"You know the word 'crepuscular'?"I nod."It's got such a beautiful meaning. I love that word."
"Beautiful how? It's just the same as twilight."
"Yeah, but if you think about it, twilight is thetransition between light and dark, right? But whenyou really look at it, even after the sun goes down,there is always still a bright orange glow left in thesky, almost like the sun is making a promise thatshe'll be back again tomorrow. Like the sun alwaysleaves a part of herself behind whenever she signsout for the day. I love the thought of that, don'tyou?"
I don't know what to say. "I never thought of it thatway."
"Well, now you've thought about it that way. Whatdo you think?"
Sunset. I've seen it a million times, and in all thosetimes the ball of light was never more than just thatto me; a ball made of light."I suppose that is kind of beautiful," I say.
Shesmiles again. Who is this girl?
"Say, Orion, is there any constellation that hascaptured your attention more than its fellow peers?" she cranes her neck to look up. She has theattention span of a gnat. On steroids.
"I don't think so. I just like having something familiarto look for wherever I am. Like as long as I can seethe sky above me and name one thing I see, thenI'm not lost. Something like that."
"That's nice. That's really nice. Hey, can you namethe stars without first identifying what constellationthey're in?"
"I'm used to seeing them as a whole. My mindautomatically identifies the constellations before thestars." I haven't talked so much in ages.
"But you need to see the stars as somethingseparate from the constellations too, right? Or elseyou're just seeing the stars like they're all one andthe same kind, when they're really not. I mean, wedon't see a bunch of people in a group and thinkthat they're all the same kind of people, right?"
The thing is, I do. Our minds are for some reasonso inclined to grouping things together in a moreorganized fashion so as to help us navigate thisgiant world of ours. I do think they're all one and thesame, like a dead person is just another number ina casualty statistics. But when you really thinkabout it, they're actually not.
"Who are you?"
She looks at me like I just asked if cats havehooves. "What do you mean? I've told you myname, like, four times." I stare at her long and hard, and she does thesame. After a while, she waves her hand in front ofmy face."Hello? You there? Orion, come down from the skyand answer me this instant!"
I get up and take the tripod with me to thebleachers area.
"Hey, hey, where are you going? Did I saysomething wrong?" I hear her scrambling to herfeet.
"I need to go home." I detach the binoculars fromthe tripod and put them all in their own bags. I slingthe tripod bag over my shoulder and walk withhurried steps out of the park.
"Where do you live? Can I come with you?"
I turn around. "What do you want from me?"
Her brows are taut in confusion. "I don't wantanything from you. I just wanna walk with you toyour house."
"No, you want something from me. No one justcomes up to some random stranger sitting in thepark all by himself and talks about those things. Idon't tell people about my thoughts on things, but Itold you about them. Somehow, you made me talkabout them. How?"
"I can't answer that. Maybe deep down you justwant to talk about them."We're just standing there facing each other, aboutfive feet apart."I like you, okay? You're interesting, and I justwanna know you better," she says.
I like to tell myself that if something really means alot to me, my mind will make space to remember itnaturally and I wouldn't need to put in so mucheffort in etching the details into my memory. Butstill, it escapes my logic as to how my mind hasmanaged to keep all these conversations in myhead with extreme precision. It's like there is thisprivate container inside my brain that's kept only forme and her. Sometimes I wish I could reconstructcertain parts of my brain and keep the things Iwanna keep and throw away the rest.Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that.Or maybe there is a reason why it doesn't work likethat. Maybe we don't really know what we want,right? Honestly, do I really wanna forget all thewords spoken between us? Do I ever want to forgetyou, Em? Sometimes I wish I could say yes. Andother times I wanna dig a hole in the ground andlay in there until the world turns over.
Doctor Young said I need to face my fears, Em.She said that a long time ago. She said I have toconfront the things that are haunting me and cometo terms with them. How do you come to terms with those demons when they are made of you? Howdoes a sinking ship save itself? I don't know, but Idon't think it can.But maybe it's not me, you know? Maybe it's you.Maybe you need to get off my head, Emma. It'sbeen way too long already. You need to get out ofmy head. Only then can I be okay again. I believethat's the only way.
Something pulls me out of the void as quickly as Igot sucked in it. I open my eyes. My ears areringing.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, Gap, I'm fine." I hold my nose and blow ashard as I can to let the pressure out of my ears."Fucking airplane ears."
"Take it easy, cowboy." He flips through his book. Ilean forward a little to see the cover. The Remainsof The Day. Kazuo Ishiguro.
"You're always reading, aren't you?"
"Only most of the time."
"Emma liked reading books too. Probably just asmuch as you do."
He gives me a long hard look, like he's afraid Imight start having a stroke any second. "I know shedid. You did too."
"I did."
And then as if by some sort of magic, I sleep untilour plane lands in Idaho.
