The Language of Thaddeus

B is for "Bucolic"

        Malia’s foot tapped against the floor as she hummed waiting. She hated waiting, the silence that came along with. I wonder if he forgot. Wouldn’t be the first time a man had forgotten about her or stood her up. The thought brought a grimace to her lips, the bitter after taste of broken promises burring at the back of her throat. Then the chair in front of her slid back and she looked up. “Oh hi! You’re here great. That’s great, um, so do you have any ideas or clue what we should do? Or have you not had time to think about it…” She trailed off as Thaddeus’s aura finally reached her. He was not ok. She could tell, his silence in that moment was not his usual. His usual was soft and easy, this was jagged and looming—intimidating. “Are you ok?”

        He looked up at her words. It looked like he wanted to answer her. His teeth ground against each other trying to decide if they wished to let words pass. They didn’t. Thaddeus dug his book from his bag and promptly ended the ludicrous idea of a conversation. Unfortunately, or rather fortunately for him Malia was not one to stay silent for long. “I’m sorry if something is bothering you. I hope you feel better.” Then she too turned to her book and attempted to keep her mouth shut. I am the biggest idiot ever. 

                                                                ***

        I am the biggest idiot in the world. She didn’t do anything to me. I need to stop being rude. “Thank you.” She looked up at him, surprised. He may be a man of few words, but the ones he did voice had an impact.

        “Well… ok then. I think we should modernize Hamlet, make it something anyone can relate to. That would also make the dialogue easier to write.” He nodded, agreeing with each suggestion. “Maybe just brainstorm some ideas right now and once we have enough, we can pick some good ones. Is that alright or should we do something-” He nodded to stop her from jabbering on. Silence was his way of coping with the world, talking was hers. But he knew silence made him frightened, sometimes he worried that he’d forget how to talk, that the muscles would die in his throat and he might never be able to talk again. So he reasoned that talking and not being able to stop scared her. He noticed how she couldn’t sit still and would jabber on and on until she received some recognition that things were fine. He probably wasn’t the best person to deliver the reassurance she needed, but it was the best he could do.

        He turned his thoughts to Hamlet, how to modernize Hamlet. Hamlet was like him, his life was already a modern rendition of it. He’d lost the most important person in his life, and no one else got it. So he began to write, he wrote down his failings. He felt her eyes on him first, he looked, flinching as her light eyes flashed in the place of Malia’s. “Have some ideas?” He nodded and she stretched her fingers out towards his paper. She grabbed it and read over his list. “Ok so, Rex, loses his best friend Zoyla? Is that right?” He nodded. “Any idea how?” Thaddeus forced his expression neutral and shook his head. “Ok so he’s trying to, I guess, cope with losing her right? And what else? There’s so much more to Hamlet. There’s the whole Oedipus Complex and power struggle. The whole idea of madness and what madness truly is.” Malia continued to talk as Thaddeus faded back into his head. 

        This was too personal, too close to the paper mache dam blocking his past. One tear, one confession, one misplaced word, could send his spirally for disaster. He couldn’t do that, he had to hold it together. “I’ll work on it.” He promised, glancing at the clock that was about to signal the end of lunch. Thaddeus gathered his things and left the table and Malia with a nod goodbye. 

                                                                ***

        She waved back at him, something he didn’t say as he left before the first chime of the bell rang. Malia sat at the table after the bell rang, it felt as though she’d fallen into a Monet and was expected to understand the world formed around her. How was she supposed to understand anything when Thaddeus Rainford was thrown into the equation? She tried to ponder just this and was unable to, her mind was lost in a stormy sea that yielding no treasure or insight into the reason for the storm. The “reason” was obvious, it was Thaddeus, but what caused him to create storms with his selective mutism and speaking eyes was still, and forever a mystery.