
I grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “Nope, I just expected something a bit more difficult, that's all. Ooh, look how red that is!” I pointed at what I thought was a stunning Japanese maple. “The only correct answer to your question is, from my point of view, the Central Desert in the Australian Outback. I’ve been there before, but I’d gladly go again.
We walked through some beautiful places there, Shepard and I, and thank goodness we were in the off-season, because I wouldn’t want it to be crowded.
Actually, the day we went to Kata Tjuta we were the only visitors there, us and our guide.
We hiked a bit, just in areas our guide told us it was permitted, and then watched the full sunset.
Just when you think nothing can get more beautiful, like those rocks turning from red to pink to orange, you look up, and the lack of light pollution means you’ve got the most beautiful view of the night sky anyone could ask for. ”
Clark was quiet for a moment. “So if right now, you could go into a transporter and go anywhere on the planet, that’s where you’d go. A desert with venomous snakes, tarantulas, scorpions the size of a small cat that will charge at you, and searing-hot temperatures?”
I laughed. “I got to ride a camel? Okay, so you, then. Where?”
“Do you dive?” he asked, having no idea what that question meant to me.
I braced myself. “You mean scuba or snorkel?”
“Scuba,” he said, as I stopped by the chess tables.
“I’m honestly too scared. I get claustrophobic easily, and I’m also afraid I’d forget myself and what I was supposed to do and wind up drowning.
I’ve almost drowned twice, when I was a kid, and those experiences left their mark.
” I didn’t tell him about my inner ocean, and the fact that I didn’t need to breathe underwater there.
I was pretty sure the near-drownings were responsible for that.
The ability to free dive and never worry about anything other than going too deep into the darkness in which goddess knew what lingered.
“That’s...understandable. Well, mine would be to Palau, to the freshwater jelly habitat. Jellyfish Lake on Eil Malk Island, if we’re going for specificity. No natural predators, so no stingers. Just you and a zillion jellies, and I can’t wait until I get to go someday.”
We sat down at one of the chess tables, and I opened my bag, bringing out a ziplock with chess pieces. They had belonged to my grandfather, so I took care of them, and they would be cleaned and put back in their box when we got home.
I thought it over, and nodded at Clark. “I’ve seen Palau on some nature channel. It looks gorgeous. I would research the time of year when there is a lull in tourists, and just go as soon as you’ve accumulated enough vacation days. You never know what could happen to throw a wrench in your dreams.”
“Good advice, wise one. Now, before we commence on this field of battle, I just want to reiterate that my movie choices were awesome. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade still kicks some major ass. And if you look at that original trilogy together, well…that’s just a damn great bit of storytelling.
Or hell, what about the Lord of the Rings trilogy?
I’m not changing my answer, but all thirteen hours of the special editions are worth a weekend.
Even you’ve got to admit that.” He lined up his white pieces on the board, while I finished up with the black.
“Well, you’re not wrong on that last bit there. I pop those movies on when I want to concentrate on work, actually.”
Clark let out a noise that could only be described as a snort, but I didn’t get any bad vibes from him, more just amused ones. “It’s too bad we couldn’t bring Becky. She’d love it in here.”
I made a noise of agreement as I advanced a pawn two spaces.
The first time I asked Clark if I could take her with me on a walk up to the nearest dog park and back, he said sure and put on his running shoes.
I didn't know if he just didn't trust me with his dog that day, but I kept my mouth shut and away the three of us went, me holding Becky’s leash. That'd also become something of a standing tradition between us, now. I had forgotten how much I wanted a dog of my own. If there ever came a time when I let Clark in on my secret psychic abilities, I would ask him if I could try to “talk” to Becky. Considering I didn’t know how she would handle that, I’d need to get his permission first. Maybe one day.
Because Becky and I had become, as I predicted, firm friends.
As had Clark and I, which I would say was a little strange, considering how just a month or so ago I had been mulling over the idea of friendship in general and my lack in that department.
Now there were movies at home with Clark, takeout from little restaurants one of us would find.
Bingeing great shows like Schitt’s Creek and shouting at the television screen during the finale of Game of Thrones, which neither of us had seen when it first aired.
We almost always stayed in, though, because I think we both knew we were doing something wrong.
Or rather, I was. I needed to admit that there was possibly more than friendship on the line and go to human resources.
Like, ASAP. I kept dragging my feet, though, because I wasn’t sure how Clark felt, and opening up my mind to his leaky thoughts seemed wrong, now that I did consider him a friend.
I knew he found me attractive and enjoyed my company—he hadn’t been able to stop that from broadcasting a bit louder than everything else—but attraction and acting on it were two different things.
And considering he had never acted on it, I wasn’t going to assume anything.
After Clark had taken a thorough trouncing in the chess game, we returned to his place for leftover takeout and some quiet.
“Hey, Clark?” I said, adjusting myself in the recliner and closing my eyes for a moment.
“If I get up before this chair eats me, we should clean up and refresh our drinks. There’s something I want to talk to you about.
” I meant keeping proper boundaries between us as coworkers and friends, but I caught something surprising practically shouting in the silence, and Clark looking at me like a scared housecat.
“Gods, she can’t have heard what I was thinking just then. Fuck, how much I want to take that red hair in my hands and pull her to me, kiss her stupid, and touch her curves everywhere, lay her down on my bed and—”
Shocked, I stopped, then got out of my chair at the same time Clark rose from the couch.
We just stared at each other, and all ideas I had of shutting this down flew the coop because I didn’t realize how far gone he really was.
Or I was, as the sensual thoughts took root in my own mind, and I realized what a fool I had been about everything having to do with Clark and me.
“Olly—”
“Clark—”
One corner of my mouth rose in amusement, and that seemed enough to set Clark at ease and embolden him all at once. He stepped forward, and I didn’t back away until it was almost too late.