by E. L. Giles
Dolores bursts out laughing. I don’t know if I should feel relieved, insulted, or plain stupid for asking. “We’re not in Kamcala, honey,” she says, patting the top of my hand. “Besides, Alastair and I sleep in the same bed too. There’s nothing wrong about that.”
I didn’t even know Alastair slept here, but I guess he has to sleep somewhere. I wonder if Dolores and Alastair are lovers…or something like that. I don’t know if it’s too personal to ask. It feels personal to me, so I don’t ask, and I turn my attention elsewhere.
“Will my nightmares go away?” I ask, remembering the reason Josh and I slept in the same bed in the first place.
“They will lessen with time, but I fear they never go away entirely,” she says. “Mine still wake me sometimes. I imagine they get us, imagine they catch Josh and they—” She inhales deeply, and we stare at each other for a moment, saying nothing. I search her eyes. They have paled a bit, and I notice strands of brown over the green rings circling her pupils. Depending on how the light hits them, it’s as if they change color. They’re amazing. I’d like to have them instead of my plain hazel ones.
Dolores drifts, lost in reverie. She still looks at me but without really seeing me. She sighs, breaking the silence and filling it with a feeling of sorrow that I can’t quite explain. She may not be aware of it, but she’s peeling off the paper around the upper-right corner of the book.
“I’ve always wondered if people have always been this intolerant to others’ differences.” Dolores expresses her disgust with a grimace. “I can’t imagine a world where Josh couldn’t be accepted. It’s...” She stops, the anger in her words making her clench her teeth. I understand her hatred. I feel it, boiling and raging deep inside of me.
“I think there’s no place for us period,” I say through my own gritted teeth.
Us. This little society I now feel I belong to, yes, but also the us that is unknown and that frightens me. The us that is Josh and me.
+++
“Where did he go?” I ask Dolores. I’d grown used to seeing Alastair every morning, but for two weeks he has been noticeably absent.
“He left on a hunting trip. He spotted some deer, and I think he wanted Josh to come with him.” The door of the bedroom creaks open, and Josh steps out, yawning. “I guess he changed his mind.” She smiles as she stares at Josh. She looks younger when she smiles.
Josh crosses to the dining room, the same way he has done every morning since he came back. The folds of the pillows are still imprinted on his face. He grants us a radiant smile and starts washing his face over the kitchen sink. Some might find it boring to watch someone else perform their morning ritual, but not me, not with Josh. I still find it fascinating, even after having watched him for nearly a month, that he and I share so many similarities. In fact, everything about Josh is fascinating, from his peculiar sense of humor to the way he uses it to make me feel better when the ghosts of my past in Kamcala threaten to overwhelm me. With a hand brushing my cheek and the way he looks at me like there is nothing else that exists, I instantly feel better. Just the power of his closeness, the nightmares feel far, out of my reach, and the warmth of his body makes me feel that no winter will ever be cold enough to diminish this fire.
“We’ll go out for the day,” says Josh, striding past us to the tall closet next to the stairwell.
“And may I know who we is and where we are going?” asks Dolores. Her eyes are fixed on Josh, who scans the piles of clothes and other things that fill the closet. He brings out his bow, which has all sorts of weird gears and gauges attached to it. Alastair said that he’d found it here, in this house. It is unbelievable how many little treasures Alastair has dug up over the years.
“Lisa and me,” says Josh, turning to me. “If you’d like, of course. There’s a place I’d like to show you.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for Alastair to come back?” I turn to Dolores. Maybe she doesn’t want to be left alone.
“You’re sweet, but don’t worry. I’m used to it,” she says. “If they’re not hunting or chopping wood, then they are hanging out in the wild. I prefer the quiet of the house and the heat from the fire.”
There’s a touch of fatigue in her voice as she speaks. Maybe we should stay with her. I don’t feel like she wants us to go, but at the same time, I do want to see the place that Josh wants to show me. Heat flames my cheeks as I realize that Josh and I will be alone, together and far away from anyone else—unless the place he wants to show me is in the backyard. The thought makes me giddy and twists my stomach as I see us in my mind, walking hand in hand. I can feel his warmth and see his lips. I can practically taste his lips…
My skin feels as if it has caught fire. I need to suppress a nervous cry from escaping.
“But you won’t leave before we eat breakfast,” Dolores says. “Okay?”
“Fair enough,” says Josh, smiling.
Dolores leaves the house and comes back a few minutes later with a box full of fresh eggs and vegetables she’s gathered from the backyard. Dolores and I prepare the meal while Josh fills a bag with some food and clothes, and I think I catch a glimpse of a blanket, though I don’t understand the need for one. Before I sit down at the table, which now holds several plates of steaming cooked eggs and vegetables, I decide to put the book in the bag Josh has dropped beside the door. We can surely find time to read at some point during the trip, right? I hope so. I’m nearing the end of the story, and I must resist opening it right now to finish it.
Both Dolores and I eat two eggs and a generous portion of vegetables, but Josh eats five whole eggs and two full plates of vegetables. I’m surprised he doesn’t lick the food off the plate, and I’m pretty sure he’ll be hungry again in less than an hour. I’ve never seen anyone with such an appetite—though I’ve never seen anyone eat more than their regular portioned meal.
“You think I have enough time for a shower?” I ask as Josh clears the table and puts the dishes in the sink.
“Sure,” says Dolores. “Josh will have cleaned the dishes by then.” She shoves Josh toward the sink as she passes behind him. It’s the first time Josh doesn’t grumble at the chore of washing dishes. He hates it. Personally, I don’t mind. It’s quite relaxing.
I turn to the little bathroom situated behind the living room. Within this bathroom is something that, of all the things I have seen, is my absolute favorite: the shower system. Alastair created it from his mind…or was inspired to create it after one of his trips to a nearby abandoned city. I can’t remember which one he mentioned.
The rainwater is accumulated and stored in a plastic tank outside, which is connected to a system of black pipes laid across the roof of the house. A solar-powered pump propels the water into the piping circuit that is warmed by the sun. All we have to do is turn on the main valve on the back wall of the shower—that’s it—and then the water comes out through an old plastic showerhead in a soft spray. In the winter, Alastair says he disconnects the piping and brings the tank inside. They boil water and fill the tank with it, then use a faucet like the one in the kitchen to pump the water from the tank up to the shower head. That way they get hot water all year long while we, in Kamcala, had to endure the misery of only getting hot water when the heating system dared to work.
I wash in a hurry, scrubbing my body with the lavender soap Dolores makes out of wood ash, grease, and lavender plants. I then turn off the main valve, and the water slowly stops. Before I step out of the shower cubicle, I grab a clean towel that hangs on the hook behind the shower curtain. I wrap the towel around my body and over my breasts. It reaches my knees. I’m not comfortable enough to show myself naked, and the moment I open the bathroom door, I hurry to the bedroom, and I close the door behind me. I pick up a pale red dress Dolores gave to me. It’s too small for her but too large for me. Dolores is a bit taller and thicker than I am.
“So, we’re going to be out for the day—maybe more,” Josh says to me as I step out of the bedroom. He carries the bag on his b
ack and has a hand stretched out, palm up. I take it, and we head to the door.
“Be careful,” Dolores says. “I love you—both of you.”
I nearly stumble on my way out. Did she say she loved me? I don’t know how to react or what to say. I just smile.
We step through the doorway and climb down the stairs. I still have these bursts of heat that radiate through my cheeks and skin. I steal glimpses of Josh from the corner of my eye. How can he stay this relaxed and composed? Am I the only one whose heart is racing like it’s about to burst out of my chest? Am I the only one whose back is sweating? Am I the only one whose sight feels blurry, who feels lightheaded?
I try to focus on ordinary things like the trees that surround us, the wind that blows the leaves around, and the cawing of crows, which I hate more than anything. It’s such an annoying sound, and I feel they always make more noise when it’s going to be rainy or when it’s about to storm.
After what seems like an endless walk, we finally stop by a gigantic maple tree with wide branches. We sit under it, our backs against its trunk, and enjoy the shade. There’s a soft, cool breeze on my burning skin, and as I raise my eyes, I notice gray clouds are slowly gathering in the sky.
Josh brings out the wild berries we gathered on our way here and drops them on a leaf between us. We don’t talk much as we lie there eating. The silence feels neither heavy nor uncomfortable though. It feels natural to me, and the moments spent this way are perfect. I look at Josh a few times from the corner of my eye and notice he too is looking at me. But when I turn my head toward him, he turns his head away like he’s shy.
As I reach for a berry, our hands meet, and I forget about the fruit. Instead, I lace my fingers through his, and we lock them together. I feel my heartbeat in my fingers and my hands, and there’s this urge that pushes me to move closer to him. I don’t hesitate. I trust this impulse. I want to know what it leads to, and it’s too strong for me to resist anyway. I slide myself closer until I feel his warmth radiating into me. He nervously stretches out an arm, inviting me to come even closer. How can I resist? That’s what I was hoping for. I get closer still and bury my face in his neck. I feel his heart beating there.
I thought he was composed and relaxed earlier, but I was wrong. His heart is racing just like mine is. His fingers shake, sweat covers the palms of his hands, and his entire body feels almost feverish. Is he nervous? I tilt my head back and stare at his jawline, following it to his lips. I remember those lips on my forehead many days ago. They still look so inviting. I want to touch them. And as the thought of his lips on mine passes through my mind with a burst of heat that spreads across my cheeks, he turns his head toward me, and our lips meet.
I back away for a second, my body stiff as I stare at him. He looks as surprised as I am. I guess he doesn’t know what to do any more than I do. What just happened? And what’s that sudden dryness in my throat? Whatever it is, I want to get back to his lips. I pull my head closer and press my lips to his again.
There are too many emotions that race through me in this moment and I can’t keep up with all of them. How is it possible to feel them all at once without going totally crazy? My body trembles with nervousness as the world around us disappears. It’s only him and me. His hand slips through my hair, and mine caresses the back of his neck. Mouths open, our tongues clashing against each other in a gentle dance, we breathe the same air, and there’s nothing else that matters. It’s not blood that runs through my veins now, but electricity. Is this what this is supposed to feel like?
“I can’t believe I would have missed this for the rest of my life,” I say against his lips.
“You liked it, then? I mean—I wasn’t bad or anything?” he says, worry in his voice as he arches both eyebrows. I’ve come to learn that he does this every time he’s apprehensive or worried.
“Are you kidding? I’m still shaking.”
He smiles, showing a row of straight teeth. His cheeks rise as he does, creasing the skin under his eyes. This smile makes me melt inside.
“I think we should go,” he says, pointing toward the skies.
The clouds I noticed earlier have turned black with the promise of a storm. The breeze is chillier now, rustling through the leaves, and it makes me shiver.
“I hope this was worth it to you, considering the storm that’s coming,” I tease and playfully shove him. Well, I try to shove him, but his body is like a rock, and he doesn’t move even an inch. He flaps a wing next to me, and bursts out laughing as I almost fall over. At first, I feel insulted a bit, but can’t resist his contagious laugh.
“Hurry up, before we get soaked to the bone.”
He stretches out a hand, and I take it before we head back to the trail we came from. The sun is beginning to set, and the air is cold now, but there’s a fire burning in me, setting my skin ablaze.
Part Three
Chapter Nineteen
I stop in the middle of a grassy opening, speechless. The words I want to express as I stand at the foot of a broad stairway evaporate in my mouth. There’s a tall brick building before me, with doubled arched doors and windows that share the same arched design. And there’s a square tower at the top of the wall ending in a sharp-angled, green roof that reminds me of rusted copper. At the top of the roof stands a…I don’t even know what it’s called. It’s a vertical bar, crossed perpendicularly by another bar, like the lower-case letter t. I don’t know what it is, so I call it a tee. There’s also an addition to the back of the building, made from wood instead of the grey brick that the main building is composed of. Most of the expansion has collapsed under its own weight, but the main structure seems quite solid.
I walk around it, avoiding the rubble of the fallen addition, and notice that the glass windows have a pattern through them, made of iron, and the glass itself is tinted with bright yellows, greens, reds, and blues.
Beside the building are the remains of a house’s foundation—an entire roof, doors, and other wreckage cover the ground around it. In some places, we see the remains of an ancient paved road, fallen street signs, and other things that make me think this place was once populated. How many other sites like this exist?
“Alastair found this place years ago,” Josh says as he walks past me to the front of the tall brick building. “You seemed so interested in the stories of his exploration, and I thought you’d like it.”
“It’s…I…” I start. I still can’t express myself. I’m stunned. “Can we go in?”
“I don’t think we have any other choice,” he says.
Light raindrops begin to fall on my head, and I realize the sky has turned entirely black with clouds. Thunder rumbles in the distance. In the lapse of a second, I see myself back at the Justice building, waiting for the bus to take me to the Retirement Center. No, I can’t let Kamcala ruin this moment. I concentrate on what stands before me. The wind abruptly changes direction, blowing more northern gusts over us, chilling me to the bone.
We run up the stairs of the building, taking them two at a time. Josh looks agile, but I miss a step and stumble over my feet, and as I’m about to fall, Josh grabs hold of my arm and stops me from hitting the sharp cement stairs.
“Thanks,” I say, panting, my heart still racing from the rush of adrenaline. I need to calm down and be less distracted.
Be less distracted…I’m running through an abandoned building, deep in the wild, alone with Josh. It’s not that I’m afraid. It’s more like, okay, I won’t lie to myself, I am afraid, but it’s not terror I feel. It’s more like apprehension, anxiety, excitement, and compulsion that makes me wonder what’s about to happen. Is it the fact that I want to run to Josh and bury myself in his arms that makes me shiver? Is it about the intimate moments we’ve shared since we kissed? Am I afraid to let myself be overtaken by this intimacy, the same kind of intimacy that cost Anna her life only a short time ago? Is it the unknown? Is this how things are supposed to work from now on?
I stand under the porch waitin
g for Josh to open the tall, wooden door. It takes him a few seconds before he manages to widen the gap enough so that we can slip through. Once inside, Josh closes the door behind us with a creaking noise as a wall of rain descends over the entry and splashes at our feet.
The first thing I notice is the stench of rot that fills the air and makes me wrinkle my nose, but after a moment, I get used to it. As I concentrate on the surroundings, I notice Josh isn’t by my side anymore. I squint into the open space but don’t see him anywhere. Then I hear a knocking sound, and sparks temporarily illuminate Josh’s face, crouched beside a pile of rocks set in a circle. Soon, the sparks turn into flames that grow and cast halos of light across the high arched ceiling, the stunning woodwork on the walls, the frescos, and statues that depict things I have never seen before. They are impressively beautiful in the light from the fire.
One of the frescos depicts a bearded, long-haired man who stands among sheep. Strangely, the man makes me think of Josh—the beard aside since Josh only has a little scruff on his cheeks and along his jawline. The man in the painting looks more like Alastair. Another painting shows a woman cradling a baby in her arms like…a mother? Is this what it looks like then?
There is a stage against the back wall of the building, and on it is a strange sculpture. The bearded man with long hair whom I saw among the sheep in the painting now appears nailed to the tee I saw outside. He wears what looks like a studded crown on his head, and blood flows down over his face where the studs appear to dig into his skin. Blood also flows from his palms and his feet where nails pierce his body. There is a gash across his side that bleeds as well. The pain on his face makes me shudder. I wonder if this is the kind of thing people of the ancient world did. The threat of the whip or even the gallows seems mild compared to such barbarism. I look away to find more pleasant sights like the crackling fire or Josh.
I walk carefully through the wide, debris-strewn space until I get to Josh. The fire feels invigorating, bringing warmth to my cold muscles. The humidity moistens my skin. The smell of burning wood brings the memory of being home.
