ghost from a wishing well, part 2

December 19, 2083 - Leila Watts is 28, Felicity is 5.

* warning: sketchy research on rice paddies. And again, a big hornking unapologetic block of text *

Soundtrack: "If You Could Read My Mind," as performed by Johnny Cash.

Any time she leaves Bluewater, she thinks of Corbin. Which is not to say she thinks of him less any other time of the day, but especially out here. They're in Lakeside Heights, and he has friends here. He could be here, anywhere, visiting one of them. He likes books too, and she's in the only independent book store in the county. She loves it here, she always has. But he also knows she loves this store, so she doesn't expect to see him here. He's had seven weeks to try to argue with her choices, and he knows exactly where to find her if he wanted to, so he doesn't need to accidentally bump into her at some book store.

And he won't. He won't say a word. She knows him well enough to know that.

It's the week before Christmas, and they're finishing off some last-minute shopping. They probably won't buy anything here, unless Leila considers buying something for herself. Books are so particular a purchase, and hardly anyone on the planet knows what kind of books she likes to read. Instead, Felicity might help pick out some books for her brothers.

But first, she's found a Children's World Atlas. She has the book opened to a section on China. "China," she says. "C-H-I-N-A, spells China."

Leila smiles. "What do you know about China?"

Felicity points to a picture of rice. "That's where rice comes from."

"That is true," Leila says. "Did you know that rice grows in a field of water? It's called a rice paddy." Leila points to a picture in the book.

"Oh," Felicity says.

"And did you know the rice paddies are slimy? When you walk through it, the starch sticks to your legs. Kind of like that algae that grows on your daddy's lake."

"Eeew," Felicity says. "Did you ever walk through rice, Mommy?"

Leila sighs, remembering where that information came from. "No, not me," she says. "But I know someone who did." She can't help it, all these things he told her are still there, in her mind, whether she likes it or not. He wanted to meet her children, he told her once. It never happened. But this memory, he gave her this, and she gave it to her daughter. The smile of wonder on Felicity's face, he gave that to her. She wishes she could tell him so.

"Some day," Leila says to her. "You and me, we're gonna go to China."

Felicity jumps from the sofa, the atlas tucked firm under her arm. "But mommy, how are we gonna get to China? Don't you know it's on the other side of the world?"

Leila laughs. "Yes, I know, baby." How? That's a good question. Leila is still thinking about her own words. The things we tell our children, the things we want to believe. Can you really do anything? Is everything really possible? Are they all lies? "I think we can figure out a way," Leila says. "If you want something badly enough, there's a way to make anything work."

Felicity smiles. "Okay." She wanders off to look for another book.

She wants to tell him. She wants to thank him for this. For all of this. There's been so many things she wanted to tell him in these past weeks. She imagines there always will be.

One day, they were talking about ghosts. They sat in the courtyard, like they did, hiding from the eyes of the world, their private secret garden. She'd long since stopped worrying how she looked with him, that her hair was soaked in sweat and matted to her forehead, that she'd only covered up the salty smell of her sweat with another layer of deodorant. Their time was so limited, and after sharing a workout with him for so many months, they had little left to hide from each other.

She believes in ghosts. She was telling him about the newspaper she and Charlotte used to write for. "You believe in happy endings too."

She tilted her head to him. "Do I?"

"In your heart, you do," he said.

"What about you, do you believe in happy endings?"

"I don't think I believe there are endings at all," he said.

"No, you wouldn't." She grinned at him. "It's related, I think. That's why you won't pick a God either."

"Yes," he said, with enthusiasm, nodding. "That makes sense." She loved it when he looked at her like that, his face brightened with discovery, like she might have had some part in it - like she had every part in it. "Some people just believe in things, while others want to believe in everything, or one thing, or nothing. And that's also why you still believe in God."

"Do I?"

"In your heart, I think you do," he said.

He was right.

They sat side by side, her head felt heavy, like it wanted to rest there on his solid shoulder. He washed his clothes in organic detergents - he smelled of lemongrass and ginseng. This was a fresh shirt he pulled on after his workout, from the paper shopping bag he kept his clothes in. She leaned in close and inhaled. "I like the smell of lemongrass," she said. She's been washing Matt's clothes in the same detergent for ten years - he doesn't like anything different.

Corbin smiled. "I got Amelia buying it too. But she only cares that it's organic."

The other girl, he stopped seeing her. Leila hadn't remembered her name at first. But here, after they'd been talking for months, it dawned on her. "You don't see that girl anymore."

He looked to her, as if coming out of a dream. "What girl?"

"You were seeing some girl when we first met," Leila said. "You said so. You don't talk about her anymore."

He talked about them all. He would tell her anything she wanted to know. The two of them, they were friends too, beyond whatever else they were, and they had no reason not to talk about the other people in his life. This whole other life he led. She was curious about them. She'd heard so much about them, and she wanted to meet them all. His best friend Justin, and the baby Lily. Amelia, who he slept with twice, or maybe three times, and her parents. His own parents, who he talked about with such genuine love and respect. But there was another girl, once, who he was actually dating, Emmy. He didn't call it dating though. They weren't dating, just enjoying each others company.

"So why did you stop seeing her? Are you seeing someone else now?"

She could almost see him blush. "No," he said. "I'm actually not."

"Did you break up with her?"

She was teasing him a little, and he knew it. "Not really," he said. "I just got too busy to call her back."

Leila laughed. "That's not like you. Aren't you worried about your karma? Wouldn't she be mad?"

"I doubt it," he said. "She didn't like me that much. She has other company. And we never made any promises."

"Because you don't make promises?"

"Because when I do," he said. "I want to be sure I intend to keep them."

She knew what little extra time he had, between his two jobs and entertaining her phone calls and conversations. She grinned at him, coy and prodding, so he couldn't resist smiling back. It never took much to get a smile out of him. And there was never a question he didn't want to answer until she asked him this, leaning her shoulder against his. "But why? Why did you stop seeing her then?" Didn't she already know the answer, on some level?

But he would never say what this meant to him. Not out loud. He cared about all these girls - he would say so quite openly. She always wondered if he cared about her too, in that way, or in a different way? What did this mean to him? But he never said so, and she never brought herself to ask him directly. She only persisted at him, staring him in the face until he flustered that solid composure, and could do nothing other than pick up her hand and kiss it.

He didn't let go of her hand right away. He always held on just those few extra seconds, breaking past that boundary that could classify this gesture as simple chivalry. "Because my time is happily spoken for," he said. He rubbed the top of her hand in his palm before he set it down. This was not chivalry. This was something else, undefined and unspoken. Something precious.

In the background, a girl steps to the microphone. Leila didn't know there would be a reading here today, but then she scans the room and sees a small chalk board by the door. It reads, "Open-Mic."

The girl poises herself in front of an audience of two, plus some additional people shopping who might look up to listen. "I dedicate this poem to Tyler," she says.

"i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear.."

The words are hypnotic, and at the same time, cutting through her mind like a siren. They scream at her, as if saying, pay attention. And she is.

Felicity bounds up from behind her. "Mommy, can I go next?"

Leila nods, absently. "A poem?" She's not fully sure of what her daughter is asking, trying to listen to the poem being read. This emotive teenage girl reciting the words of a long-dead poet, for some boy she has a crush on. And every single word cuts deep through Leila's skin.

"...here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)."

It's just a love poem. How many millions of people know this poem? How many millions have studied it, for its beauty, for it's meaning? But how many have ever really felt it? Leila has read this poem dozens of times in her life, but she's never felt it hit her so hard. She can hardly move, the panic bubbling up and welling in her throat to the point she could almost scream it out.

And at some point in the haze, Felicity has already run up to the microphone to take her turn.

As Felicity starts, Leila can't help but laugh. And her laugh feels both like joy and reprieve.

"Little Miss Muffet, sat on a tuffet,
Eating her curds and whey;
Along came a spider,
Who sat down beside her
And frightened Miss Muffet away."

Leila moves quickly to the front of the room. She claps and Felicity smiles wide, takes a small bow, and begins another rhyme.

"Hey, diddle, diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon..."

And at her tiny voice in the microphone, Leila swallows the panic down, for a moment, for a few hours. This is reprieve, but this isn't repair. She knows it now. This panic isn't going away. It isn't meant to go away. This feeling means something. She knows if she ignores this panic, if she keeps stuffing it down, she'll only eventually grow dead inside. It's a warning, a flashing red light, a screeching alarm. This panic, it's a bright orange reflective detour sign.

*******

(footnotes: moments of panic)

notes: the poem: "i carry your heart with me" by e.e. cummings <-- one of my favorite poems ever, I couldn't resist working it in here, especially for as fitting as it is... what? I mean, from Dakota to Tyler, lol! ;)

I had to break part 2 in half, and as it goes, all the juicy stuff I know you guys want is in the second half! :p I also should note that what this actually means, at this point, is probably a lot less concrete than what I know you guys are thinking, lol!

But this piece, even without its second half, is all very important. The whole second half banks on this piece. I had actually meant both halves to be read in one sitting, but I couldn't finish that much in one weekend. So I figured maybe you guys would rather have the first half than wait a whole week for both parts?

Also note: I read it in a book that the water in a paddy field was actually sticky to walk through. If that's not actually true, then I blame it on that book, lol! I spent far too long (for play story research) trying to confirm or deny that fact, but never found any further references. So let's just pretend, for our purposes here, that it is true ;)