Afterland (14 page)

I notice that I’ve begun to paint faster, even though I haven’t picked up a paintbrush for a month. It’s in accordance with this lifestyle, I realize. I live life in a much faster pace now. In Hopetown, I lived in the slow, perpetual, never-ending cycle of wasted times. So I painted in the pace appropriate for that. I tried to fill as much time as possible with one painting. Now, time doesn’t pass in waste. I have something to fill every moment with.

Perhaps that’s what happiness is: being needed every moment of your life.

I finish my painting. I survey it in approval. It captures what I want it to- the roughness of the bark, the shadows on the snow. I set it down to dry and lay down on my pack to look at the sky. It is a pleasant shade of blue, without a cloud in sight. I close my eyes, feeling the sun on my face. I let the sunshine warm my exposed ears, the tip of my nose, and the corners of my mouth. My lips tentatively forms into a smile.
What a beautiful world,
I think.

I begin to drift off. Part of me is surprised that I can fall asleep now, in the middle of the day on a bed of muddy snow, but the other part enjoys the sunlight and the breeze, and I eventually concede to that side. I find myself taking the first nap I can remember in over a decade. For another hour, I submerge into a peaceful bliss, drifting in and out of oblivion. When my eyelids finally deem themselves ready to flutter open, I feel revitalized and full of energy. The wind brushes against my cheeks, gently pushing me up. I put my painting in my bag and walk slowly back to the camp. There’s approximately an hour and a half left until lunch, but I’ll find something in the camp to occupy myself with until then.

              I look at the green forest around me and smile. I’ve gotten used to thinking of it as
home.

Most of the Rebellion’s members have scattered. The only people still in the clearing are Anna and Big Sal. Anna has collected a small bouquet of the first flowers and is thoughtfully weaving them into a wreath. Big Sal is rapidly knitting something. They both look up when I come in.

“Hello, Molly. You look very nice today,” Anna says.

“Really?” I ask, surprised.

“Mh-hm. You’re basically glowing.”

Big Sal snorts.

“Glowing, maybe not. Less like a raccoon, definitely.” I raise my eyebrows.

“Do I usually look like a raccoon?”

“Yes. You’ve got the paleness, the dark circles. Everything you need to be a proper raccoon.”

“Well.” I say, tracing the outline of my dark circles with my finger. “I never thought of it quite that way.”

Big Sal laughs good-naturedly.

“You look great, Molly. I’m just kidding. Well,” she decides, “Half kidding.” I laugh too.

“I don’t know, I think raccoons are kind of cute.”

“You look more like an evil raccoon warlord.”

“Evil raccoon warlord?” I say, my grin growing wider.

“Yes.”

“A mildly glowing evil raccoon warlord?”

Big Sal considers that for a moment.

“Yes.”

“You know, I’ve been called many things in my time, but never quite anything so…”

“Accurate?” Big Sal supplies.

“I was thinking ‘wildly innovative’. I mean, can you imagine an army of raccoons, and at their head is this crazed glowing raccoon in battle armor, aggressively squeaking instructions to its legions?”

Big Sal gives me a look.

“That sounds terrifying.”

“I actually wish I
was
an evil raccoon warlord now,” I say.

“Well, you’re already halfway there.”

I laugh again. At this moment, Emily emerges from the woods carrying two sticks.

“I’m bored,” she declares. “Anybody want to duel me?”

              “I will,” Anna says, putting down her unfinished wreath. Emily hands her one of the sticks. They shake hands and step back three paces each.

“May the best man win,” Emily says.

As soon as she finishes her curt sentence, they begin whirling around in each other in a deadly dance of offense and defense. My eyes widen. They move at lightning speed, striking at each other and blocking with equal deftness. They move back and forth, occasionally ducking to avoid blows. They are both very light on their feet, balancing on their toes. It is simultaneously beautiful, terrifying, and awe-inspiring.

After ten minutes of fighting, neither side has shown any weakness; it seems that they can continue their dance of death forever, both having found their perfect match. They move up and down the clearing, one rapidly driving the other back with her blows, while the other blocks her opponent’s every move. At last, I don’t understand how, even though I was watching the fight intently, Anna ends up with Emily’s stick in her hand, with her own stick pressed to Emily’s throat. She smiles one of her mysterious smiles.

“I win.”

__              __              __              __              __              __              __              __              __              __ 

After dinner, everybody stays in the clearing, sitting on the circle of logs as if they are waiting for something. There is a full moon in the sky and an astounding amount of stars. The fire in the center has been fed a small mountain of logs. It crackles pleasantly and bathes the clearing in warm shadows.

Nathan comes out of his tent carrying a rounded hourglass shaped wooden object with strings running down the center and along the rectangular block that protrudes out of it. Partially because of the dark and partially because I haven’t seen one in thirteen years, it takes me a moment to recognize the object for what it is: a guitar. I have very vague recollections of a distant relative playing it once, before the Tragedy. I never played because I was too young to learn. And after the Blast, who had the time and resources to teach a teenage girl how to do anything but survive?

Nathan sits down at the opposite end of the bonfire, in a direct line across from me. Everybody falls silent. Nathan quickly adjusts the pitches, strikes a chord, and begins to sing. I can’t help but break into a smile; his voice is incredible. It flows melodically from one pitch to another entrancing me in what seems like magic. It’s been so long since I’ve heard any good music, or any music at all aside from the drunk Hopetown choruses, which was more shouts than song, that I didn’t even realize how much I missed it. Something about it sparks emotions in me I didn’t even know I could feel. There is something so perfect about the way every aspect of the song fits together, and how every syllable has meaning, even though I am too stunned to understand the words. It blows me away.

Then it ends. I am snapped from my reverie. Nathan passes the guitar to Rebekah, who is sitting on his left hand side. Her voice is beautiful as well, especially on the higher notes, which she hits with dead accuracy. When she finishes, she passes the guitar on to Emily. Emily leaves her impression on me just as Nathan and Rebekah did.

Do they
all
sing here?
I wonder.
How is that even possible? When did this happen?
The guitar continues to be passed in a circle and it is proven that everyone can, indeed, sing. I am suddenly very self conscious of the fact that I have no musical talents..

The guitar makes a full circle. Nathan begins to sing again. After having listened to everyone’s voice, I think I like his the best. This time around, I have recovered enough from my pleasant shock to understand the words. The song is about love at war. My feet involuntarily tap themselves to the beat. Half way through the song, I notice that Nathan is looking directly at me.
Is he really?
Yes, his eyes are on my face.
Why?
I wonder. I don’t know, but it gives me a strange feeling in my stomach,

Wait.

Love at war.

Could it be?

No. No way. Me?

I suppose that would explain why he was always so eager to help me, I think tentatively. But why? I’m clearly worse than every other member of the Rebellion. I can’t fight, I can’t sing. I’m cold and gloomy.

No, I decide. Absolutely not.

But then, why is he making eye contact?

No, I tell myself, looking down at my feet. It’s just a coincidence combined with unreasonable wishful thinking. Even though I don’t wish it.

Do I?

After he stops singing, he lowers his eyes. He passes the guitar to Rebekah again. As it continues making circles around the campfire, I find myself thinking,
This is so beautiful. Dear God, why have I never listened to music all this time?

I let the music wash over me, occasionally sneaking glances at Nathan. Once, we glance up at the same time, and somehow, our eyes lock, for several second more than they should. I can’t find it in myself to break away. There is something so mesmerizing about the way the reflections of the fire dance in his irises. Our eyes only break apart when one of the logs in the center breaks, sending up a shower of sparks.

The music continues.

The notes flow from one voice to another. Even though everyone sings different songs with different voices, it seems to me that everyone is telling the same continuous melodic story. Everyone wants to say the same thing. Everyone is contributing one word to the same sentence. Part of me understands exactly what they are saying. I understand how the story is meant to flow and this is the right way. Nothing has ever felt so perfect.

And then, it is over. Gradually, everybody says their goodnights and begins to drift off to their tents. I stand at the  remains of the fire, now a pile of glowing embers, unwilling to give this night up. I look up at the milky way. The endlessness of it calms me for some reason. The world is beautiful. My life isn’t pointless. We can really change things. I stand looking at the Milky Way, thinking just those three thoughts, letting them empower me.

After some time, I realize that I am not alone. Nathan is still sitting at the opposite end of the fire, his guitar leaning against his knee.

“That was beautiful,” I say.

“Thank you,” Nathan smiles, and then, “Do you play?”

“No,” I admit. “I wish I did. But I’ve never even sung before.”

“I could teach you. If you want.”

“Really? would you?”

“If you want to.”

“Yes, yes, I would,” I say with perhaps too much enthusiasm.

“Sure. Let’s go. I know a place.”

“Now?”

“Why not?”

“Well, because-” I begin, looking up to assess the time, but then I dismiss it. Music is timeless, is it not? And why should we let something as silly as time stop us?

“Let’s go.”

“Let’s go then.”

Nathan grabs the guitar under his arm and heads Southwest. I follow him. Our feet break the icy crust covering the snow. The only sounds are the soft crunches of our footsteps and the occasional hoot of an owl. Our path is intercepted by a stream. Nathan crosses first on a shaky path of rocks. He reaches out his hand to help me cross, and I take it, jumping across the stream. We keep walking.

“The night is beautiful,” I say.

“It most certainly is,” he agrees.

We continue walking. After five more minutes, we come to a steep drop of about three and a half meters. Nathan hands me his guitar.

“Hold this.” He dexterously swings down onto the ground below. I reach down and hand him the guitar.

“Aren’t you afraid of heights?” I ask.

“I’m afraid of being high up, but jumping doesn’t bother me so much.”

“Oh,” I say, then look down, assessing how best to get reach the ground.

“Jump,”

“I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be. I’ll catch you.”

“You’ll catch me?” I say skeptically.

“Yes.”

I laugh nervously.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I hesitate.

“Do you think I’ll drop you?”

I pause for a moment.

“Will you?”

“Of course not. Just trust that I’ll catch you.”

“I do,” I say. “I really do. But I don’t think I trust myself to jump.”

Instead, I close my eyes, I swing my feet over the edge, hang on with my fingers, and then drop into a crouch next to Nathan. The impact of my feet with the ground sends a small jolt through my knee joints, but least I didn’t fall over.

“That works too,” Nathan shrugs. “Let’s go, then. We’re nearly there.” We walk up a hill and Nathan stops at a large oak tree.

“Do you have a particular song in mind you want to learn?” Nathan asks, sitting down.

“Um...not really. What’s your favorite song? Teach me that.”

“My favorite song...I suppose that would be
Hallelujah
, by Leonard Cohen. You’ve heard of Leonard Cohen, right?” I shake my head. “Christ, Molly, did you live in a ditch your entire life? He was a very influential musician in the twentieth century. I’ll sing
Hallelujah
for you now.”