Nothing But Bones

47: Variations On An Original Theme

He supposes it isn't true, though. Walking away from the door, up stairs reminiscent of some medieval fairytale tower, he supposes what she thought wasn't particularly true. The raging insecurities of a lonely, wounded teenager: it's a universal constant. Things have changed for her, though, haven't they? He has seen the pudding-stuck proof of pulling carpet or exchanging research, of sitting on the hood of someone's broken-down car to watch the sky.

He has also seen glimpses, out of the corner of her eye, of the way that perhaps she sees the inside of her mind. Less of a tower of doors or a house haunted and crumbling; more of a series of glowing strings and filing cabinets.

Another door. He pauses in front of it. It thrums with energy: a lodestone, a portrait of an inciting incident. Perhaps he shouldn't look; he does anyway.

The sun, blinding, shines down through trees. Hands push apart palmetto leaves; khaki skirt charges into the forest in search of kindling. There are only two questions on Tiff's mind: How does Suzy get away with treating her like that? And why can't she calm down?

She walks until she calms down. It's only then that she realizes she's lost.

That's fine, of course. She can turn back in the direction she came.

Hours turn to days. Days turn to eternity. How long has she been out here? She has been walking long enough, seemingly in circles, that she had forgotten every survival lesson she had ever learned— not that they would help here. She has nothing to help her, and she can't seem to catch the rain when it falls. She could sit down and try to figure out how to catch something— but it's not like she could cook it. At some point, she loses it a little, and she isn't even sure she could do that.

There comes a point when it's easier to give up than to just keep getting lost. She doesn't want to. She wants to be a story of triumph; she wants a life lived rather than endured; but when your feet keep giving out and you're walking in circles, when the mosquitos keep coming for you and you have nothing left to give, when you're pretty sure that there's a palmetto bug in your hair somewhere and you honestly couldn't care less, there also comes a point when you resign yourself to laying down and dying.

There's a stump she keeps passing, every so often. Resigned to what she's pretty sure is going to happen anyway, Tiff sits down on the ant-infested dirt next to it, rests her head on her arms and the wood, and looks up to the sky through leaves and Spanish moss. That voice in the back of her head tells her it's her own fault (she knows), but it's easy to drown it out when all you can hear over the frogs and crickets is the ringing in your ears. Her stomach clenches, empty; her mouth feels nothing, parched; but at least there is the sky. Endless and infinite, the stars winking down on her, the moon grinning like an old friend— black holes beyond it, pulsars in wait. The sky is an open mouth, and she thinks it might be as hungry as she is. She could give herself up to that.

She closes her eyes and lets it swallow her whole.

She wakes up to broth on her lips and the scent of rotting cabbage.

It takes her a long moment to open her eyes. For half of it, she's convinced she's dead. Her parents were right; Hell is wet and smells like rotten food. Hell is real and she died and she went there.

But, then, why doesn't she feel dead? Why does she taste broth on her lips? Why is there something warm under her head? The answers are only gleaned by opening her eyes and realizing that she isn't dead. She's just in a different part of the woods, looking up at the most wondrous person she has ever seen. Large frame, dark hair covering nearly every inch of her body— Tiff might be sequestered from most things in the media, but she's heard of Bigfoot before, and she has no doubt that that's what she's seeing. Of course, this woman is Floridian and smells like cabbage, so Skunk Ape might be more apt. The semantics don't erase the awe.

It's a feeling she can't explain. Something about being cared for, with no strings attached. Something about being saved by someone who doesn't even know you. Something about murmuring voices in a language you don't speak telling you it's going to be alright. Something about a random woman in the woods loving you instinctively in the way your mother was supposed to and never did.

She can't understand this woman, but she isn't sure that the language barrier is all that much of a barrier (and, honestly, it's kind of rude to go to someone else's house and expect them to speak English).

The other people in this small settlement seem shocked to see her. She can assume why. It's less about the very-sunburned-Girl Scout aspect and more about the fact that there's a human child here for seemingly no reason. It doesn't deter her from taking it all in with wonder spiking in her chest: hides set out to dry, instruments made from bone, the most beautiful music she's ever heard. All she wants is to ask them questions.

She doesn't really get the chance.

The memory fades on that, and the knowledge that they'll help her find her way back. Shining sun through leaves, the scent of cabbage, some sort of hope.

Melvin exits the door, and closes it behind him. A series of complicated emotions floods him. He's aware that some of these are residual emotions from the young woman herself that seep into him when he enters her memory. That doesn't account for the rest of what he's feeling; moreover, he's seeing Tiff in a completely different light. He understands the uncertainty she probably keeps under the surface at all times. There's also a child-like excitement extended to the wonders she has seen or could potentially see; Tiff had been beaten down by her mother, by her isolation from people who saw the world as she did: a tapestry over a tunnel that only flapped in an inexplicable breeze for those who were searchers.

As the graphic novelist-turned-seer continues his ascent, a smile spreads across his face. He stops at a door and rests his hand on the knob. He doesn't open it. He doesn't think he needs to. "Keep searching, Tiff. Do whatever you need to be happy. It's out there. I promise."