Chapter 51 #2
Quill pointed to the stool in front of the workbench with the pieces of wood.
“As long as no one misses you inside.”
I placed the sawed piece of wood on the table beside her before moving the wooden plank further to saw the next measured piece.
“I said I was going for a walk. The others are completely absorbed in their game. They argued about which team I would play on.” Quill snorted with a smile. “Not knowing how bad I am at games. Maybe you want to help them.”
“Just so you know, I lose every single one of those games,” I clarified, and she raised both eyebrows, leaning her elbow on the workbench. “I’m not perfect, Quill. But I know you think I am because I’ve achieved so many things in life that are highly valued in this society.”
She stared at me. Two seconds longer than I was able to hold her gaze like a sane person without losing myself in her eyes, which was why I tried again to focus on the piece of wood.
“You're better at adapting than I am. That's what has allowed you to survive this long.”
Desperately, I sawed the piece to size.
How could she always know me better than I knew myself? All the things I had suppressed for years, she dug them out of my head as if it were a toy box.
To survive. What kind of lives did we both live that survival seemed to be the only thing in bold on our to-do list?
“About what you said earlier...” I lowered the saw, turned the cut piece of wood out of the vise, and took it to the workbench. “Quill.” I hesitated, looked at her searchingly, trying hard not to touch her wrist, and it killed me. “One day, you will be forty.”
It was more of a plea than a statement.
She stared back. And for a moment, I was overcome with the same nervousness I had felt the night we met. Then the right corner of her mouth curled up and that sparkle I longed to capture settled in her eyes.
“And you'll be sixty.”
Now I was the one staring.
Until now, she had always made me forget our age difference. With ease. But for the first time, it hung palpably between us, making me squint my eyes and go back to the unsawn wood.
“You're mean.”
Even though I tried to focus on the saw, I could literally feel her grin.
She was doing that more often lately. Teasing me, playfully trying to get under my skin. And the fact that I enjoyed it was just as painful as the fact that I would never again taste her lips, which were now stretched into that goddamn smile.
I swallowed and sawed faster. Harder.
“I'm naively hopeful. But you?” An amused snort. “You're idealistic. What am I supposed to do for another twenty years on this desolate earth?”
When I turned around, she had one of the pieces of wood in her hand, along with a piece of sandpaper, and was rubbing the splintered edges smooth, her gaze focused on the wood.
“Travel the world.”
There were countless things I wanted to list, but I stopped myself as more memories of our first encounter came flooding back.
I didn’t need to mention the thousand reasons that hadn’t managed to keep me on this earth. She had had one. That night. And something told me she was clinging to it.
Youth
Daughter
“I always thought I wanted to travel the world, that there was so much to discover, that somewhere out there I would find the piece of the puzzle that would fit the hole deep inside me.”
A sad smile appeared on her lips.
“My first and last boyfriend took me to Southern Europe two summers ago on a city trip that his parents had given us as a gift.”
Curious to hear how the story continued, I sat down and began sanding one of the wooden squares as well.
“I thought I would enjoy it, but as soon as I got there, I had to endure days of walking through crowded streets. My head was spinning. So many colors, movements, people, smells, sounds, new impressions... It was as if I was being forced to live in the moment, while my head was begging me to stand still, to reflect, to process. My boyfriend wanted to explore everything in the shortest possible time, tick everything off his list, take in as much as possible, get everything out of this trip so that it would be worth the money.”
Her hand movements became faster.
“But I, the overly sensitive one, ruined the trip for him, retreating to the hotel room whenever I could to write, faking stomachaches and telling him to go alone. And God, I admired him for never being tired or exhausted, for never even being overwhelmed, while I jumped from one culture shock to another.”
Her eyes looked glassy as she hastily rubbed the wood until she had rubbed a hole into the sandpaper.
I handed her a new one and turned the music down a little so I could hear her better.
“That's why I have panic attacks in shopping malls, why I own ten sweaters of the same color, why I rip the skin off my fingers. This world overwhelms me, Davian.”
The despair in her eyes pushed me to my limits. And if she hadn't pressed her lips together into a sad smile the next moment, I wouldn't have been able to hold back any longer.
“My ex wanted to do a lot with me, wanted to travel from one country to another, meet as many people as possible, start a family as soon as possible, and have lots of children.”
She shook her head, and even I felt overwhelmed by her description.
“After the trip, his parents invited us to their house and told me that their son would soon be studying at Yale.
Economics. I wouldn't have to work hard, should wait for him, finish school, and they would organize the wedding. They really meant well, had always been hospitable... But at that moment, it was as if I had seen my future flash before my eyes. That was the evening I broke up with him.”
Her ex's parents reminded me of Lily's parents, who had tried to arrange a marriage between Lily and me and had succeeded. Except that Lily had had big career goals and wanted to study business. She had never wanted children. But we had been too careless.
I was glad that Quill had never entered into that marriage. It could have ruined her life.
“Your first boyfriend didn’t seem to care about your needs.”
Hadn't wanted to make her a priority. But I didn't voice the thought, because boys that age were restless, searching, impulsive, often unintentionally reckless, and found it difficult to make sacrifices for things that meant something to them, sacrifices like the ones Quill deserved.
She slowed down, sanding more precisely again, just like me.
“He was nice, really wanted to try. But you know... Writers seem to be incapable of relationships.”
“We just need someone who speaks the same language as us.”
I bit my tongue.
How thoughtless I could be sometimes...
Her gaze was now on me, but I didn't dare look up, instead trying to change the subject.
“I'm sure there are places in this world you want to discover.”
I looked up, raised an eyebrow, and she broke out of her stare, put the piece of wood aside, and began sanding another one.
I checked her wound and was relieved to see that she was wearing the two Band-Aids I had left on the bathroom cabinet earlier.
Hopefully, she wasn't in pain.
“The Pacific Northwest. Canada. Somewhere in the woods, by a mountain lake. No people. Silence. A lake cabin with a pointed roof, a campfire site, a boat dock.”