Location: Central
She's been here all morning. Not engaging in conversation, not bothering me. Not playing music. Just being.
And I'm not entirely sure why.
I've been tinkering. Not on the piano, but on my motorcycle, trying to resurrect it after the latest break down and that crash...
I rub the back of my head, considering. Stupid thing. Maybe I should just get rid of it. After that last accident on it almost three months ago, I had to wrestle myself into even considering touching it.
I drop a wrench through the wiry frame and reach through a gap to reclaim it, glancing over at Femi.
She's sitting on top of my high, cabinet toolbox, legs dangling, head bent as she goes through the book of poems. She's been sifting through them for hours. Picking up pieces of discarded manuals, writing her own poems in grease with her fingertips, perhaps.
But she hasn't said a word to me. She just showed up, helped herself to my life, and plopped down in my shop like she owned the place.
Which she does, if I was to get specific. She owns most of me, so she owns most of it. I gave it to her willingly. I just want her to be comfortable.
It is hard to tell myself that after yesterday, though. I shouldn't have asked her for that kiss. I'm an idiot. It was selfish. She didn't want it, and still, I asked.
Goodness, get with the program, Paris.
Now, it's still what she's doing. Painting, maybe. Writing. Reading.
Not talking to me.
Though to be fair, I haven't tried to talk to her, either. She doesn't seem open to it, at the moment. She's so quiet.
For a moment, I try to lose myself in the process of loosening a bolt that holds the very crumpled wheel onto the suspension. It doesn't exactly seem very likely to be able to do, though. I mean... what is work compared to women?
Or, this woman. Because that's what she is, now. She's not a little girl anymore. Because I'll admit, five years ago, we were kids. We were stupid. We believed for so much, and there was nothing too far away.
We were beautiful. Our minds were the most vibrantly flawless things.
Hers was, anyway. Mine has improved since then, and it's alright. But it will never be as free and sweet as hers was.
I glance up at her and drop my wrench again.
This time, the clanging draws her attention, and she looks up, her hair an utter and complete mess, eyes full of thoughts.
I try to smile, showing my teeth in a display of sheepish embarrassment. I don't know why I'm embarrassed. Maybe it's the way her eyes seem to bore holes in my calm.
"Hi," I say, looking down quickly as I retrieve the tool. My hands shake, but I play it cool, looking up to smile at her again.
She smiles a tiny smile back. "Hey."
"It's been years," I chuckle, not looking up.
"I know, right? I hardly recognized you when I walked in this morning. You look so different from last week."
"I think it's that I haven't shaved," I muse, brushing a hand across my face. It hasn't been that long, honestly. A few days, maybe. But really. Facial hair is such a stupid bother. What's the point?
"It looks good, though." She looks back down to the book in her lap, swinging her bare legs. She ditched the black skinny jeans in favor of some shorts that look a lot like they came from Elena. The jacket is still there, though, and it's becoming really grungy looking.
The poor jacket needs a serious bath.
I smile to myself, getting back to work.
For a moment, she's quiet. "I didn't feel like being around, today."
"No?" I look up. "What do you mean?"
She shrugs, eyes still trained on the book in her lap. "I just wanted to get away. I didn't feel like hanging around. And I knew that I was safe here, if I wanted to be alone."
"But I'm here. You aren't alone." I cock my head to the side, studying her.
Her and her stained, messy clothes, her ratty red hair. Her sad, blue and brown eyes. Nothing about her is put together in the least at the moment. She's never been that kind of person, I guess, but before, she seemed to have a gentle sort of mismatched-ness. Now it looks painful and sleep deprived.
"I'm not alone, but I really am." She sighs. "My mind is like a high tower with thick walls. My heart isn't even there, anymore. How can I be with anyone if I can't let them in?"
"What do you mean, you can't let anyone in? You can. I know you can. Come on."
She shakes her head. "You don't understand. I can't. I really, really can't."
"No, I don't. You let Piper in."
"Piper is a baby, Paris," she says, smiling. "She won't hurt me. Ever, not even if I do something very stupid. Do you know how wonderful that is?" She looks up, soft red brows bent in thought. "I mean, if I did something horrible, like sell your house and use the money to buy a ticket out of here, would you hurt me?"
I shake my head. "No. Never. I would never do anything to you. I would start over. Though I'll admit that I would be rather irritated. But I wouldn't hurt you."
She smiles. "You would, though. You wouldn't take it as well as you think you would. I know that. People never behave as well as they say they will. People are unreliable."
"People are only as good as you see them," I say. "You have to raise your trust in people in order to see that we're not really as bad as you think."
I try to smile, but she's so incredibly pessimistic that it's hard to manage one. She just seems too ill-used... like no one has ever done anything right to her.
Which isn't true, I'm sure. Her friend Jade taught her to play piano. Elena and Matt seem to be nothing but kind to her. I won't say the things that I've done, the pieces of myself that I've given over. After all, she doesn't count them anymore. Or she doesn't seem to. I'm not sure what to expect of her.
"People aren't what I need," she says finally. "They don't do the right things, ever. They are truly the most unreliable creatures..."
"Would you stop being bitter?" I interrupt, sighing. "You're not being very pleasant, my girl. People aren't all bad. Let's stop talking about them, huh? It's not the way things are supposed to be seen."
For a moment, she stares at me like I'm a strange creature from another world, and then she nods. "Alright." She drops her eyes back to the poetry book, shuffling the little scrap pages on the surface of the real pages.
I wonder what she's written. What might it be?
It could be a window into her tortured mind. Maybe I'm better off not looking.
I go back to work, doing my best not to think about all of the hopeless things she's been spewing into the atmosphere. Things about the horrors of humankind and the way no one can be trusted.
Who has she been around for the last five years?
It makes me want to punch something just wondering what might have happened. What someone could have done to break her so much.
"You know," she murmurs after a while, "this place is very dark. Have you ever thought of putting in another window?"
"No, actually." I look up, smiling. "I have never thought of that."
"Well, you should." She smiles back. "It would make the place beautiful. Light, you know? It helps the insides of places so much."
I straighten up, resting on just one knee. "Well, you seem to think so, anyway." I offer a smile. "Where would you put it if you were the one doing it?"
She climbs down from the top of my toolbox. "I think somewhere over here." She leads me over to an expanse of wall in the corner, toward the back of the shop. "It would be nice, don't you think?"
"It would look out over an alley."
She shrugs. "So? Plant some flowers in the darn alley if that would float your boat. But this is where I'd put the window."
"You're strange," I say softly, looking down at her. "But I guess that's okay."
For a moment she eyes me, one brow raised, and then she looks away and takes a step down the length of the wall. "It would be so neat to have colors on it, wouldn't it? I wish I had my paints." A little bit of the old Femi peeks through the curtain of wild red hair at me. Then, like a puff of steam on a cold day, she's gone.
I miss her.
"Do you still have the ones I left?"
I shake my head. "The bottles got old. They got leaky and it all dried out or went bad. I'm sorry. I couldn't keep them right."
"No, it's alright. It was a long shot." She steps further along, tickling the wall with her fingertips, arm outstretched to just brush it as she moves along.
I pick up a sledge hammer and strike the wall where she requested a window, not taking the time to consider. Why not just take a plunge?
Isn't "just do it" a big deal? Maybe it's right for me, too.
Femi turns around, her eyes rounded with surprise and maybe a little bit of fear.
I'm too busy beating down a square of wall to care.
It only takes me a minute to get through the wall, but it takes a while longer to get the hole to the right shape. It isn't that hard since there are studs and beams framing the space, but I have to be careful to avoid breaking anything I might regret breaking.
Femi's eyes remain glued on me, as though she can't believe I'm doing this, even though I just said that it was a good idea.
When the hole is satisfactory, I drop the hammer and step back, hands hanging loosely at my sides.
The girl is still watching me, though.
I wish I could answer the call that keeps sounding in my bones. To hold her close, to try to help her through this. But that call is obviously delirious. It doesn't know how hard it is to look at her and smile. To smile at her and not get caught in the urge to say something that I might regret.
"What do you think?" I ask, grinning at her.
She shrugs, mouth twisting into a laughing smile. "I'm not sure. It's rather sudden. Do you have a window to put in it?"
I nod. "I think so. I have several windows. Hopefully one fits."
One does. I don't have to ask for help to put it in, either.
With the window in position, we can survey our handy work. My handy work, mostly, but I suppose it was her idea. For that reason, a portion of the credit is hers.
"Better?"
She nods. "I like it. Can it be my window?" There's a bit of softness in her tone, and I have to keep myself on edge. I don't want to forget myself. If I do that, it would mean nothing but hurt. She wouldn't be quite soft enough to have grace for my stupidity. We can't have another time like yesterday.
"It can be your window," I assure her, looking out of it. It's not a pretty view, as I told her it wouldn't be, but it isn't quite as bad as I thought it would be, either. It's okay.
She smiles. "Thank you."
"It's nothing," I say.
And it isn't really anything.
Nothing seems to amount to much, lately.