Atlas
I always loathed the rain. Or at least I used to.
Those thick grey clouds would fog up the sky, dimming bright rays of sunlight that felt like a warm kiss against my skin. The sun's warmth had always been my favourite, and probably why I loved the color yellow so much.
Now that I couldn't see those golden hues anymore, my perception of this spinning rock had shifted drastically. I no longer had my vision to foster opinions from. I could no longer rely on my sight, and subsequently, I had only ever learned to see with my eyes. Foolishly, most people do.
Now I had to learn to see with, well... everything else.
The crackling sound of thunder cut through the otherwise quiet studio. Light sounds of rain tapped against the old roof pannels of the building, reminding me of just how much I'd grown to love the rain.
"It sounds like it's really starting to come down." Errol spoke, reminding me that he was actually still here. For just a brief moment, the silence had made me forget. I felt the wet clay between my fingers as I began to mold an indented base.
"This building tends to echo the droplets, creating a much louder sound more profound than the storm outside." I replied, explaining the heavy pelts of water that had started to smack against the building.
Errol took a while to reply. When he did, it wasn't something I was expecting. It made me realize I was going to need to stop with the expectations all together when it came to this man.
"You're like Daredevil." He said randomly.
Those intrusive thoughts must've won, I thought to myself.
"No, it's not like- well it kinda.... wait- no it really isn't like that." I practically tumbled over my words. I did not have a ready made response to that one. No one had every outwardly voiced the similarities between myself and Daredevil before.
"Do you pick up on things that no one else can?" He asked with a little too much excitement. Whatever Errol lacked in sensitivity training, he always made up for with audacity.
"It's nothing like a superpower. It's just the human body learning to adapt." I explained, completely perplexed by how we even got here. "As a way of survival, I think humans are well programmed to adapt."
The clay felt like mush against my fingertips. Errol had distracted me so greatly, I added too much water to my hands.
"How about music?" He continued, unwilling to shy away from a topic almost no one else would ever have the balls to press. The last person to ask me about my acute hearing was Atticus, and that was only because I always caught the sly shit he'd mutter under his breath. "Has that changed for you?" Errol continued.
I gave myself a moment to gather these scrambled thoughts, and when I did, I sort of understood this man's excitement now. I almost forgot he was a whole musician.
"Sure." I nodded, attempting to fix the wet solution by adding more clay. "I don't think I've noticed anything drastic though. I tend to work with music on very low, or in complete silence most days." The base of the vase was starting to take shape now as I continued to build up. That was when my foot instictively reached for the pedal, to start the pottery wheel.
Errol's dissapointment could be felt from all the way over here as the wheel stirred to life. "Please don't tell me you're one of those people who hate music or something."
The pain in his voice sounded like I full on slapped this man accross the face. "It's not like that." I pleaded my case almost immediately. "It just took me a while to get used to how I am now. Used to the environment around me. Any surrounding noises made it insanely hard to focus then, and as I got better at navigating life without seeing, I noticed how peaceful silence can also be. I can assure you though, I like music."
I, too, would probably be concerned if someone told me they didn't like any music. It's like saying someone doesn't like art, when art can take on so many forms.
Errol let out an unexpected chuckle, but I forced myself to focus on what my hands were doing this time. The sound from the rain muffled some of his voice, and he seemed to pick up on that when I heard him scoot his chair a bit closer to me.
The wood grinding against the cement floors was an unmissable sound. Nyra loved dragging that thing all over the studio when she wanted to read in a sun spot. She was like a cat, just following the sun as it moved through the studio.
"I understand. Clearly I take music pretty seriously, considering what I do for a living. I didn't really think about that, though. How overstimulating it could get when you rely so heavily on hearing." His voice sounded a bit sympathetic, so I offered him a smile to ease some of that discomfort. His bold unfiltered self was a breath of fresh air, and I didn't want to necessarily limit him. His boldness reminded me of Atticus and Nyra. It reminded me of good company.
"I guess that's probably why some musician's close their eyes when they play." I added, smiling slightly to myself. "To drown out all that other noise you hear through your sight."
Errol
I stared at Atlas as he worked.
As he spoke.
Hell, as he just sat there and breathed.
It was to the point where I was forcing myself to take breaks, and look away. To find something else around the darkening studio to latch my eyes onto. Even if he couldn't see me, something told me Atlas knew whenever my gaze landed on him again.
He would tilt his head up slightly in my direction, acknowleding me. He did this way more today than any other day I'd been here.
And I sorta liked it.
It made me feel like I was an actual guest in his studio, instead of a discarded piece of clay.
If we were being honest though, Atlas probably had the highest regard for every piece of clay in this studio. The way he continued to work, made me almost sure of it. His hands were firm yet delicate with his art, mesmerizing me the same way they had last week.
It was his words though, that always caught me off guard. The way he said things... explained things.
I sat quietly in this god awful wooden chair, thinking about what he said last. I was immediately regretting the prying I was doing into this guys music interests, but his explanation was... inexplicable. I couldn't remember the last time I had this much facination with sound, and once again, Atlas was suprising me by what common ground I found us standing on.
"That's a really good way to put it." I replied finally, realizing I had kept us in silence for a ridiculous amount of time. Atlas didn't rush me when it came to words though. His comfort with silence was a complete contrast to mine. "One of these days I'll have to try playing the keys blind." I said those last few words without thinking, and that made Atlas's hands slow. I hadn't even noticed I had found myself looking at him again.
"Oh so we're intentionally maiming ourselves these days, are we?" He asked with one of those dark brown eyebrows raised. "What a new societal low."
"I-I'm so sorry! I didn't mean-" I started, barely able to get a coherent sentence out before Atlas started laughing.
It was a light yet hearty laugh. One so whole hearted and genuine, my mood shifted immediately. "Sorry, you just- I keep forgetting you're not-" He stopped himself short through bits of chuckles, as he got himself together. "I'm really just fucking with you."
A smile pulled at my own lips. It was that feeling of... comfortability. Like he just handed me a Willy Wonka golden ticket into his Dark Jokes Chocolate Factory.
"When I could see, I never really got into playing any instruments. I made an ash colored Ocarina from clay once many years ago, which was pretty cool. It was for... well, Atlas took another pause, like he was thinking thinking about his next words before saying them. "It was a gift for your mother actually."
That right there really had to be the greatest difference between this man and myself. The fact that Atlas seemed to always think before he spoke. I couldn't tell if he was like this with everyone, or just me.
"It was actually one of the coolest, and weirdest commisions I had every gotten." He continued. "Lia was constantly like that though, pushing me to do things so out of my element. She fucking hated when I confined myself to any comfort zone. She'd always tell me that comfort isn't where one goes to grow. It's where one goes to rest."
A large smile spread across my lips at his words. The way Atlas spoke about my mother was so honest, yet loving. Everything he said lead me to understand their dynamic more, which in return helped me understand my mother more.
I also liked how he didn't get into the explanation of an Ocarina, because I knew exactly what he was talking about. Down to the actual piece itself.
I just never knew it was his work.
My mother had kept that Ocarina on the mantle above the fireplace in our living room. It showed up randomly one day when I came home from college during my first year, but I never asked my mum about it. She just... she collected too many things to keep track.
Seeing the smile on Atlas's face as he spoke about that piece and my mother, made me suddenly want to visit home again.
To take a real look at all the things I discarded and packed after her death.
The things I ignorantly labeled as clutter... that were clearly far from it.
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