The Paper Shepherd

by Olivia Landis

  When Tiar parted with her brothers at Victoria Station later that night, she was genuinely happy to have seen them despite the purpose of their time together. She invited them to visit her in New York, but they all knew that was not likely to happen. Max and Tiar headed for their tube station and suddenly Max realized the last train was due to arrive in four minutes. He grabbed Tiar’s hand and went racing through the streets. They ran through the foggy, dark London night, giggling and gasping for breath, their legs stinging with exertion. They were like kids again, dodging the rain and lightening of an early autumn storm. They raced down the stairs of the tube station and glided quickly through the electronic turn styles, magnetic tickets at the ready. They made it to the platform out of breath with seconds to spare. On the train, heart racing, Max grabbed one of the poles in the half filled train car. Tiar, trying to catch her breath, smiled at him. They were still holding hands. Just before the train pulled out, she closed her eyes and leaned against his chest with her forehead. The train lurched forward and they swayed with the motion of the car, Max bracing himself on the pole and Tiar bracing herself against Max.

  Instinctively, with the first lurch, Max let go of Tiar’s hand and put his arm around her, holding her steady. Still breathing heavily, Tiar turned her head so her left cheek was resting against the outside of Max’s wool coat. He could see that she had closed her eyes and he kept his arm around her. Tiar breathed in deeply the smell of damp wool. The canvass of her life was slipping from its frame, her whole definition of self replaced with every passing conversation. In every military or political struggle since the eight hundreds, she had put her family on the wrong side—the crusades, the reformation, two world wars. Whether the Saxons verses the Normans, the Moors verses the Christians, or John Knox versus the Catholic Church, her loyalty on every count reversed. The only constant she had in her life was an eighteen-year-old boy who had once saved her from bullies. In a life of paradox, Max was her rock. For the ten minute train ride, she closed out everything else. There was no tumor, no exile, no headaches, no delusions. There were no shady pasts, no deserters or aliases. There was just her and her best friend, exhausted from a day of sight seeing, on a train car in London.

  A few hours later, Max lay in bed thinking about the train ride. He expected, after Tiar had gotten the terrible news about her family at dinner, that she would feel tremendous grief. He knew she would need him to be tender in words and deeds to help her get over the acute shock. He had made a plan about how he could dole out his affection in a carefully measured and appropriate way, as he had done with his Halloween candy every year as a kid to make it last until Christmas. He would have to walk that thin line between being a supportive friend and indulging in the affection he still hungered to offer her. He had to be strong for her now.

  As his eyes wandered across the silver, moonlit London clouds, he thought about what Michelle had said to him before he left. Maybe it was stupid to base his whole life on a plan he had written for himself by time he was ten years old based on a horror movie his mother insisted he was too young to watch anyway. Maybe the future wasn’t decided yet after all. Maybe there was no other truth, and he simply was afraid this whole time that his feelings for Tiar would go unrequited. Did he feel safer denying himself Tiar’s affection so she couldn’t deny it to him? A new possibility opened up in his mind, an alluring one. Perhaps if he were to show Tiar how he really felt, nothing bad would happen. It seemed possible she wouldn’t turn away, that she longed for him, too. Maybe she had said so in a hundred tiny ways over the past year and she, like he, was just too afraid to say it. It was possible to translate her words, looks, and actions into innocent flirtation. He could conceive of rewriting his life so that, when Tiar had asked that they take a detour off their trip to Historic East Aurora to visit the Kissing Bridge Ski resort, it was not because of a sudden interest in winter sports. He could believe that when she urged him to leave the Eerie Canal Heritage Center to go on a candle light tour of the locks, it was not because she wanted to see how canal locks operated. Yet, as much as Max wanted to let himself think this way, equally pressing on his mind was the joke she had made of him earlier in the week. She had turned her own tenderness into something cruel and the memory of it still stung him. Who was really telling the truth? The Tiar that said above all she was his best friend? Or the Tiar who made that very statement into a farce? One must be lying. Was the real Tiar the one who clung to him in the London underground? Or was she just sleepy? These bloody English stairs! He cursed at himself. Her footsteps didn’t talk to him here, not like they did at home. He had lost his wood plank lie detector. He was just guessing now. What would she do if he kissed her? What would she do if he revealed his heart to her? This was not just another academic exercise, he reflected. Everything depended on it—his choice of college, his whole future. He set his mind to devising a test of Tiar’s intentions without tipping his hand about his own.

  On Wednesday night, the clouds lifted over London letting escape the warmth they held against the streets like a comforter that slips onto the floor in the middle of the night. Thursday was bright and cold. Tiar pulled her green knitted cap tightly down over her ears as she and Max waited in line to see the Tower of London. They followed the Yeoman Warder, dressed festively in his bright red uniform, around the outside ramparts listening attentively to him describe the hundreds of years of history that took place there. They saw the gate on the Thames through which those condemned to death were brought into the fortress by boat. They saw the block where King Henry the eighth’s wives’ heads were removed from their bodies. They stood in awe of the crown jewels and read in fascination about the weaponry in the armory.

  When they were finished with the Tower, they hopped on the Dockland’s Railway and headed for Greenwich to see the International Date Line, the line dividing the east and west hemispheres, from which all time on earth is referenced. As the elevated train conveyed them past newly renovated waterfront, Tiar rubbed her hands together furiously, trying to regain feeling in her finger tips. Her thin green gloves were no protection against the late coming arctic blast that covered London, setting record cold temperatures for late March.

  Sitting across from Tiar, Max took her hands in his and removed her gloves, sliding them into his pockets. He made a globe around her hands with his and blew into the cavity within, as though they were in their own personal steam room. Her fingers were pale and almost blue, and stiff like little twigs. A few breaths later, and they began to seem alive again, looking pinker and more flexible. Max collapsed his hands around Tiar’s and rubbed them gently.

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling at him. “That feels nice.”

  “My pleasure,” Max said, watching her carefully. He tried to interpret her reaction, but she looked out the window at the passing waterfront, seemingly unaware anything of significance had happened.

  Friday was the teens’ last day in England. Tiar and Max spent most of their day in the Museum of London, chronicling the progression of the Britons from a loose collection of prehistoric tent dwellers to the architects of modern structures of the near twenty first century. After several hours, even Max had finally neared his limit of what he could learn in a week’s worth of vacation. The two headed to the nearby St. Paul’s cathedral. They silently soaked in the splendor of the enormous domed structure.

  The outside world seemed excessively bright and windy when they exited the cathedral. They took a long walk past Trafalgar square and finally ran into a coffee shop to warm up. They sat in a high backed wooden booth that likely predated the first World War. Tiar stomped her feet lightly on the floor, trying to get blood back into her toes. While they waited for their tea, Max took her hands again, this time determined to get a response. He had forgotten to give her gloves back the day before and her fingers were like slender porcelain facsimiles of themselves. Max cupped them between his and breathed on them as though he were giving them life. Within a minute, blood began to rush into Tiar’s
hands. They had gotten so cold, the return of this blood stung like pins and needles. Max rubbed the pain away until they felt almost normal again. Then, in the privacy of the booth, he put her hands up to his mouth again and, trapping them between his, kissed them.

  Tiar giggled shyly and looked away, unwilling to make eye contact. Max, emboldened by her smile, rubbed her hands a few more times between his and kissed them again. This time, Tiar sighed and the smile faded from her face. She looked almost worried. She didn’t pull her hands away from him, but he could tell he was making her uncomfortable. Max tried not to panic. Perhaps she was just embarrassed because they were in a public place. England is not Italy, or France, or even western New York, and they hadn’t seen anyone showing much affection in public. Max loosened his grip on Tiar’s hands and let them slip away just as the waiter brought them a pot of tea and some scones. Max busied himself with his food and rethought his strategy.

  Tiar had never felt so relieved to see a waiter in her life. What in the hell is Max doing? she thought, her heart sinking in her chest. If their tea hadn’t arrived, what would have happened next? Would Max kiss her hand again? Didn’t he understand what he was doing to her? She had worked so hard over the past five months not to touch him. She had made it her duty as his friend to stay platonically unengaged, unaffectionate, unattached, so that she wouldn’t interfere with his love life. She wanted him to be happy, and if he needed a girl friend to be happy, she wouldn’t scare away any potential suitors. Still, didn’t he realize what a challenge that was? No, she realized. Of course, he doesn’t. Why would he? He would never know these thoughts, the leviathan depths of her passion for him. She couldn’t let herself even think it with him around, lest it accidentally slip out and force him to run away. And, if she did let some affectionate phrase tumble out, she made it into a joke like she had a few days earlier so he would never guess her true feelings.

  Max would go to college and make new friends. He would meet a nice girl from a good Catholic family, the daughter of a doctor or a judge. He would marry her and they would live a good, tidy, traditional life. His wife would cook ginger bread for their kids at Christmas time and make homemade stuffing on Thanksgiving. She wouldn’t even know what a microwave dinner was and she certainly would never have opened an envelope of powered cheese mix. He would get a job as a professor somewhere and bike to work in a tweed suit. He could do all of this, but he would never know how Tiar longed for him. That was the only way he would still be her Max. He would still be her best friend.

  Tiar had seen it all in her mind a thousand times. She had forced herself to think it over and over again until the image didn’t make her want to cry. Max would be happy with her—this new woman—a woman with a past and a home and no relatives in mental institutions. And still, Tiar would love him. She wouldn’t be envious of what he had. Because she was his best friend, and no one, not the well educated blond girl with perfect skin and membership in the Daughters of the American Revolution, could change that. No one in an apron and pearl earrings could replace her. It was all going to work. If only she could keep her mouth shut and not tell Max that she wanted to be that woman.

  But, now, what was he doing? Why would he tease her this way, offer her things she knew she couldn’t have? I have to think like Max, she told herself. I’m intelligent… analytical… It was all a test. He wanted to see if she would take the bait. But she wouldn’t. She had worked too hard and sacrificed too much to lose her best friend now. She could live without his affection. It wasn’t really hers to lose. But, without his friendship, she would be like a buoy set adrift, cut from its moorings. She couldn’t live that way. If this was a test, she would pass it.

  They drank their tea in relative silence. As they sat there, the restaurant began to fill with voices creating a jaunty, celebratory mood, permeating even the secluded fort Max had chosen. Max paid for the tea and they ventured out into the still evening. The sun was sinking lower in the sky as they headed back toward the town house. It being their last night, they took one last walk around Hyde Park through the adjacent Kensington Palace Park and watched the swans paddle through the pond, oblivious to the grandeur of their real-estate. On the way back, they stopped on the bridge over the pond to get a photograph of the palace. Due to the recent cold temperatures the park was nearly deserted.

  Tiar jumped up onto the heavy stone wall of the bridge. The fog softened the street lights of London as they twinkled in the pond behind her. The fog made light and shadow dramatic, like a Humphrey Bogart film. Nearly any combination of words or actions seemed plausible in the thick air. Max made up his mind. He wasn’t going to beat around the bush anymore. He was going to put everything on the line. He was going to kiss Tiar. He was going to get her to say that she wanted him to be near her. He was going to tell her he was leaving New York and make her miss him desperately. And, when he had painted a bleak enough picture of her life without him, he would kiss her. He would find out once and for all if there was really another path he could take, another future still unseen, one where he was not alone. He would cement their fates together with lip balm and saliva and warm breath and cold foggy air.

  “Little Bird,” Max said, hesitantly. “When we go back to the states, I have to send in my acceptance letter to college.”

  “Okay,” she said calmly.

  “I think I should go to St. Andrews. It’s a better school for what I want to study. And, with the scholarship I got from them, it’s about the same for tuition as a state school.” Tiar nodded at him.

  “I think you’re right, then. You need to go there,” she assured him. She was doing well, she thought. Inside, she wanted to cry… not Ohio, please! It’s too far… but her voice was light and airy.

  “You think so?” Max confirmed. Even in the dark, Tiar could see Max’s expression went from thoughtful to hurt. “But, it’s five and a half hours away,” he said. “That’s far.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Tiar reassured him.

  “But, we’ll only get to see each other on holidays,” Max continued. Light and Breezy, Tiar thought. Light and Breezy.

  “We’ll see each other all summer too. It’s no biggy, Max.” Max felt desperate. Things were not going at all the way he hoped. He took Tiar’s hands in his and leaned close to her, so close the clouds of his breath were one with hers.

  “Is there any reason I shouldn’t go so far away?” he asked. Tiar swallowed hard. She would make a definitive statement to put his mind at ease once and for all. He would see he could trust her, and never have to test her again.

  “No, Max,” she said. “You can’t make this decision based on me. You need to go to the school that’s best for you. I don’t want you cursing my name and regretting the choices you made five years from now. I don’t want that responsibility.”

  Max was a marble statue standing in the soft light of the street lamp. It was over. He got his wish. He had figured out what Tiar wanted from him without having to admit his feelings for her. She wanted nothing. She wanted no affection, no responsibility. She would see him around, bump into him here and there. It was no “biggy”. He was right in predicting this night on this bridge would direct him toward the future. But the turn had not been in the direction he had hoped. Fine, he thought. Now, at least he knew where he stood. He didn’t have to wonder. He would just work on forgetting her.

  7

  Max walked into the cafeteria with an unmistakable sense of urgency. Since he and Tiar came back from London, he had barely said a word to her. On the plane ride back to the United States, he pretended to sleep for most of the trip. On the much shorter ride from New York City to Buffalo, he stared sternly and unwaveringly out the window. When his mother picked them up from the airport for the forty five minute drive south to Hectortown, he had been polite and friendly to keep up appearances. But, back at school, he had been finding other ways to spend the lunch period, volunteering to help sort books in the library, read to the first graders and other duties that were unus
ual even for him. He never stayed around after school to walk Tiar home and didn’t invite her over to shoot hoops. Tiar tried to dismiss it as another mood swing—just silly old Max being nervous about going off to college.

  After a month of a relatively hermit like existence, Max felt no closer to forgetting about Tiar. He still felt the same rejection when he heard her laughter in the hallway at school or saw her walking home. He decided to retreat to his old plan of dating one of her friends, but for a different purpose. He would replace her. But, for real this time. If he had to date every girl at St. Jude’s, he would find someone who could distract him from thinking about her until he could leave this city once and for all. Once he left this sorry state for Ohio, he could be away from her and be alone. Alone, like he liked it. Alone, like he had planned to be since he was in elementary school. Max walked right past Tiar’s usual table in the cafeteria without so much as a glance in her direction. Sarah, Tiar’s alternate on the basketball team, was just getting out of the lunch line as he approached her. Sarah was undeniably a beautiful girl, the kind who could look like a movie star even without make up. She was the complete opposite of Tiar; at Max’s height, she was 4 inches taller than Tiar and her golden hair fell in straight rays from her head. More importantly, Max sensed she was more then a little jealous of Tiar for being the starting point guard. He was going to leverage that jealousy to his advantage.

  “Hey, Sarah, can I borrow you for a second?” he asked, trying to appear casual.

  “Yeah, sure, Max,” Sarah said, following him over to an empty table near by.

  “I wanted to know, if you’re free of course, if you’d like to go to Prom with me,” he said, coolly. Sarah put down the chocolate milk she had been sipping. This was the longest conversation they had had since a school play when she was in third grade. His request came as a complete bombshell. Still, he was pretty cute, she reflected, and not at all creepy the way every other boy she dated at St. Jude’s could be.