CHAPTER 20: Sharks And Homing Pigeons
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Ella was quiet the next day, lost in thoughts....her mind exploring possibilities. In light of recent events, she couldn't help herself from considering every angle and perspective, and yet it was leading nowhere but confusion.
Ella knew she couldn't jump to conclusions, but the only way to confirm was to ask...and still, she was hesitant. The entire ordeal would lead to a dead-end if he refused to answer, she knew that, but...
Neo sat next to her in the book cafe working on their project, but he was less concentrated on his keyboard and more on the girl sitting next to him. He could tell she was distracted, not entirely focusing on the book she held in her hands.
He didn't call her out on it right away, needing a moment for himself, to compose and collect his thoughts.
"Ella." He called, snapping her out of her reverie, she turned to look at the boy who said her name, hardly believing he was speaking to her.
"Holding the book is not gonna do much, you actually have to read it." The moment he said it, he realised his words didn't sound like the joke he intended them to be, and Ella's defensive voice only confirmed it.
"I'm trying okay, It's just... " she sighed and closed the book. "Never mind." She mumbled and rose from the chair she was sitting in as she said. "I need a minute." And with that she walked away, while he stared at her with wide panicked eyes, hating how bad and awkward he was at conversing with others and picking up social clues.
He sighed, disappointed in himself. Looking at the laptop screen in front of him he decided to focus on something he was actually good at.
When Ella returned to their table a little later than one minute she found a cup of caramel latte on her side of the table with her name on the cup.
Ella looked at it curiously, "Did you order this?" She asked as she took a seat and looked at Neo.
He focused on his laptop screen harder, now staring at the blinking cursor, as he tried to type something meaningful but nothing came to mind. "Yeah, it's for you."
Ella looked surprised at the gesture, "Thank you, that's really sweet of you...but, you didn't have to..."
Neo suddenly felt like his face was warming up and he looked down at the notes he had taken, just to hide his face. "You're welcome."
Ella opened the book she was previously reading, as she took a sip of the hot drink, finding it exactly to her liking, "You knew how I take my coffee?" she asked, looking at him quizzically.
Neo almost dropped his pen at her question, he looked up at her and answered, "You once ordered that here while I was behind you in the line, I just remembered."
Ella smiled unsurely, "Right..."
Neo's chocolate-brown eyes widened as he scrambled to say, "I'm not some creep, I just have a really good memory," he paused thinking for a moment and then added, "I-I'm not bragging about how good my memory is, I mean it's awful I even messed up your name the first time, It's just I remembered because it's the same order as mine."
Ella chuckled, feeling a little light for the first time that day "That's exactly what a creep would say." she joked.
"Really? Do you meet a lot of creeps?" He smirked, a little amused at her quip.
"I don't know, you tell me..." she replied.
"I have nothing to tell, apparently I've never met a creep but somehow my words seem to resemble one...it's not intentional of course, I mean if I really knew the tropes I would have avoided them don't you think?"
Ella laughed at that and they bantered back and forth all afternoon. Neo forgot about their group work and Ella forgot about her worries. It was almost a wasteful afternoon but they didn't seem to mind.
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When Ella picked up the letter from the library, she was torn and confused as to what she should do about all her doubts, and just like that, she found herself under the familiar willow tree.
She has managed to avoid the topic for the few hours she spent with Neo, he was really great and she didn't even raise how quickly the time passed in his company. They talked about books and made fun of the artwork they researched and even managed to get some work done among their weird banter.
All of it kept her mind off other things as they worked together, but now that she was left alone the confusion returned.
Looking down at the letter in her hands, she quickly unfolded it, the eagerness in her winning the battle as she read knowing it's not gonna contain any of the answers she was really looking for.
21-Oct-2018
Dear Annie,
You can never bore me with anything, don't think you would. Everything you do or say holds my attention, every mundane detail is valuable to me. I'd rather read about your life than live my own. Yesterday my roommate found me "smiling excessively" at your letters and then he literally went outside to check if the pigs were flying.
According to him, I'm not the 'smiling for no reason at papers' type, he says, I'm more of a 'grow-frustrated-and-argue with paperwork' kind of guy- but I guess while reading your words I can't help it.
To answer your question, no it's not just you, it happens to me too, you are not 'blabbering like a maniac'. I often find myself in my room sitting in my chair, staring down at a paper that's meant to be a letter. This has been happening frequently these days and I find myself struggling to write something eloquent, something witty, perhaps something that would make you smile or at least amuse you a bit. But more often than not, I find myself at wit's end.
When I was a little boy, I used to think the moon followed me wherever I went, it mystified me to no extent but on the other hand, its constant presence was somewhat comforting. So much so that I was actually disappointed to learn the scientific reason behind why it appears so... I'm telling you all this because that's how the thoughts of you make me feel. They seem to follow me wherever I go and even when I'm alone I'm never truly so, the thought of you and your letters is a constant presence and comfort.
I'm sorry you forgot your book and for the fine, you now have to pay, but I'm glad to know that I distract you. You are guilty of distracting me too, you are on my mind all the time, it's only fair I return the favour.
Ella paused, staring at those words her heart swelled and a smile tugged at her lips, making her feel happier than she felt all day. She continued reading.
I'm amazed at your ability to fit sharks, quantum physics and homing pigeons in the same conversation, how do you do it? Your mind is so mysterious, if it were a physical world I think I'd explore it and be mesmerized at every discovery.
You picked up on the 'unfortunate' bit huh? Of course, you're not wrong, you rarely are ('quantum letter exchange' being the only time so far I suppose).
I always wanted to be a writer, but nobody really encouraged me to do it, for the longest time I wasn't even aware it was an option for me. My grandfather was the one who instilled the love of books and stories in me. He made me think I could do anything, achieve anything. We both used to sit down around crackling fire on winter weekends and read endlessly and then later discuss things that I read and found fascinating. He always knew what book I had read and then we would talk about it for hours. It was amazing and I thought my grandfather was unbelievably 'cool' to have read every book there was (I was a naive little kid, of course, I believed that even though he never claimed it). He encouraged me with my writing, helped me imagine and bring colour to my thoughts.
He would also share with me little stories from his life, while songs like 'Norwegian wood' played in the background, the stories were about war (he was in the army), about his longing for home and about his love for little things and about how we young people take too many things for granted. He made me who I am.
The very first time I saw a letter, an actual letter was because he showed it to me. He used to exchange letters frequently with my grandmother when he was deployed and that was the only form of communication.
He only showed me a few and let me read even fewer and as I did I was transported to a different time, the love they had for each other was beautiful- it wasn't expressed explicitly, it was very subtle and communicated with elegance and respect in small things and matters they cared about and worries they voiced only rarely but strongly.
Their longing for each other was a constant subtext in words of respectful nothings and for the first time, I was fascinated with that form of communication. Even though technology has given us a lot, I mourned the loss of what it had taken away.
After he passed away, I realised no one ever believed in me as he did. I was always the artistic kind of kid and my dad wasn't exactly supportive of my career choice, he didn't understand why I wanted to pursue something artistic and struggle when I could do something more stable, and so I ended up choosing science. That's the story, sorry it's a bit of a downer, you keep asking me all these heavy questions and I can't help but answer.
Ella felt a wave of grief wash over her as read that, it exposed just how much he craved that someone would understand his choices and support him for what he really wanted. She took a deep breath and continued reading...
When my therapist told me to keep a diary, to write down everything and anything that troubled me- I put my pen on the paper and somehow ended up writing a letter.
I realised I have complaints and unresolved issues with a lot of people in my life and I wanted to take them up with the person- so every time something about somebody made me anxious, I wrote a letter to someone who I trust would hear me out even though they necessarily wouldn't, but this way I had a person in my mind when I wrote down my feelings. A living breathing person who has been a part of my life.
I couldn't write "Dear Diary" and project my thoughts towards a piece of writing equipment that has no heart or thoughts or a mind, so it was easier that way and I stayed with what felt right.
Ella breathed in deeply, trying to work through the heavy feeling that settled in her heart as she read those vulnerable words.
Coming to your next question....I don't know if you're an old soul simply because I don't really understand what it means, but you are wise and every little detail you reveal with your words makes me think you are unaware of your own potential as they are so often laced with self-doubt. Don't let your inhibitions hold you captive, you are meant for stunning new things, you just have to let yourself be fascinated with everything about you.
I'm glad this hasn't turned into an email or phone conversation. I too prefer it this way. Writing these letters should feel like an outdated prehistoric notion that has lost its worth in this fast-moving world, but it doesn't. Writing you these words has its own charm, they carry an elegance, its own eloquence that won't be possible by any other means.
Earnestly,
Elliot.
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