I rolled my eyes. “It’s fine, Theory. We don’t need to talk about every single little thing that happens. That’s exhausting.”
“It’s exhausting to whom? I’m the one offering fix what I may have damaged.”
“I’m fine, I said. Can we please not obsess over this and just sweep it under the rug? I hate conflict.”
“Sam, conflict doesn’t always have to be scary or ugly. A conflict is an opportunity to learn something about yourself or the other person.”
I sighed as loud as I could and landed hard in a chair nearby. “Oh my God, Theory. Seriously!”
“Seriously, Sam. If you let little stuff go, it turns into big stuff unnecessarily. Come on, this is how we learn about one another.”
I closed my eyes trying to contain my irritation. She really wasn’t going to let this go. Maybe I should just let her apologize and get it over with. Before I could give her permission to beg for my forgiveness though, she decided to keep preaching. “Conflicts can be a chance to become a better version of yourself, if you allow them to be. They are simply two people with different backgrounds and experiences who need something but don’t know how to ask for it appropriately. If you listen to the message behind the anger, you will see what the person yelling is afraid of. That fear is what they really want validated, not the power they are displaying to get it. Does that make sense?”
I ran my fingers through my bangs, trying to manage my own anger while considering Theory’s words. “Ugh, even if that’s true, what the hell are you supposed to do with all the crap that an argument leaves behind? Like the hurt and disappointment that happens. Like, if you said something out of anger and didn’t mean it.”
I looked up at Theory, humiliated, hoping she understood what I was trying to say. She looked at me with softness in her eyes. “That is why a repair conversation is so critical.”
“A what?”
“A repair conversation. It’s a talk that comes after the argument settles down. It’s where you take ownership over your part in the argument, apologize, then tell the other person what you will try to do better next time around.”
I scoffed and shook my head. “Ha, yeah right!”
Theory smiled. “Mm, I knew that’d sound ridiculous to you. It usually does to most people at first.”
She must have been going crazy. Did she really think people would just outright apologize for something they did after a fight? What whacked out world was she living in? Wasn’t the whole point of a fight to prove who was right to try and get your way? I had learned that whoever gave in first was the person who lost. If you could be silent or stay mad the longest, the other person would eventually give in and then you’d win. How else was it supposed to work?
I laughed sarcastically. “You must not argue with a lot of people.”
Theory tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. “Oh, I’d say I’ve argued with my air share of folks,” she said with sass. “The repair conversation sounds a bit too good to be true, eh?”
I shrugged my shoulders, not having the heart to tell her that she was dreaming if she thought stuff like that would actually work. “I mean, if you say so.”
“Mm,” she replied while walking toward the table I was sitting at. “Well, then I should tell you that I’m sorry for not being in the library for our visit earlier today when I was supposed to be. I didn’t communicate that I would be late, and that was my fault.”
My heart stopped in its tracks and a twist of pain hit my stomach. Why was she bringing that up? It’s not like I actually cared that she didn’t show up. I cleared my throat and looked down at the table. “It’s fine, it isn’t a big deal. You were probably busy or whatever.”
I saw the flow of Theory’s dress float closer to the table as she reached for the chair sitting across from me. “Actually, it wasn’t fine. I should have told you that I was going to be late, or left a note. I could have done a better job telling you where I was.”
What the hell was she talking about it? Why was she bringing this up hours after it happened? It was old news.
The more she talked, the more the pain in my stomach began to swell up. I could feel tears knocking at the back of my eyes, reminding me of how lonely I felt in the library by myself this afternoon. I swallowed the hurt and tried to change the subject. “Yeah, okay, it’s not a big deal. We can just drop it and have tea or whatever.”
Theory sat at the table with me, placing her hands flat on the table. “Sam?”
I didn’t want to look at her because I knew I’d cry. I had held it together since yesterday, having done my best to pretend like we were okay. Why was she pushing this? I pretended to scratch my eyebrows to hide the tears that were determined to come one way or another. “Theory, it’s seriously fine. It happens, right?”
I was mad at myself for ending with a question that she was bound to answer. Sure enough, she jumped in immediately. “It does, but it doesn’t make it any less disappointing.”
I grunted with frustration and chose my next words more carefully. “I’m sure you just forgot or something, so it’s cool.”
“I didn’t forget.”
Her words slammed against my heart with the force of a baseball bat making contact with a homerun hit. The sadness had filled up my system so high that it spilled out of my eyes without my trying to stop it.
I couldn’t figure out if I was relieved, angry, or happy to hear that she hadn’t forgotten about me. Earlier I was convinced that she had stopped caring about me all together; but now, hearing her voice answering questions I was too terrified to ask, made me think twice about her abandoning me. “You didn’t?”
“Of course not,” she said assuredly. “We meet every day at the same time. Our visits are very important to me, Sam. I wouldn’t have failed to show up if there wasn’t something important holding me up.”
The swell of sadness slowly leaked into curiosity. Did I really want to know what she was doing instead of visiting me? Or was it just enough to know that she hadn’t forgotten? Maybe I was the one who needed to let it go by not asking so many questions. Maybe I could still get out of talking about it by creating a distraction. No, maybe it would help to hear the rest of what she had to say. Ugh, I didn’t know what I wanted.
Why couldn’t I figure out what I needed and just ask for it? Why was it so hard to just admit that she scared me today because I thought she had left forever? Why was it so hard to listen to her apologize now? Why couldn’t I look at her without wanting to cry?
As if sensing the mess happening in my head, Theory pushed what seemed to be a tuft of hair across the table. I quietly wiped my eyes free of tears and picked up the ball of black fur to inspect it further. Even though it had bits of red and yellow paint on it, I could tell immediately what I was holding. “Wait,” I said, sniffling. “Is this Cadence’s fur?”
I glanced up at Theory to see her smiling. “That’s right. Well, it was. Until the painting got her, that is!”
“What?” I said, trying to ignore my confusion and catch up to the story.
“Well, I had started a painting last night after our visit and left it out to dry in my studio, thinking I had shut the door behind me. This morning, when it was time to feed Sage and Cadence, only Sage arrived. I couldn’t figure out what had happened to Cadence, so let her be for a while. Finally, a few hours later, I got curious enough to go search for her. I looked in every room, on every shelf, and in every corner, but still couldn’t find her!”
A huge smile sparked across my face, sensing where the story was going. Theory spoke with her hands, adding flare to the next part. “Well, it finally occurred to me that the only part of the house I hadn’t checked yet was my studio. So, I climbed all the way back upstairs, wondering if it was possible that I had left the door open after I was done working.
“Well, low and behold, as I opened the door, I saw a big, furry, black thing pawing for dear life at my work of art! Our dear Cadence had glued herself to the canvas of my beautiful
painting by falling asleep on the wet paint the night before!”
I burst out laughing, immediately visualizing a black cat struggling helplessly against the surface of a giant red painting. I laughed so loud, it scared both the cats back under the table as we spoke. “Wait, she was literally stuck to the painting?”
“Well, look!” exclaimed Theory, pointing to the red tips of the fur I held.
“Hahahaha,” I couldn’t stop laughing. I still had a pain in my stomach, but now it was from laughing too much. Theory hadn’t forgotten about me at all; she was tending to a cat emergency!
“Anyway,” Theory said, now taking a turn to laugh at herself. “It took me a good hour of trying to use soap and water to remove the paint before I finally just gave up and cut her hair off entirely. I’m sure she hates me right now. I would hate me, too, if someone had given me a bald spot as big as the one she’s sporting today.”
The tears returned to my eyes, but this time from the outrageous humor and relief that Theory’s story had brought. We spent several minutes laughing together and taking turns imitating Cadence’s meows for help. Cadence herself seemed pretty unamused by it all.
As our laughter settled, so did the heartache that had followed me from earlier. I watched Theory slowing her laughter, silently working to forgive her. Before I could completely make peace with today, though, she seemed to catch my hesitation. “Anyway, kiddo. I got distracted and should have stopped what I was doing enough to let you know that I was going to be late. It isn’t an excuse, but it is information to let you know that I never intended to hurt your feelings by being unreliable.”
“Reliability,” I said out loud. That’s exactly what was missing yesterday: reliability! Theory had been completely reliable since the day I had met her. She had shown up to the library every day without fail. She had been there every morning with breakfast after I had woken up. She had followed through on every promise she had made, no matter how large or small. She had continued to show up, in every way possible.
Because she proved day in and day out that she would be there, I had learned to rely on her; and, eventually, I began to trust her. It was when she had disappeared without warning that my trust in her was shaken and I grew so afraid of losing her.
I could see now that it wasn’t trust that was the foundation of a relationship, but reliability.
Theory didn’t reply, but instead sat quietly watching the wheels in my head turn. I rolled the tuft of fur between my fingers and thought of all the times Theory had come through for me. I realized very quickly that she had done right by me far more than she had ever let me down. I looked up at her, feeling a calm settle into my soul. Her eyes were soft again, as if understanding the truth I had just uncovered. I smiled meekly. “It’s okay. I understand now. Thank you for telling me.”
Theory bowed her head in acknowledgement. “You’re welcome. Thank you for listening to my side of the story.”
I bowed my head to match her gesture of grace. Everything felt right again. I took a deep breath and exhaled whatever pain was left floating around inside of me. I thought of the ingredients she had listed to make a “repair conversation”: taking ownership over your part in the argument, apologizing sincerely, then telling the other person what you will try to do better next time around. I shifted in my seat, thinking of what else I could contribute to the moment.
Finally, I decided to let go of my hard feelings and leap into learning. “I got worried you didn’t care about our visits anymore. But, now that I think about it, that sounds ridiculous. So I’m sorry I assumed the worst. Looking back at it now, I should have just come looking for you to make sure everything was all right. I probably would have found you and could have brought paint remover or something.”
Theory laughed and smiled sweetly. “Yes, that probably would have been a good alternative to the scissors. Well, I appreciate you telling me what was happening for you in that moment. I think coming to look for me would have been a good idea and is something you can try if it ever happens again. It looks like we both could have done things differently in this situation, but now we know. After all,” she began to say.
“This is how we learn,” I finished.
Theory and I smiled at one another, finding peace in our shared solution. It was the first time I had ever left an argument without any anger, hurt, or regret. In fact, I felt closer to the person I had just been hurt by. It was an idea so backwards that it made sense.
I began to wonder what else was possible, knowing now that relationships didn’t have to end or suffer because of a messy disagreement. I began to wonder how far Theory and I could go together, knowing that it was okay to make mistakes. It made me wonder, also, how much I could actually grow and how big I just might get.
“Relationships are not built on trust, rather reliability.”
-Theory
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The sunset glazed the clouds with rose and papaya hues, hinting at the promise of an impending spring. I leaned out of my doorway, breathing in the openness of the world beyond me. I felt happy hidden up in the trees; grateful for their having adopted me. As I scanned the sprawls of pine branches, I noticed a wooden plank several feet below me.
What was that? Why I hadn’t I seen it before? I guess I had been so focused on myself that I hadn’t really spent time noticing the world around me. I wonder if the plank led to another part of the house I hadn’t been to yet.
Hey, maybe that’s where the map to Lake Isabel was hiding! I was irritated I hadn’t found it yet and wondered how many more days existed until spring. I pictured Nova’s face laughing and sent a wish into the universe that she was still safe.
Curious about the plank and knowing that Theory wouldn’t need me for the rest of the day, I zipped up my hoodie and carefully made my way down the branches toward my adventure. I had made up my mind- I would try and find this map. What difference was it to Theory, anyway?
Drips of sap clung to my palms, making me wonder if my hands were sticky enough to climb down the rest of the tree without the help of branches at all. I imagined scaling the sides of the trunk the way the banana slugs did, suddenly realizing, with my luck, I’d likely stick to myself and end up tumbling the rest of the way down. I decided to stay with the safety of the branches.
After a few moments of scrambling down the tree that held my loft, my foot tapped the top of the plank I had seen from above. Finding my balance, I saw that the plank was actually one of many. Stretched before me was a long, floating bridge that connected two trees. It was almost wide enough for two people to cross and boasted the same cherry color as the bark that held it in place.
Kneeling down to test how sturdy the bridge was, I noticed small glass cups with tea lights housed into the sides of each plank. It was hard to imagine someone taking the time to individually light every single candle, which was probably why they looked unused.
Rising to my feet, I steadily made my way across the bridge. A few steps in, I held still and looked over the edge. The forest floor hung stories below me, making the ferns and overgrown logs look like quarter machine toys. I took in how high up I was, appreciating the coolness of the forest breeze that was inviting me to come play. Thin layers of moss curtains dripped from branches above me, creating obstacles that I slowly pushed through to keep walking.
As I reached the end of the bridge, a platform materialized around the diameter of another tree. Minding my steps, I lunged onto the platform and held the trunk of the tree for safety. It felt damp and soft. A small chirp of birds echoed in the distance and the forest felt thicker around me. The orange reflection of the sunset peeked through the branches, reassuring me that it was still around.
Peering around the corner of the platform, I saw another bridge. This collection of planks jetted deeper into the forest; further from the tree house. I wondered how many bridges existed, and if it was possible to get lost if I tried to cross too many of them. As if hearing my thoughts, the last of the sun’s rays
perked up and brought the surface of the second bridge alive. Knowing better than to argue with nature, I decided to continue exploring.
As I crossed the new bridge, a slight drizzle of rain feathered across the air. The sun caught its reflection, making the atmosphere sparkle like Christmas lights. Tiny insects drifted in between the rain drops, waltzing to the rhythm of the evening. My confidence grew the further I walked, and by the time I reached the third bridge, I felt like running.
Despite the disappearing sunset, a sense of adventure settled in and I felt free. My feet picked up the pace and sent my whole body into a jog. As the dark enveloped my path, a spark of tea lights flickered into life around me. The rows of candles were sparking into full flames in front of me, one by one. Too excited to stop, I laughed and kept running as the universe continued to illuminate my path.
As I reached another platform, a glowing mass of fireflies twinkled in the air around me. I smiled, remembering the first night I had found Theory’s tree house, knowing that these teeny allies only showed up when something good was about to happen. I stretched out my hand to greet them, trying to separate them from the stars above us.
The air had cooled and the nighttime sounds of the forest began to float in. I decided to walk one final bridge before turning back and heading home. The tea lights and fireflies lit the last of my steps in a dazzling orchestra of magic. As my eyes adjusted to the dark and I ascended upon the final platform, the night sent a final surprise in the way of another suspended treehouse loft.
I approached the loft slowly, being cautious of anyone, or anything, that might be living inside. This loft was built differently than mine; made entirely of window panes that wrapped themselves around and above the entire diameter of the room. There were views of the mountains and sky in all directions.
There was no handle on the door, rather an “L”-shaped key hole that was weathered shut. I jiggled the door a bit, but it was frozen in place. My hands rested on the glass-paned door, scanning the room for critters or other unsuspecting dangers. The room was completely empty though, save a single antique telescope that sat propped against the opposite side of the room. Squinting my eyes to make out the details of the telescope, the moonlight hit the side of it just enough to illuminate an engraving of coordinates. “41.8781° N, 87.6298° W.” As I read the numbers out loud, my breath fogged the glass. I wiped it clear with the sleeve of my hoodie, took a final look at the loft, and chose to let it rest for the night.
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