Wandering

by Angela Koeller

One Tree in a Forest

  Was it still a home when no one lived there? It had seen better days, that’s for sure. But even when it was uninhabited, it had a personality all its own. The paint was worn, the metals dull, and when it was occupied the lighting made it slightly eerie. White paint looked clean in the daylight while darkness made it seem ghostly. Such coloring made it impossible for it to ever blend into the scenery, whether the owners wanted to or not. It seemed so artificial in the depths of nature.

  But that was what she liked about it. As it floated on gentle waves, it was as out of place as she was when she was in civilization. Her mother’s response had made it worth every penny she had paid. “A houseboat? How are you going to meet the father of my future grandbabies if you’re living in the middle of nowhere?” Nothing she had said would convince her mother that it was a good idea, but at least she was giving her the silent treatment. This allowed Ivy to have a few days of peace in her perfect place.

  She didn’t work a normal nine to five job like most people. Her funds weren’t endless but since she sent her editor things from time to time, there was nothing to worry about. He was kind and thorough enough to make sure she had money to live on.

  It got lonely on the houseboat so every few days she’d have to drive it toward the societal hub that was the town in the harbor. After the long silences, the noise of town battered her sensibilities. She’d gas up her boat, go get groceries, and bring them back to her tiny kitchen. With the daylight she had left, she’d wander around town trying to find some clothes she may need, maybe getting a new book, and going in search of her single and greatest guilty pleasure, Caribou Coffee.

  By the time she got to the nearest Caribou Coffee, it was starting to get dark out and the workers were anxiously waiting to be released from their heavenly smelling prison. One of them audibly groaned when she walked in, to her amusement and displeasure. Unhappy workers made bad coffee. The guy behind the counter tried to pretend interest and after a few moments, he asked, “What can I get for you?”

  -

  Her face twisted, flitting between indecisiveness and excitement. “A Vanilla Cooler with espresso beans.”

  I took her money while Suzie made her drink. When I brought it to her at the counter, her face almost glowed. “Thank you,” she peeked at my nametag, “Todd.”

  Smiling quickly at her, I turned and went back to work. Continuing to draw my attention, she sat down at a table and started humming when she wasn’t drinking her coffee, always smiling.

  It seemed weird to me that someone could be so completely happy by themselves. I don’t know when that mental shift happened and when I realized how cynical I’d become, I contented myself by watching her enjoying her own company.

  Time passed and, after she’d finished drinking her caffeinated, diabetes inducing drink, she wandered out the door, still humming. Part of me wished that I’d tried to talk to her or that she’d started a conversation with me, but I knew that I would’ve ended up putting my foot in my mouth. And that was not the way I wanted to end my workday. Awkwardness really can be a way of life rather than a temporary state of mind. If only she hadn’t been so terribly interesting.

  I put her out of my mind with significant effort. Work was almost over so I had to finish everything that I had to do and ponder what I wanted to do after I made my escape. Um, I mean, after I punched out. Because of the time, my options were oddly limited. Spending time with friends was out because I was not in the mood to handle human interaction. Well, I probably could’ve managed, but they were already at parties. They felt the need to pretend that their high school years were full of meaning rather than just being a boring stage before reality slapped them in the face. I heard a disembodied giggle before I realized that it was coming from my own throat. My bitterness surprised even me sometimes.

  Walking back from work, I focused on the sounds around me rather than my own thoughts. Surely this was a healthy way to attempt to function. Or not. Oh well. I bumped into someone while I was on autopilot and didn’t even stop to say sorry. Why was that? I usually wasn’t that rude. What was wrong with me that day? Frustrated by my own dissociation from my reality, I chose to simply go to sleep, thinking about not thinking.

  -

  The sun was beating on the top of my head. It made me want to crawl back into my room with its indirect lighting and the calm that comes with darkness. I never really understood how anyone could be afraid of the dark. In the darkness, there are no details; all is glossed over and given the same flatness as everything else around it. There was no doubt that things in the darkness could hurt anyone --of course they can-- but not to the extent of the details shown in light. Darkness allows the colorblind to see everything the same as everyone else, whether they are aware of it or not. It lets children imagine their bed is a sailboat taking them to fantastic places before miraculously returning them in time to get ready for school. Or lets a teenager believe that the shadow on their floor is actually their dog curled up as it always was, though it had disappeared years ago. Even an adult could use darkness to maintain their sanity like, let’s say, a guy pretending he’d caught his wife in bed with a perfect stranger rather than his best friend. But that’s just an example.

  There was no real reason for me to be outside today. Some twisted compulsion had lured me out of my fluorescent haven. As my skin remembered how to receive the rays of sunshine, I was able to loose some of the tension from my body. Perhaps I was hoping to run into that jerk that had bumped into me when I was taking my nightly walk. Or perhaps I was subconsciously seeking a change in routine. An attempt at living instead of hiding.

  Well, I thought, as long as I’m out I may as well go to the bookstore. New material would do amazing things for my imagination. Maybe. Last time went horribly wrong. Nightmares taught me that horror books would never be for me. Books had always been the best way for me to escape. Focusing on someone else’s life gave the option of forgetting one’s own. It was a lonely, pathetic way to live but what else could be done?

  My feet led me through the streets to my favorite bookstore. It had the most random selection and changed owners almost as often as regular bookstores modified their staff. This was purely an assumption, of course, since I never really went anywhere else for my reading material. The new owner even knew me by name, which surprised me since no one really bothered to note it. A tiny bell seemed to clamor at my arrival. She was preoccupied when I got there so I perused the shelves trying to find something interesting and new. It would be easier to find something with her help; she knew entirely too much about everything. Despite the fact that the place was small and the shelves were packed in, the mildly lit store felt spacious. Although that may have been because every sound echoed as though it was screamed rather than being a muttered phrase or a dust-induced sneeze. The latter of which happened entirely too often there.

  “Hello, Alex.”

  -

  “Hey, Pandi.” He smiled.

  “How are you?” I paused. “Why are you out in the daylight?”

  “I’m all right. And I have no idea.”

  It was interesting when Alex came to visit. He never said or did what I expected. “What are you looking for today?”

  “Nothing specific. Although I thought of a question for you the other day after I left.”

  Attempting to keep my face neutral, I asked, “And what would that be?” Someone asking about my personal life was a novelty, though I was aware of Alex’s extreme curiosity.

  “Is Pandi your given name or is it short for something?”

  “My parents enjoyed mythological things. Since it was a miracle that I was even conceived, they named me Pandora. But it sounds a bit silly so I introduce myself as Pandi instead.”

  “Interesting.” He chuckled for a second. “I bet the kids in school called you Panda a lot.” Clearing his throat, he added, “I’m not familiar with mythology. Could you help me find a good book about that?”

  “Sure, I know the pe
rfect one.”

  After finding the book for him, having him pay for it, and him meandering out while he attempted to prolong the conversation, I basked in the return of true silence. This bookstore had been my home for a few months, but it’s still the only place that’s truly been my own. The books I sold didn’t draw the same masses as the big chain stores. Money was never the point. On any given day, I could walk down the aisles, immersing myself in the silence of the written word. At the rare moment when someone came in, the bell had a tendency to scare my wits from me. Sometimes my visitors would be looking for something specific while others, like Alex, seemed to like the place, the smell of old books, and the never-ending quiet.

  I’d bought that place on a whim after finding it by accident. My move from where I had been to the apartment above the store had surprised neighbors, both past and present. Neither had spoken to me much, though my new neighbors had a tendency to wander through the store, eyeing me with questions they’d trapped inside themselves. If they had asked, I’m sure I would’ve answered, but no one did. It never really bothered me, being isolated that is. That was how it always had been. As they usually did, my parents kept asking how I could be the way I was, existing without close friends or even a pet. They were the reason I never had a phone installed in my apartment.

  The tinkling of a bell, which was surprising twice in one day, interrupted my train of thought. He shuffled his feet, trying desperately not to be noticed. At least that’s what it looked like. The attempt to look inconspicuous was a tactic I used more than I should. Over the course of the next twenty minutes, he slowly worked his way toward me. I could only sit behind the counter with my book of the day pretending he was as close to invisible as he thought he was. Eventually he made it to his short-term goal.

  “Hi.”

  Curious and cautious, I tried to make my smile welcoming. “Hi.”

  He thought for a couple moments before saying, “I just moved to this town so I’m stopping at all the stores that look interesting to see what’s where.”

  “That sounds like fun. What’s your name?”

  “Murphy. Yours?”

  -

  “Pandi.”

  “Short for Pandora?” The question was asked with my voice, but I didn’t ask it. Which didn’t make sense.

  “Yes. No one else has guessed correctly.”

  My smile came on its own after that. “But it wasn’t a guess. It makes sense.”

  Her sweet smile turned into laughter and suddenly my awkwardness was ok with me. To be able to make a stranger smile and laugh like that. So completely. As though the expressions of amusement were underused and appreciated being released on such an occasion.

  “I hope you stop by again sometime. My shop has a bit of an eclectic selection, but I’d enjoy helping you find whatever you happen to be looking for.” She quit talking abruptly, as though she had changed her mind about saying something else that was resting on her tongue.

  I had run out of words, so all I could do was smile and nod. On my way toward the door, I very nearly tripped on my own feet. Exactly the opposite of the impression I wanted to leave her with. On that note, I decided to go home for the day. After walking the few blocks to my car, I fell into it, having unsurprisingly stumbling on a rock or something. A part of me wished my mother hadn’t named me Murphy, regardless of our family history. I was relatively sure that she kicked herself for that as well, considering how many things I’d broken while growing up.

  Starting the car went all right, as did putting it in gear and pulling away from the curb. That day my luck ended up being worse than days before and after it. But such is life. Driving back to my new house, I spaced out, which was never a good plan.

  My brakes had given up since my luck had surrendered. The crash happened as though I was watching it from the sidewalk. I checked to make sure the woman was ok, so I could be sure I wouldn’t end up back in prison. One mistake really can haunt you for the rest of your life because no one will believe guilt or innocence after you’ve gone through the twisted thing that was the court system. The cop gave me a dirty look when he ran my information but when they looked at the car, they could tell my version of the events was right. Thankfully the woman backed me up, even though she was still in a state of shock and her face was wet with tears.

  Of course my car was totaled so I had to walk home. Fantastic. Great day. As I was walking, I noticed the woman who had been in the other car pause when driving by me. Her car had miraculously survived. My bitterness tried to eat me from the inside out. Impatience moved me to speak so rudely that I’m ashamed to think of it now. “What can I do for you? Or, rather, how much pity did it take to get you to stop and speak to me.” I paused briefly before adding, “Thanks for backing me up though. The cops never want to believe an ex-con, no matter what their circumstances are.”

  Her face twisted and it looked for a minute like she was going to drive away.

  -

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Murphy, but I wanted to offer you a ride to wherever you’re going.”

  His face moved between surprise, awkwardness, and remorse. “Um. That would be very nice. Thank you.”

  “My name’s Liza.” What was wrong with me? I was an idiot giving a self-proclaimed ex-con a ride. Why did I ever think this was a good idea? “Where can I drop you?”

  Using clipped tones, he directed me to a house set off from the rest, not just by its distance from the other houses, but also in its architecture and coloring. Oddly, it suited him. At least it did as far as I could tell. I waited until he’d gotten all the way to his door. He tripped halfway there but caught himself quickly, almost running to his door afterward. A wave in my direction encouraged me to leave.

  Overcompensation was the only word that could describe my cautious driving on the way home. All I did once I got there was drink some tea and crawl into bed, letting the shock I felt at the crash fill and slowly leave me. Hours later I fell into a deep sleep, so deep that my dreams were nearly non-existent. What woke me was the sensation I’d felt when the cars had collided and lights I’d never seen flashing behind my eyelids. I called in sick because I simply could not deal with reality. For most of that day and the next, all I did was lie in bed and watch movies, focusing every iota of attention I had on them, whether I thought they were good or not.

  Days later, without looking at the clock, I dragged my lazy self out of bed and took a shower. That helped clear my mind, but the rest of me still wanted to collapse back into my warm, soft bed. It had comforted me and I wanted to rely on it a bit more. Coffee. I wanted coffee. Of all the things that would motivate me to keep moving, it was that. Pulling on sweats and a t-shirt, I walked, being temporarily afraid to drive, to the coffee shop downtown. After ordering and receiving my blessed cup of caffeine from a flighty blonde worker, I settled myself in a booth.

  People around me examined my face, or it felt as though everyone did. A few must have seen something because they asked if I was all right. My coffee eventually ran out but I continued to sit there, not knowing what I was waiting for. An hour later, a woman I’d never seen before slid into the seat across from me.

  Molding my face to how I thought it should look, I sat unmoving, hoping she’d explain herself. She was smiling, gazing adoringly at her drink. Moments passed, and then entire minutes. Still she said nothing.

  “Hello. What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing, I think.” She looked surprised that I’d spoken. “You looked like you could use some company, that’s all. I’m Ivy.”

  -

  “I’m Liza. Nice to meet you.” The woman forced a smile.

  Ivy stayed where she was, not talking and humming occasionally. She thoroughly enjoyed her drink, drawing her caffeinated experience out as long as humanly possible. When she’d finally finished, she patted Liza on the hand and took her leave, meandering back to her floating castle. Well, it seemed like it to her at least. Steering her boat toward nowhere, she drifted away.
Away from civilization, away from everyone she knew or might someday know, and away from anyone who thought her to be anyone she was not. Only when alone was she herself. And, in the end, that’s all anyone was. One insignificant bit of chaos in the universe. One soul among billions. One tree in a forest.