Page 14 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
“Why now?”
“What do you mean?” Azaire asks.
“We’ve known each other for nine years. Why are you only asking me now?”
“Oh, uh…” He tugs at the back of his beanie. “Would you have liked me to find you sooner?”
My heart aches with his anxiety, and I feel frozen in my bones by my own contradictions.
No, now is the perfect time.
Yes, I’ve been alone so long.
No, you should’ve never found me.
“I’ll let you know,” I say. “As soon as I decide.”
“That’s a good sign, right? That you want to decide?”
“It’s a to-be-determined.” I shuffle back and forth, not daring to walk away. Not when I’m so close, even though I should be so far.
“I’ll tell you what,” I add. “We can watch the stars again.”
I think I mean it.
I’m scared to mean it. I shuoldn’t mean it.
People are safer at a distance.I’msafer at a distance.
I contemplate on how to leave this open ended. The best way to buy more time. “When I find you,” I add.”
“Okay.” Azaire smiles, and I walk away with the feeling of his excitement.
Then, I feel my own. Though it’s hard to notice over the pounding voice in my head telling me this is a bad, bad idea.
?
At the end of the day, I return to Ms. Ferner’s classroom. Her dark brown curls are frizzier than usual, barely contained as she carefully imbues a bottle of herbs with her power. Her frazzled state could be on account of the harsh realities of today, though she’s probably long been aware of the volunteer groups.
She looks up when I enter, gesturing toward my usual seat. I slide into it as she finishes her work.
“How was it today?” she asks, setting the bottle down.
I pick at the wood around the desk, staring at every crevice. “Difficult.”
“I’d imagine.” Ms. Ferner approaches, sitting next to me.
Shecanimagine, but she doesn’t. This is the way of the worlds.
I drop my hands, pressing my palms flat against the wooden table. “How do you watch and do nothing?” I ask, unable to keep my voice steady.
Ms. Ferner shakes her head, as if she doesn’t know what I’m referring to. “Watch what?”
“The abuse of the Nepenthes,” I say, assuming that my question was obvious enough, especially for another Eunoia. She canfeelme.
Sheknowswhat I’m talking about.
Her eyes find mine, severe. “You know what they did.”
