Amber Poe : Flight!
Aug. 17th, 2004 12:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
crowsI awoke hazily throughout the day, sleeping more than I was conscious and barely conscious when I was. It was bright, which I remember distinctly because whenever my eyes would crack from the world of night that I was in, the pain in my head was almost shattering. At one point, we stopped at a gas station and Trent stepped out of the car for several minutes to make a telephone call. I could hear him through my feverish dreams, his voice coming in inconsistent bursts of clarity.
“No, no I’m not… Alright, I’ll see you guys in an hour.”
The driver’s door closed gently, and we were off again, the motion of the car lulling me back into darkness.
It was dusk when we halted, and I was more or less awake for good at that point. I had not yet hazarded a guess at what the men at the lab had injected me with, hoping only that it would have no lingering ill-effects. I still possessed my memories – what few of them I had – and I think that’s the most the Trent and I, both, were worried about. The house punctuated a long street that wound away from the busy thoroughfare of the highway. It sat beneath the melancholy arc of bent trees, the dimming sky casting long but hazy shadows over its darkly paneled face.
“Benjamin’s father is a lawyer – wouldn’t that figure – and he technically owns the place. But, I mean, he’s got the run of it now and everything.” Trent had been telling me about his friends, three that we were going to ‘lay low with’ for a few days until he could think things through more. I hadn’t been listening. We halted soundlessly. Two young men were already stepping out of the door to greet us. I stared, unable to hold a thought in my head for more than a few seconds before it blew away. I was feeling fairly carsick, and was yet unsure of my capability to stand or walk. Trent got out of the car and I tightened my makeshift raiment, resettling my eyes on his friends.
My now two-time rescuer circled the car to the door I was closest to, and pulled it open.
“That’s Ben and Forrest.” He said to me quietly, unbuckling the seatbelt and pulling back. “Are you alright to walk? You’ve been out most of the day.”
I pursed my lips and curled my toes. My legs felt intensely weak, and the thought of hauling my aching body out of the vehicle unaided made my head swim. I looked back up to Trent from the floorboard and shook my head.
“Alright.” Before I could test my statement, Trent went about negotiating me out of the back seat. He did so admirably, and with minimal bumps and tangles I was slung – an embarrassingly limp shape, to be sure – over his arms underneath the blackening night sky. We ambled toward the house.
“Door?”
His friends – Ben and Forrest – looked at one another for a few seconds, both pairs of eyes widening briefly. Apparently, no one in their circle had yet brought home a quandary quite like me. Frankly, in retrospect, I’m not surprised.
The evening was short. Trent blended seamlessly with the individuals that shared the house. From what I could gather from their talk, he had lived with them off and on in the past. We were about a day and a half’s drive away from the city where we’d began, and the only reason Trent didn’t live with them now is because of the commute to school, and the close work he was doing with his father. I saw his face darken when he mentioned Dr. Sahen, and the silence that ensued was brief but very uncomfortable.
I was lent clothes (all too big for me, but comfortable and clean nonetheless), nursed on tea when Catcher returned from some set of errands or another, introduced awkwardly and late to all parties present, and generally not explained. I became another one of Trent’s friends, just there to ‘hang out’ with the guys for the weekend. The understanding that the real information would be revealed, at least in some part, later, was unspoken between the lot of us. Everyone seemed to relax, after the initial nerves, and I even found myself smiling at their talk.
Trent and I retired early. They unanimously insisted on putting me up in the guest bedroom, which had a bath attached, and my companion lay claim to a couch in the living room.
For all my weariness, I could not sleep. Trent talked with our hosts a bit longer, the conversation dying rapidly as the evening wound down toward sleep. One by one, they retired to their rooms, all sound of movement being punctuated ultimately with a little bit of clatter from the kitchen. Then, the last of the light that was crawling under my closed door slunk away, and the house filled up with silence.
I listened for a long time with wandering thoughts, trying to tie the threads of my recent days into some kind of meaningful pattern. The undertaking was frustrating at best, and proved useless. Then, my reverie was interrupted by a sound from the room next to mine. The old house was well insulated, and I didn’t recognize it right away for what it was. After a few moments of gradual focus, I could discern the sound as the faint notes of a violin be practiced on the other side of the wall. No one in the house had earlier mentioned being a musician, and I hadn’t received any kind of tour, so it could have been any of them there, warming up and moving through familiar scales without error.
The music was a warm sound in all that quiet, a strange institution in all the starkness of my recent life and memory. I tipped my head against the wall as the scales gave way to a simple melody, and was overcome by tears.
[I pledge to fill in the bit that's missing from earlier. It's not much, I swear.]
“No, no I’m not… Alright, I’ll see you guys in an hour.”
The driver’s door closed gently, and we were off again, the motion of the car lulling me back into darkness.
It was dusk when we halted, and I was more or less awake for good at that point. I had not yet hazarded a guess at what the men at the lab had injected me with, hoping only that it would have no lingering ill-effects. I still possessed my memories – what few of them I had – and I think that’s the most the Trent and I, both, were worried about. The house punctuated a long street that wound away from the busy thoroughfare of the highway. It sat beneath the melancholy arc of bent trees, the dimming sky casting long but hazy shadows over its darkly paneled face.
“Benjamin’s father is a lawyer – wouldn’t that figure – and he technically owns the place. But, I mean, he’s got the run of it now and everything.” Trent had been telling me about his friends, three that we were going to ‘lay low with’ for a few days until he could think things through more. I hadn’t been listening. We halted soundlessly. Two young men were already stepping out of the door to greet us. I stared, unable to hold a thought in my head for more than a few seconds before it blew away. I was feeling fairly carsick, and was yet unsure of my capability to stand or walk. Trent got out of the car and I tightened my makeshift raiment, resettling my eyes on his friends.
My now two-time rescuer circled the car to the door I was closest to, and pulled it open.
“That’s Ben and Forrest.” He said to me quietly, unbuckling the seatbelt and pulling back. “Are you alright to walk? You’ve been out most of the day.”
I pursed my lips and curled my toes. My legs felt intensely weak, and the thought of hauling my aching body out of the vehicle unaided made my head swim. I looked back up to Trent from the floorboard and shook my head.
“Alright.” Before I could test my statement, Trent went about negotiating me out of the back seat. He did so admirably, and with minimal bumps and tangles I was slung – an embarrassingly limp shape, to be sure – over his arms underneath the blackening night sky. We ambled toward the house.
“Door?”
His friends – Ben and Forrest – looked at one another for a few seconds, both pairs of eyes widening briefly. Apparently, no one in their circle had yet brought home a quandary quite like me. Frankly, in retrospect, I’m not surprised.
The evening was short. Trent blended seamlessly with the individuals that shared the house. From what I could gather from their talk, he had lived with them off and on in the past. We were about a day and a half’s drive away from the city where we’d began, and the only reason Trent didn’t live with them now is because of the commute to school, and the close work he was doing with his father. I saw his face darken when he mentioned Dr. Sahen, and the silence that ensued was brief but very uncomfortable.
I was lent clothes (all too big for me, but comfortable and clean nonetheless), nursed on tea when Catcher returned from some set of errands or another, introduced awkwardly and late to all parties present, and generally not explained. I became another one of Trent’s friends, just there to ‘hang out’ with the guys for the weekend. The understanding that the real information would be revealed, at least in some part, later, was unspoken between the lot of us. Everyone seemed to relax, after the initial nerves, and I even found myself smiling at their talk.
Trent and I retired early. They unanimously insisted on putting me up in the guest bedroom, which had a bath attached, and my companion lay claim to a couch in the living room.
For all my weariness, I could not sleep. Trent talked with our hosts a bit longer, the conversation dying rapidly as the evening wound down toward sleep. One by one, they retired to their rooms, all sound of movement being punctuated ultimately with a little bit of clatter from the kitchen. Then, the last of the light that was crawling under my closed door slunk away, and the house filled up with silence.
I listened for a long time with wandering thoughts, trying to tie the threads of my recent days into some kind of meaningful pattern. The undertaking was frustrating at best, and proved useless. Then, my reverie was interrupted by a sound from the room next to mine. The old house was well insulated, and I didn’t recognize it right away for what it was. After a few moments of gradual focus, I could discern the sound as the faint notes of a violin be practiced on the other side of the wall. No one in the house had earlier mentioned being a musician, and I hadn’t received any kind of tour, so it could have been any of them there, warming up and moving through familiar scales without error.
The music was a warm sound in all that quiet, a strange institution in all the starkness of my recent life and memory. I tipped my head against the wall as the scales gave way to a simple melody, and was overcome by tears.
[I pledge to fill in the bit that's missing from earlier. It's not much, I swear.]