(Part I, Part II)
No, it’s fine. It is. It’s nice to talk to someone who’s still passionate about life. I feel like I don’t encounter that very much anymore.”
 
“How do you mean?”

“Well, you know how it is here. People get stuck in their routines so easily. I wasn’t immune to that either. I think that after we—after you left, I really wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t have immediate plans to go to school, so I just kept working, thinking, oh just next semester, just one more year, and then five years had gone by. I mean, don’t get me wrong—I had a ton of fun here. Plenty of people stayed behind, some for school, some with jobs, and some like me. We went out a lot. We had parties. I met people, went swimming, went hiking, camping, escaping clutches of this place by venturing outward. It never really worked—the escape that is—morning always arrived and we’d pile into our trucks and cars and come back home and start again. Then, slowly more and more people started to move away. I picked up hobbies—painting, writing, knitting, oh god, I even tried to learn guitar at one point!”

“Were you any good?”

“At which?”

“All of them. I always though you had such a nice creative way of expressing yourself. Like, you remember those little drawings you used to drop into my locker?”

She sits up straight and whips her head around to meet my gaze, centrifugal forces throwing her hair outward and around.

“Oh. My. God! I completely forgot about those! Those were hilarious!”

“I know, right? Seriously I can’t believe you never took that anywhere. Who doesn’t want pictures of animals reenacting scenes of classic literature?”

“Haha, you remember the one I did with the two kittens playing out that scene in Cask of Amontillado when the one character is sealing up the other character?”

“Holy shit! ‘The Cask of Cuteness’? Brilliant! I remember how it was so, so much more terrifying because the characters were just these cute little cats and yet the one was murdering his cat friend by building a wall of yarn.”

“Haha oh amazing!”

“You know…I’m not positive, but I think I still have that one somewhere.”

“No way!”

“Yeah, it’s probably in a box somewhere. I should find it and send it to you.”

“No, don’t. Keep it. It was a gift then, it’s a gift now…but you should send me a picture of it.”

“Deal.”

We watch as headlights traverse the other side of the river. A lone car—all the way out here. I wonder about the people in that car—wonder if they know that people even know they’re there. Wonder if they know about this place or if this place would even be the same place for them as it is for us.

Us. Me. Whatever.

Whatever. Don’t even.

“So…how did your newer endeavours turn out?”

“Hmmm? Oh, the artsy things? Oh, I don’t know. People seemed to like the stuff I did, but I never believed them. I always felt like they were being polite, just saying nice things so we could stop talking about it. It’s so hard to get people to take that stuff seriously—or, not seriously, but, I don’t know, thoughtfully, you know?”

“Yeah, people by and large are bad at being thoughtful, I think.”

“Right? After a while I just stop showing people and then after a little while longer I kind of just stopped doing it.”

“I bet your stuff was great though! And I’m not just saying that to be polite, obviously. You always had a way about you. A way to interpret the world in a unique way. You always saw so much good and beauty where others saw nothing.”

“Oh thanks! I’d like to think that my perspective is at least positive, if not unique. I should send you something.”

“I’d love that.”

“Me too! It’d be really nice to have someone critiquing something I’ve done. But that’s the only payment I’ll accept. I send you a painting and you have to write to me about it. I don’t care if it’s nice or not so long as it’s honest.”

“Oh I like this plan!”

“And I have the perfect one for you too!”

“Awesome! What is it?”

“I can’t ruin the surprise for you! No…no I think it’ll be better if you react to it without knowing anything about it. Yeah, no, I’m not saying anything.”

“That’ll probably be more fun anyway. I’m looking forward to it. Remind me to exchange addresses with you before I leave.”

I dart my eyes toward the water. Poor choice of words. At least, for me. Oh my god. I can’t even look at her to see if she’s thinking the same thing or if it’s nothing I mean it’s been ten years why would she still be—

“Definitely! You have always been so forgetful.”

“Hey! I like to think of it as being caught up in my own train of thought. I may forget from time to time to pay attention to things going on in my surroundings and my thoughts may be tangential but—”

“Scaaaaaatterbrained!”

Her melodious voice carries across the river, hits the shore, bounces back, and I throw my laughter up to the sky. For a brief moment I wonder how far the wave will reverberate. Will it make it to the atmosphere and disintegrate when it runs out of matter to shake? Does it stop when it collides with the edge of this bubble I have created for myself…this place, this time, this moment, in which nothing outside exists? There is nothing but this.