in front of the door. Flexing his long fingers and occasionally cracking his knuckles.
"You need to calm down," I said, turning over a page in my notebook.
"I will. Once we know where that fucker is."
"Pacing isn't going to find him any faster," I pointed out.
"No," he agreed, "but it makes me feel better. If I sit still, I might launch through the roof."
"So, sit. That's something I'd like to see," I teased with a wink.
Finn took his eyes from the window to roll his eyes at me. "Smart ass," he grumbled. It was the first time since our date ended that I'd seen him smile.
I felt his heavy footsteps on the ground as he leaned in over my shoulder. “What is this?” Finn asked, reaching over me to the table where I’d left my notebook open. "Is this part of your research?"
“No. It’s…nothing.” I tried to snatch it back, but I was too late and Finn was already silently mouthing the words.
My words.
“Sawyer." There was an awe in his voice I'd never heard before. He lowered the page and gazed up at me. His eyes filled with wonderment. Pride. My stomach flipped. “You wrote this?”
I bit my lip and fidgeted with the pen in my hand. “Yeah?” It came out as a question.
Finn set the notebook reverently back on the table. He reached for me, placing his hands on my face. He pressed a firm kiss to my lips that I felt all the way to the deepest part of my soul. “I didn’t know you could write like that."
I shrugged. "Neither did I."
"It’s really good. Like, really good. Do you have more?”
“Yes, but mostly it’s just a bunch of scribbles. Art and religion are so closely connected. I never really knew that before. Paintings. Tapestries. Poetry. I loved the poetry so much I started reading all the poetry books we have here. They were…inspiring. I've been messing around with some ideas and the way the words feel to me when I write them. I feel peaceful reading them back to myself. In control when all I’ve ever felt was out of control."
"It's really incredible."
"This book is my favorite one." I reached for book I kept out of order on the corner of the shelf. I’d been pulling it out at least a few times a day. I didn’t want to keep getting the rolling stool out every time I wanted to reach it on the top shelf. I gently placed the book titled, POETRY OF THE HEART, on the table and opened to the Maya Angelou poem I fell in love with in the first chapter. “I read this and it made me feel something. I realize that’s what the author was trying to do. Provoke an emotion. Relay a feeling. Vent and make people see inside her mind. It was…brilliant. Breathtaking. Then I thought that I might be able to do something like that too. Obviously, not like her, but like…I don’t know. Me.”
“I’ve never read anything like it.” Finn held up the notebook again and much to my chagrin he again read my attempt at being creative although this time, much to my dismay, he read the words out loud.
A bird fell from a tree today and sang his last song at the bottom.
Maybe, it wasn’t a song.
Maybe, I was wrong.
It could have been a scream or a cry.
A call for help. A plea not to die.
I was helpless to know and helpless to help so I called it a song and I moved along.
A bird fell from a tree today and screamed his last scream at the bottom.
“Too morbid, right?” I cringed.
“No. At least I don’t think so. It’s about perception and not being able to change things. The dying bird could be anything. Any person you can’t help or any situation you can’t change. It’s really…just wow.” He wrapped his arms around me. “Just when I thought you couldn’t amaze me anymore then you already have.” He murmured.
His phone buzzed and he gave me a quick kiss before stepping to the back of the library by the storage area to take the call. It’s the only space in the place where your words didn’t echo or amplify like you were shouting into a megaphone.
The chime above the library door signaled a visitor. We didn’t get many as of yet. Especially since we weren’t officially open. But I wanted people to feel free to come check out our progress. I loved meeting more and more people from the town I now called home.
“We aren’t open yet but feel free to look around,” I called out as a familiar young woman entered, looking around as if she were lost. She had lifeless mouse brown hair pulled back in a severe bun at the nape of her neck. Her shapeless long sleeved grey blouse and ankle-length black skirt brought reminded me of times I’d rather soon forget.
Am I seeing things?
“Sawyer?” the young woman asked, like it was her who couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She tentatively walked to the center of the room with her arms hanging low and her hands clasped together in front of her body. She looked me up and down before her mouth opened in what looked like surprise. Her eyebrows arched. “You look…you so different.”
It wasn’t until she was standing directly in front of me only a few feet away when I finally recognized her. “Bridget?”
She nodded and flashed me a small smile. If she’d been smiling when she walked in I probably would have never recognized her. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”
Bridget had been the closest thing to a friend I ever had, but that didn’t say much. Not being allowed to speak in public or within hearing distance of adults, or allowed to spend much time alone with others our own age, made it hard to forge relationships. Bridget and I were able to communicate through side glances and eye shifts, along with the occasional hushed whisper or stolen conversation.
“Of course, I remember you. What are you doing here?” I asked, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her in for a hug. I was happy to see her but, my happiness quickly turned to concern. She was much thinner than I remembered. I could feel her ribcage pressed against me.
Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Finn who hastily ended his call but kept his distance, watching our interaction intently. I nodded at him to let him know that all was well but he still didn’t take his eyes from us.
Bridget stiffened in surprise and I released my error. The hug. “I’m sorry,” I said, taking a step back. “I wasn’t thinking.” Hugs weren’t something I’d experienced from anyone other than my mother growing up. I imagined that Bridget’s life was very much the same, if not worse. Her mother barely ever made eye contact with anyone. Not even her. “It was amazing how quickly I’d embraced the hug as a greeting.”
“It’s alright. Affection always did come to you naturally. I always watched you put your hand out or step to close to someone before you’d correct yourself.” she laughed nervously. I did too.
“You were very observant.”
She looked around the room. “It wasn’t like there is much else to do but look when no one thinks you’re looking. Speaking of looks. You look so different than the last time I saw you. At your mother’s funeral,” Bridget said, looking me up and down yet again.
It was more of a curiosity than a compliment, but I thanked her anyway.
I tugged on the cut off hem of my black denim shorts which barely covered any leg at all, suddenly feeling very exposed. “Yes, things have most certainly changed for me,” I said.
“Yes. I left after that.’
“I thought you were dead.”
“Why?”
“Because, your father told us you were dead. Killed yourself just like your mother had.” She trained her eyes on me. “I didn’t believe him for one moment. I knew you were stronger than that.”
Suddenly it occurred to me that she might not be alone. “Bridget, I’m happy to see you, but why are you here?” I asked, looking to Finn who was already peeking through all the windows. “How are you here?”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m alone. They think I’m passing out flyers for the tent service,” she said, her spine straightening slightly. Her eyes finally meeting mine, if only for a second. “You’re not the only rebel to come out of
God’s light you know.”