A broken marriage.
A new job.
She works as a Personal Assistant on the ForNoah Youtube channel.
Noah is on the autistic spectrum and she fixes things for him.
He's a shipwright and creates beautiful works of art.
She's a woman starting over who meet...
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March
[Live]
The chatroom full of people all clambers to be heard. Names and questions wiz across the screen. The red light flashes for live. I look up at Noah calm and working on his boat. His steady hand places layer after layer of sealant paint on the boat.
The first question to Noah from the live stream chat room.
"Redhairedwoman: What do you do in your free time Noah?"
Noah doesn't answer, he keeps fixing the boat. This live stream Q&A was a bad idea. You come up with ways to build a channel and a live stream seems like a good idea. I really should have thought this out more.
"DeathbyReagan: What is the best tool for furniture making?"
Nothing from Noah. He looks very bored and climbs down from the boat. I follow him into the workshop. He grabs oil, a small pot, a hot plate, beeswax, and a bucket. Then he heads back out to the boat's deck. I follow him back out with the camera and live chat. He spreads it all out. The whole live stream is bombing. This wasn't just a bad idea, it was an epically bad idea.
His hand caresses the deck table. Deep ocean eyes locked on the wood. He picks up the sandpaper and works the sandpaper against the deck. We all view together Noah's work in silence and it's as if he's weaving a spell. Sucked into his towering quiet presence. Bit by bit the whole vibe shifts like a slow wave crashing into the shore.
The number of watchers climbs from five hundred to ten thousand. Maybe it's just me or it could be everyone watching him. But the woodwork is beautiful. It's that quiet beauty, the kind that washes down deep. I hold my breath as he goes about his business. The question stops rolling across the screen for a single moment. It's as if everyone in the chatroom is holding their breath. Have you ever watched someone so good at something it takes you back? That each movement is natural as taking the next breath. As if everything is supposed to be done like this. That the wood is dancing with him. In one of those epic slow dances because the timber wants whatever Noah wants to give. And Noah knows what the wood needs.
He pulls his pocket knife out from his back pocket with a loud open click. Then cuts up the beeswax bar with his knife in perfect squares. Noah picks up the small copper pot. He turns on the hot plate and places the pot. And grabs the oils out of the pantry. He pours the oil into the small copper pot like a wizard with a perfect recipe for a brew. Noah picks up the copper pot and swirls the contents. He drops the squares in bit by bit. Then he sets the pot down. He picks up his cloth and plunges it into the hot pan of oil and wax. He folds the hot oily cloth in his hand over the half finished deck table. Sweat drips down his forehead. The wetness travels down his neck to dip under his henley. That heavy tool belt dips low and rattles with his movements. He finally applies the cloth onto the wood. The thirsty wood drinks the oil. His hands work the wood like it's alive. And it's as if the wood has skin and he's working the oil into its naked body. Every swipe of the oil brings out more colors of the wood. He drops the cloth into a bucket of oil. Little drops of oil drip into the bucket from the cloth. Then Noah looks up at me.
