Chapter 27
Everything seems calmer after your conversation with your host. You might not have said much, but that is the entire point of being a good listener – not to speak, but to listen, impartial. She hadn’t stayed much longer after explaining what was going on, but the anxiety and paranoia that seeped into your side of the gate has thinned and faded away until there is nothing left of it. Every now and again, if you focus, you can find something of it left, but it takes a lot of effort – more than you want to put forth just to feel your host’s anxiety.
No, your time now is spent trying to remember more about your sister – Perdy, Perdita – who seemed like a horrible human being and about your husband, whose name you still can’t remember but who you know, from the memories you’ve recalled, very firmly did exist. You want more than almost anything to find a way to make more memories appear, but you cannot figure out what has been triggering them. The only constant is that they often happen as a result of – or, more often, during – conversations with your host or her girlfriend.
This makes staying in your room hard.
And yet, you do not want to push things with Dani. Not when they are slowly smoothing out. She doesn’t seem to hate you anymore. As much as you might interfere with her life, you aren’t trying to be possessive the way the ghost of her dead fiancé was. You don’t want to be possessive. You don’t want to possess your host, as ironic as that might sound.
You simply want to be with someone else. You want to live.
You think that these desires are not so far removed from what most people in the world want, to some extent or another. That is, after all, what most of those plays and books your host has been reading are about – living and loving and loneliness. You think, in the end, that will be the only thing that will quell the rage.
The rage still bubbles within you. It is buried deep in your chest where you do not touch it. You do not want it to boil over and consume you the way that it once did – unending, although it could still end, if you could figure out what caused it and address that cause. Some part of you – whatever part it is that still remembers and still calls you into remembering – has been grievously hurt by someone or something.
You expect that it has to do with that sister of yours. She seems a likely culprit. As much as the you in your memories loves her, you – as you are now – can’t help but feel frustrated with her. She speaks as though she has never had to consider another person outside of herself – not even your father, not even you – while you seem to have been raised to consider all of the above. You were, therefore, likely the oldest and raised to take over after your father’s passing in whatever way you could, considering the curse of your gender.
And yet you do not think you ever thought yourself lesser than a man. No, you are quite certain that you thought yourself better than them and refused to bow to their wishes or requests.
You—
“Viola?”
Your name comes drifting through the air as though someone has called for you. There is no reason that anyone should have called for you. The only two people up there who know your name seem to enjoy each other’s company far more than they enjoy yours, and neither of them would particularly ask you anything of consequence. If Jamie asked you a question pointblank when you hadn’t tucked your host away, then your host would be upset, and no one would like that. And if your host had a question for you, it would be far easier for her to close her eyes and join you in this mindscape instead of calling you as is happening now.
And yet—
“Viola.
Will you come up here please?”
That voice sounds like your host. Your eyes narrow. What could she want that would require calling for you to cross the gate instead of her coming to you? She does not like you crossing the gate. In fact, you are quite certain that it literally pains her when you do so (alright, you are not so certain that this is the case. If you truly thought you were hurting her by going up, then you wouldn’t do it in the first place. And yet, you still do).
You take a deep breath, close your eyes, and move – not across the path, not over the wall, not walking or running, but entering into that space that you have made, just the two of you, where you can still see through her eyes and talk with her, much the same as if you made your way down the path, but…different.
This keeps your areas more separate. That side of the gate is hers; this side of the gate is yours. You are not sure that this is necessarily a better or more useful way of being, but it…helps. Her, you think, more than it helps you. Other than the whole not having to climb over the wall thing, which is always nice.
Still.
There has got to be a better way to do this.
Dani feels Viola’s approach – that familiar presence starting at the base of her skull, traveling up and around the center of her head where she has intentionally never parted her hair since she was young (it makes her face seem far longer than she likes), and stopping just at the bridge of her nose. She resists the urge to pinch the spot, to press her fingers to the back of her neck as soon as she feels the ghost answering her call, and instead forces her eyes to remain open. “Can you see?”
It is the first time she has actually asked the question. Dani has always assumed that the creature could see through her eyes when it rests between them and has acted as though this were true. This is, after all, exactly how she had spoken to her about the books she was reading before – about Romeo and Juliet, about the other Shakespearean plays she had been given. But she’s never actually asked the question. It just seems…intuitive.
Yes, I can see. Vaguely.
Dani can almost feel the ghost’s presence just behind her eyes, as though she is watching through them and trying to make sense of things. She takes a deep breath. “Is there a way you can see more than vaguely?” she asks, speaking in a hush under her breath. “Without, you know.” She swallows, tapping her fingers on one arm. “Without taking over.”
Yes, Viola answers, but you do not like it when I do that.
Dani groans under her breath and kneads her forehead. “Yeah, but I totally called you up here this time, so it doesn’t bother me.” That’s a lie. It does bother her. But she’ll get over it. It won’t be for very long, anyway.
What are you so desperate for me to see?
Dani gestures to the rows and rows of bookshelves in front of her. “This,” she whispers, glancing across the books, “is a library. You can look through all of the books and borrow them. We’ll have to return them back eventually, but I thought….” She presses her lips together, carefully considering her words. “I thought it might be nice for you to pick out some of your own books instead of just reading whatever I have lying around.”
There is silence from the ghost. Well. That is a surprise. Dani isn’t sure how to respond to silence. She’s never really gotten Viola to shut up before. She should remember this. (Then again, she doubts that it will work a second time.) She takes a deep breath. “Viola? Is something wrong?”
How do I know what to pick?
The ghost is far more quiet than she usually is. It’s weird. Dani shrugs. “I don’t know. You just find something that sounds good and pick it up and look at it and see if it’s something you’re interested in.” She starts forward, mostly because it’s awkward just standing somewhere in a library without being near one of the bookshelves or sitting in one of the chairs they have at tables that can be used for desks or just to sit and read. “Sometimes I find an author I really like and just read through their books, and sometimes—”
How do I pick it up?
Oh.
Dani hadn’t really thought that far ahead. She’d just thought – you know – it would probably be nice to show Viola a library and let her pick out her own books to read. She hadn’t really thought through all of the logistics of it. “Well,” she says, continuing towards one of the bookshelves, “you could tell me which title looks good to you, and I could pick it up and hold it so that you can see it, and then you can tell me when you’re done looking, and I can put it back. That’s not too hard.”
The ghost sighs. That is not the easiest way to do this.
Dani knows that. She knows what the easiest way would be. She just doesn’t like it. She tugs her lower lip between her teeth.
Before she can say anything, Viola continues, I was not suggesting we take the easier route.
“I know, I know.” Dani grits her teeth together. No one at the library will judge her for talking to herself. She knows that. It’s not like she hasn’t seen other people talking to themselves. Sometimes that is the only way to remember where a book is supposed to be after she’s looked it up – just repeating it to herself over and over until she gets there. So she doesn’t judge – and likely neither will anyone else. “Fine,” she says finally. “Fine.” She crosses her arms and holds them tight to herself. “Just put me back when you’re done. I don’t like the little—”
There is a moment.
It strikes you as different from the other moments.
The giving control and the taking control – there is always a push and a pull.
It’s tenuous at best.
Sometimes it feels like the strain could break and send you flying.
Both.
It could send us flying.
(But not you.
You see this, don’t you?
Of course, you do.)
This moment is different than other moments.
It is different from other times when you--
When they—
When we—
have managed to switch.
There is no acceptance there.
No open giving.
There is only what is stolen.
What is taken.
There is nothing taken here that is not first given.
The key, rusted into the gate’s lock, starts to turn
and then comes to an abrupt stop.
Viola flexes her fingers.
Oh, this is weird.
Dani finds herself not in that room where she has always found herself before, and whatever sensation being tucked away has had for those before her still does not seem to apply to her. Where the others apparently were forced back into memories (she remembers from what Miles and Flora said, but perhaps that was predicated on their agreement with Peter and Rebecca, perhaps that was because Viola herself was stuck reliving her singular memory over and over – that constant walking of the grounds), Dani has never had that unique circumstance. Instead, she has often been forced into the room where Viola primarily lives. But now—
Now—
Dani isn’t quite sure where she has found herself. Perhaps this is the end of the path that leads from the jungle in the woods. Maybe if she turned around and went in the other direction, she would find herself back on the path, back in the jungle, where there is a breeze and birds and insects, and if she went far enough, she would find that gate with its rusted lock.
But here, there is almost nothing but darkness and great open portals through which she can see what is going on in the external world. She can hear, too, but things feel almost – almost – muffled. Maybe it is only that there is not much to hear in a library. Of course. That would make sense.
Is this where Viola goes when she rests between her eyes?
Dani takes a deep breath and scowls as she looks around. She can’t imagine how the ghost could put up with coming up here so often. It’s not something she would do. It’s just so…uncomfortable.
And yet, if this was her only way to the outside world, then maybe….
Maybe….
“Don’t just stand there playing around! If you’re going to go look at books, go look at books!”
You flinch at Dani’s voice reverberating in your head.
“Are you able to see?” you ask, whispering the same way that she was. This building is almost as silent as your side of the jungle, although every now and again you can hear the gentle whir of something mechanical – heater, perhaps – or the hushed conversations of other people at one of the desks.
Yes, her voice comes back almost immediately, and you know from the annoyed tone in her voice that her arms are crossed. And hurry. I don’t like this…wherever this is. That room is a lot better. Especially since you’ve shown me where to get tea. I could be drinking tea right now. She groans with exasperation. How do I get back there?
“Just follow the path. It’ll take you where you need to go.” You start forward to the first of the bookshelves and run your fingers along the bindings of the books. “I have never seen so many books in one place before,” you whisper, letting your eyes scan the sides for their titles. “How many am I allowed to take?”
A few? Dani says. Ten maybe. No more than ten. They’ll look at me funny. She sighs. And they don’t like that I keep forgetting to turn them back in.
You laugh, a small thing. “Don’t worry. I’ll remind you to take them back. It shouldn’t take me long to finish them.”
You know yourself well enough. You can devour books within a few hours, if you are given the time to do so. And, more importantly, Jamie might like these far more than she does the Shakespeare. Still, whatever these books are, they won’t take the place that Shakespeare currently holds in your heart. Which reminds you that you still haven’t finished all of his books yet.
Hamlet, for instance. You remember Dani saying that it was considered one of his greatest works, if not the greatest. You’d thought it best to leave that one for last, but if you were going to have this wealth of books to choose from, then why not go ahead and begin reading it?
One of the books catches your eyes. It isn’t just the title, but the way that it is embroidered into the binding, the soft exterior of the book in comparison to some of the others, and you draw it out, holding it gently between your fingertips. You scan the front cover. It seems simple enough.
If you flip to the back, Dani interrupts, you can read a little bit about what it’s about. That’ll tell you more about it than just the title.
“Thank you,” your murmur, carefully flipping the book to the other side and scanning the text. It seems easy enough. You take a deep breath. “Do I carry this with me, or do I leave it at the front to gather my things when I’m done?”
Dani sighs, and you can almost picture her kneading her forehead. You keep it with you.
“I apologize for exasperating you,” you say as you tuck the book under one arm and continue browsing along the shelf. “I haven’t learned much about your world outside of your apartment. Things like this are new to me.” You almost smile. “In fact, I’m not sure I would remember them if I was from your time.”
You still would, Dani replies almost immediately. You wouldn’t have had nearly as long to forget.
“To fade.” The words are through your lips before you think about it, a hush just as clearly as they are in your mind. You lips press together, and you pause. “Thank you,” you say before you can think to not say it, “for letting me choose my own books.”
There is silence within your mind, and for the briefest of moments, you think that Dani has stopped listening and has instead chosen to return up the path to her side of the gate. You wonder, briefly, if there is a room waiting for her there just as surely as there is one for you on your side. You do not know. You have not explored.
Then her voice comes back, and it so soft – softer even than yours, you think – so soft that you barely hear it even though it would be just as impossible not to.
You’re welcome.