by Leen Elle
After seven blocks, he stood in front of his own doorway and took a deep breath, preparing himself for the battles that were about to ensue. He opened the door ever so quietly and wasn't prepared for what he walked into.
All was quiet. All was dark. He switched on a small lamp on a table next to the couch, where his mother lay sprawled on her back, with her left arm bent around her head and her right across her belly. Cameron watched her breathe steadily and suddenly he felt bad. When she wasn't speaking she was almost innocent.
He licked his lips and undressed himself, making his way to his room. He took three blankets and an extra pillow from the hall closet and, about to throw them across his mother's body, he thought the better of it. Cameron threw the bed supplies down to the floor and in one movement, swept Sylvia from the couch. His bare feet padded down the hallway and he lay her gently in his bed.
As he left he glanced at the clock on his nightstand. It was nearly 9 p.m. He hadn't realized it earlier but he was exhausted.
Instead of making his way to the couch, though, he took a detour to his study. He stood in front of the large bookshelf and read all the titles of the books there, something Cameron hadn't done in far too long. There were Imogen's marks, where she left a clean trail through the dust with her fingertips, nearly two months before. He traced it again with his own.
Sighing, he took that little brown book from its place and sat down on the couch. Before he opened it he looked around and made a mental note to clean up the room a little bit when he got a chance.
Small, scribbled writing was on the front page. "Write your own story. Then pass it on."
The second entry was a quote. "We loved with a love that was more than love." Edgar Allan Poe.
He read on.
"There once was a girl who thought that the world was her playground, and she lived in a fairytale…"
"Today I picked seven daisies."
"My wife left me yesterday. Half of me was sad. Half of me was relieved beyond belief."
"Johnny asked me to marry him. We're having a wedding in the fall."
Before Cameron knew what hit him, he was completely absorbed in the book. He forgot that he'd read through it once before. This time he looked at it with new eyes. This time he was really listening. He read stories of love, stories of courage, stories of hope, funny stories, sad stories, stories with happy endings. He read one-sentence stories. He read quotes by famous people.
The last quote struck him the most.
"Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to learn from the experience of others, are also remarkable for their apparent disinclination to do so." --Douglas Adams.
The handwriting, loopy and large, was oddly familiar.
He swallowed the bad taste in his mouth and took a pen from the drawer of his desk.
"Be not angry that you cannot make others as you wish them to be," he wrote, "since you cannot make yourself as you wish to be." –Thomas Kempis.
Cameron placed the book back in its place on the bookshelf. It was almost midnight when he finally crawled into bed on his couch.
Chapter Seven
Maybe Today You Can Put The Past Away
It was a lot greener than she expected.
Cameron was staring ahead at the road. There was nothing much for her to look out at from the window, save for rows and rows of large, looming trees. Every now and then she could make out a house in hiding.
"Maybe I should have moved out here instead of into the city," Imogen said, running her fingers softly up and down her left arm. Cameron spared a second to pass a glance at her. She was turned from him, her right temple flush with the cold glass of the window, her eyes drinking in all they possibly could.
"You really like it that much?"
She murmured something akin to a yes.
Cameron pursed his lips. "The city does get a little stifling once in a while. It's all the dirty air."
"Are you trying to be conversational?" Imogen smiled.
He licked his lips. "Would you prefer silence?"
Imogen's eyes flickered to the radio, which hadn't been touched since they got into the car an hour and a half ago. "No. Please keep talking. It's peaceful."
But now he realized he had nothing to say. He began to feel that tension of awkwardness rise up from his belly and perforate his shoulders and neck.
The freeway was free of other cars for miles. Imogen felt as if she and Cameron were the only two left on earth. Everyone else had abandoned the world, but the two of them- they were survivors. It left a strange sense of calmness in her. There, in that car, at that exact moment, nothing could touch them. Nothing at all.
She closed her eyes.
"What's this?" She slammed the door shut and her father, coming around the front of the car, stood next to her. She saw from the corner of his eye the way he took her mother's hand.
"This is our new house," he said. "What do you think of it?"
It was large. Its face was painted a sunny yellow, and large, looming pillars were littered all the way around the house. The top porch was sagging a bit. Vines sprawled across the dirty steps leading up to the front door. Spanish moss from the trees lay broken on the ground of the walkway.
"It's… old." Imogen said, squinting her eyes against the sun. She tilted her head as far back as it would go so she could get a better view of the house in its entirety.
Her mother laughed. "That's why we're going to fix it up, silly." She placed her free hand on the top of Imogen's head.
"Don't tell me you already bought it."
"Of course we did." Her father sauntered up the steps and sat on the old bench next to the door under a window. The bottom fell out of it under his weight.
The three of them laughed.
Imogen took in a deep breath. "Is this house the one you grew up in?"
Cameron nodded.
"Why did you ever leave? I think, after having seen what's outside Chicago, I don't ever want to go back."
"The countryside is beautiful," he agreed. "But have you seen Chicago at night?"
Imogen licked her lips and leaned back in her seat. They watched a few bicyclists as they passed them. Then they were the only people on the road again.
"I'm sorry."
Imogen turned toward Cameron. He shrugged a shoulder.
"I'm not much of a talker."
"You don't have to be. I'm comfortable with silence. The fact that you're even trying to make conversation is refreshing, though."
"Believe me, were it anyone else."
"You wouldn't have said the same thing two months ago. What changed your mind?"
What had changed his mind? It had to be her persistence. No one ever stuck around as long as she did. Granted, Cameron had to admit that he wasn't an easy person to get along with- sometimes he couldn't even stand himself.
"I suppose I've just learned to deal with you now."
Imogen laughed and ran her hands through her hair. "Todd was right when he told me diligence works with you."
"Todd?"
"Of course. He knows what's best for you, even more than you do."
"You're telling me you're best for me?"
"I'm best for everyone. Come to terms with it. You can't escape it."
"You mean I can't escape you."
"Not even if you tried."
"My future doesn't look bleak at all."
"If you don't resist, it could actually be fun."
Cameron tried to hide a smile but Imogen noticed it. She laughed, placing her palm on his forearm, which rested comfortably on the center console. His arm hair prickled up under his jacket.
"This is nice. If you'd been like this when we first met I definitely would have gone through a lot less work."
"I make people work for my friendship," Cameron said, his eyes roaming the road. A car was coming toward them on the opposite side.
His eyes flickered over to where her hand still rested on his arm. He wondered if she would ever move it
. He wondered if she even realized she was touching him. He wondered if he liked her touch. He wasn't recoiling the way he used to.
She cleared her throat and suddenly he was very aware of her fingers squeezing around him. "Are you seeing anyone?"
The question caught him off-guard. Lately she'd been doing that to him and still he could never quite prepare himself for one of her off-kilter questions. He ran his tongue across the back of his bottom teeth. "Are you expecting my answer to be yes?"
"No."
"Well then are you expecting my answer to be no?"
"No."
"Are you expecting me to say 'you'?"
Imogen's heart puttered and stopped. "What? No. Absolutely not."
Cameron was satisfied. It was his turn to take her by surprise and he'd done it. "I am in a loving and understanding relationship. With myself."
Imogen shoved him and went back to looking out the passenger side window, placing her feet against the dashboard. She shook her head and covered her own grin with her hand.
"It's a bad idea to sit like that. If we get in an accident your knee is going to go through your teeth."
"Oh, look at you, all paternal."
"It's a habit. When you have a younger brother it's a role forced upon you."
Imogen's knees came down and she sat forward. "You have a younger brother?" She asked.
He nodded. "And an older brother."
"Will I get to meet them?"
"Oh, I'm sure you'll get to meet the entire neighborhood. Don't you fret."
"How exciting," she gushed.
"You act like you've never met other human beings before."
"Not any that are related to you!" She stuck her tongue out.
"Touché."
* * * *
The dining table wasn't any less elaborate than the rest of the house. It stood in the center of the dining room- which was more like a banquet hall than a room- lavishly decorated in a color scheme of snow white and scarlet red; there were no less than six eating utensils at each setting; three plates all differing in size, stacked one on top of the other; and both a wine and a water glass at each place. A large candelabrum stood right in the center, with two large ceramic vases filled with red roses and white lilies (picked from the garden, of course) on either side.
Imogen felt overwhelmed as Mrs. Moody took her on the grand tour, first through the foyer, decorated with fête galante art, the same kind seen in the French salons of the eighteenth century. Imogen wondered if the pieces were originals or replicas. At this point she couldn't place her bet accurately. Next was the formal dining room. Next was the library. Last were the rooms.
Imogen's room was large, with a canopy bed with deep emerald drapes around a mahogany bedframe. There was an antique vanity against one wall and large French windows.
"I hope you'll be comfortable here," Sylvia smiled.
Comfortable was an understatement.
Sylvia turned and left the room, leaving Imogen to walk around and familiarize herself with her new surroundings. She placed her bag, which now looked meager and low-class to her, onto the floor and shoved it under the bed.
She heard a cough behind her and turned to see Cameron leaning against the door. Imogen's mouth was still hanging open.
"I can't believe this is where you grew up."
"Believe me, it was torture as a child. 'Don't touch this, don't get this dirty.' It's no fun when you're ten. You couldn't care less about antiques. In fact, I still kinda don't. 'Hey, here's something really old. Let's not ever get rid of it, even though it's hideous and prone to breaking easily.'"
Imogen bounced on the bed.
"My mom wanted me to tell you that dinner will be ready shortly. That's why I'm here."
"It's not everyday you join women in their bedrooms, is it?"
Cameron's breath was knocked out of him. Again. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. Um. Anyway. Dining room. You know where it's at."
* * * *
Sylvia and George Moody sat at opposite ends of the table. Imogen and Cameron were placed at either end of Sylvia, facing each other. Bobby and Sarah sat to Imogen's right. Their two daughters, who ate an earlier, separate dinner, were playing outside. Alex, the youngest of the Moody children, sat to his father's right.
Imogen tried to keep her eyes on her bowl of soup, so as not to seem rude. Never before had she been so self-conscious about her own eating habits.
Cameron watched her. His divided attention only caught bits and pieces of the polite conversation between his sister-in-law and his parents.
"The dance recital went fantastically. I have the video tape, since you two couldn't make it."
"I'd love to see it."
"Maybe tonight."
Imogen caught Sarah's eyes and they smiled. She was a nice enough lady. Very pretty. She looked younger than her age. Her daughters looked like her.
"What do you do for a living, Imogen?" Sarah was speaking to her. It took her a few moments to realize.
"Oh," she dropped her head. "I work as a desk clerk at a bookshop in the city."
"You live in Chicago, too?" Bobby, the eldest, asked. It was easy to tell he was related to Cameron. They looked almost exactly alike. If it hadn't been for the fine lines around his eyes, Imogen might have guessed the two were twins. She nodded.
"Yes. I haven't been there long. The drive over here I kept telling Cameron how much I love the countryside. I might be a converted girl, I think."
Bobby and Sarah laughed. Imogen watched Bobby place his hand atop his wife's. "It's a nice place to settle down. It's too hectic trying to raise children in the city."
"I imagine so," Imogen said. She looked up at Cameron. They both looked swiftly away from each other. "Your daughters are beautiful, by the way."
Sarah and Bobby beamed like the proud parents they were.
"Thank you," Bobby said. "They're the best thing to ever happen to us. Do you have any children?"
Imogen took her glass of water and drank the entire thing in one sip. Wiping her mouth, she shook her head. "No, no. Someday. Not right now."
"They truly are a blessing," Sarah said. Sylvia nodded, taking the time to look at each of her three sons.
"When is the next dance recital, Sarah?" Sylvia's heart nearly jumped out of her chest for Cameron's question. He was actually making an effort to be sociable, and that was just what she'd hoped from his visit. The change in him was almost like someone turned on a light switch.
"It's next Saturday, at five."
"I don't think I have work that day," Cameron pushed hair from his eyes. "Maybe I can make it down in time."
"They'd love that."
Dinner conversation continued until the topics of school, work, and politics were out of the way. Next on the list?
Cameron was in the middle of swallowing a spoonful of soup when his mother was out with it.
"So, Imogen. Is my son a good lover?" She gestured with her finger toward Cameron.
Cameron groaned, dropping his spoon into his soup bowl. There was a banging as he set his elbow on the table and hid his face in his open palm. "Oh, God."
Every single date he'd ever had came rushing back to him, like some time-continuum from hell. He was afraid it would come to this, but somehow, even for all his twenty six years of experience of being his mother's son, didn't see it coming. He didn't know why he would have thought this time would have been any different, any more special.
Imogen's cheeks reddened and she licked her lips. The others went on eating just as easily as if Sylvia had brought up the weather.
"Mom." It was the only word Cameron could get out at the moment.
"What? You act as if sex isn't a natural part of life."
"That doesn't mean it needs to be brought up at the dinner table."
George was laughing quietly to himself as he sipped his wine.
"I'm sorry," Sylvia turned toward Imogen. "You're not offended, are you? I'm not being too forward?"
Imog
en shook her head.
"Jesus, you talk about this all day and now you have to bring it up with a guest in your house. It's not normal to discuss this all day, every day." He turned toward his father. "Don't you get sick of hearing about this? Work stays at the office for a reason."
George made a face that said he rather didn't mind.
"Okay, wrong person to ask." Cameron's entire body trembled with disgust.
"It's normal to me," Sylvia countered. "Honestly, what is the big deal? We're all adults here. There's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm not stupid or naïve enough to think that you haven't had any sort of relations by now. You should be lucky to have a mom who's so understanding."
"Mom!" Cameron widened his eyes. "Change the subject. Now."
Sylvia was silently waiting for a reply from Imogen.
"No, ma'am." She pushed around a potato in her broth. "Cameron and I… we're not dating."
"I know. Who said you had to be dating to enjoy each other?"
Imogen held her tongue. She almost let it up that she'd suggested the subject to Cameron once before, not seriously, of course. But it was better left unsaid.
"For the love of Christ. We are not sleeping together. Can we please, for my own mental sanity, discuss something else that does not in any way include sex, relationships, or my own life."
Sylvia held up her hands. "Fine, we will talk about something else. Alex, why don't you tell Cameron about your art show?"
Alex licked his lips nervously and looked around at the six pairs of eyes now on him. Imogen looked away, feeling sorry for the kid. She'd barely just met him but there was something in him that she very much liked.
"I won a prize." His voice was meek.
"You did? That's great."
Imogen smiled at Cameron, whose interest was undivided as he looked at his younger brother.
"Second place. I got a blue ribbon and a thousand dollar scholarship to the art school."
