An Invincible Summer Ch. 12 - Two Steps Twice
Liz recalls the past and debunks some myths about the present (A/N If anyone else thinks that North and Michael don't get enough exposure in the way of internal dialogue, do tell me. I mean, I know you won't, but still. Please?)
Love is not a mere impulse, it must contain truth, which is law. - Rabindranath Tagore
The room upstairs was dark and hot, the air conditioning unit on the windowsill turned off on account of no one being in it for the majority of the day. Liz retired to the bedroom to make a whole phonebook's worth of calls. Silently she counted how many places and potential jobs she had circled, eventually giving up when she got past the number thirty. Relaxing all her muscles, she leaned against the closed door as the silence seeped into her bones. North was one hell of a joker, she thought to herself and rubbed her temples in frustration. With her eyes closed, she took in every sensation in the room. The heat of the morning as it turned into the afternoon, the faint rattle of the AC unit downstairs, and the absence of light, the impenetrable curtains drawn together. She and Michael had only slept in the same bed for three days now and already the room smelled like them, both of them, their scents merging in this mixture that reminded Liz that she was, in fact, home. It was fascinating to her how they at once came together in everything, intangible things included. Sitting down on the bed, she observed every corner of the room, each little space saturated with signs of his presence. The suitcase in the corner, still filled to the brim with neatly folded clothes, ties and bowties hanging from the edges of shelves and sideboards, his eyeglasses on the nightstand, which he used only for reading, sometimes plainly reading over them. Everything reminded her of him. Liz let herself fall backwards into a bundle of his and her clothes. Lying there, surrounded by all this warmth and love, she closed her eyes only briefly, the endless badgering of her headache ceasing for a moment, letting her feel human once again. All the anger, all the displeasure at his nagging in the early pre-dawn hours faded, fell away from her. Whenever she was alone, Liz would take a moment to feel, to turn her soul back on. It always helped her get over whatever obstacle she was facing. Her present hurdle was employment, and where she would find it. Briefly she ran her mind over her own qualifications and previous places of employment. A year in a small architecture firm started by one of her friends, said firm going under after nine months. Three years in an accounting company, all gone to waste because she was careless. Two years in college, every moment of it spent hard on earning her architecture B. A. That was all that she had accomplished in twenty-six years.
What did she earn in terms of emotions? In terms of things intangible and imperceptible to anyone but her? One father, an alcoholic and son-of-a-bitch who hated both her and her mother to the depths of his sordid being. One childhood, lost like paper flakes from a punch-card. One wasted youth, spent aiding good-for-nothings in their criminal pursuits. One shootout, three dead bodies, one former friend who shouted traitor as they dragged him off to a life of incarceration. One revival, one resurrection, that yielded the two best years of her existence. Two years of true friendship, of parties, and of love unending. One great fall into an illness that cost her everything that she had ever earned. One four-year-long imprisonment in a Sing-Sing of her own design. And now, a second rise from the ashes. Liz whispered the word "Phoenix" to herself. Rise from the ruins of your own life, spread your wings, and taste the air on your lips as you take to the sky once more. Michael was here now, and he wasn't leaving. Their smells were intertwined, their very souls having touched twice, in what was the most electrifying experience she ever had. Confident in the future, she lifted herself off the bed and fished her iPhone out of her pocket. The sound of the screen unlocking broke the silence of the room.
Three hours she talked with various representatives, human resources managers, and secretaries, getting a total of five interviews, all in scheduled for the next week. Some of the people she talked to sounded nice, while others sounded busy. Liz rang up several cafés, restaurants, and even a tattoo parlour. But the ad she circled the hardest, so hard in fact that it almost went straight through the paper, was one that looked for people with architecture B.A's for an up-and-coming contract firm. That interview date she wrote on a corner of the papers and tore it off, to stuff into her wallet later, in a small section of available space she left open just for such an occasion. Some of the places that she called asked whether or not she could come in at the same time as the architecture interview. Liz refused flat out, without even giving it any thought. With Michael's help and support, she was certain that she'd get it. Of course she'd give it her best shot, just so she could ensure a future for herself and...she didn't dare say it. You're mad, she heard herself thinking, he'll leave you as soon as a better opportunity comes along. But something made her think that he wasn't like all the others. She trusted him fully. Love always trumps past experience, she whispered as a rebuttal to the disembodied voice of doubt, and I'll let it happen. For the first time in her life she'd let go of her own heavy soul for the benefit of another. Her throat hurt from talking and she coughed.
"You romantic fool." She muttered at the empty air in front of her "Just how madly do you love him? You barely know him."
No, she thought, I do know him. Better than anyone else, as a matter of fact. He's helpful, he's reasonable, he's loving, he's intelligent, he's sometimes a little quick in his decisions, but he still means well. Michael never did anything without meaning well. From a distance, he came off as dry, cold, unfriendly, and reserved. But he let Liz in and showed her that he's just so much more. And on top of all that, he loved her. At least he said he did. Did she trust him? Yes. Of course she did. No need to worry about anything, Liz. Life is fine, for the first time in a long time. You can relax and drop that combat stance you've held on to for so long now. Just let the walls fall. You have someone to catch you now, don't you? Words of reinforcement from her subconscious flew through her mind like ticker tape. The urge to write her fleeting thoughts down convinced her to seek out a notepad. She dug through the drawer beside the bed and to her surprise found a Bible. It looked as if it had been through a lot. The leather cover was cracked and stained. What surprised her even more were the contents. Its pages were filled with notes, annotations, and highlighted verses. This wasn't hers and she was sure of it. If it did belong to Michael, he probably wouldn't mind her taking a look at it. Probably. If her boyfriend was religious, it didn't bother her. And there was no way Michael was a bigot. It took a specific sort of person to engage in bigotry, and the eagle wasn't one of those people. He didn't have the raw energy for it. Michael was lazy in his approach to others. The amount of energy required to sustain a state of perpetual misanthropy was precisely zero.
Deciding that she wouldn't look into it too hard, she set the Bible down and lit the lamp above the bed. This particular notepad, one of many that she owned, had a hard back and could be set down on nearly anything. Nervously she tapped against the paper with the back of her pen. Sometimes she wrote letters to nobody in particular. She'd get an envelope and a stamp and put it right down on the pile with all the other ones, in a shoebox in the back of the closet. None of them had an address or a name. At other times, she'd write bullet points, lists, and diary excerpts, all of which helped keep her already frail mind focused and on point. Needless distractions and concerns vanished into thin air when she got a proper foothold in her notes. Her brain was in a state of perpetual chaos. And if even a little bit of that chaos spilled out on paper, the maelstrom in her head arranged itself into neat little lines. It worked most of the time. Still mulling over what exactly to jot down, she felt her fingers wander across the pages, seeking nothing at all. Every detail of the last five years of her life sat on pages such as these, scribbled in corporate blue ink, impersonal and cold. Liz figured she might find some inspiration in her previous work. One oddly-structured passage caught her eye.
"October 2nd 2010.
Lost my job today. Peter came out of his office with tears in his eyes. First time I saw someone from the FBI in person. Industrial espionage apparently. They talked to me for a little while. I told them I didn't know anything. Still have this old file here that might be important. Probably not. I'll torch it in the toilet later.
This apartment is too small for me. Too small. Call mom tomorrow. Ask for cash to move out. See if Jason is back yet. Maybe move in with him. Relationship is probably going nowhere. Life is going nowhere. Hah. Nothing is.
See you tomorrow, Liz.
You won't.
Yes, I will. You always come back.
Just ask Jason."
It continued like that for what she assumed was the next week or so. After that she flipped through a section that had a lot of pages torn out. More letters she wrote to no one. This was all followed by two dozen grocery lists and some random notes. Liz tapped against her lower lip with the pen, trying to usher in the memories of Jason. They met on a plane when she flew back home to Pensacola for Thanksgiving. Six hours they spent talking a variety of things over. They parted at the luggage carousel in Miami International and he stuffed his business card into her cleavage. Many years later she would tell herself that it ended before it even began. That Thanksgiving was hell for her. Mom and dad smiled at each other the whole dinner. They had these fixed, rubber smiles that had haunted her for a large part of her life. Afterwards, dad beat the living daylights out of mom because she spilled something. Liz couldn't recall exactly what occurred but she was fairly certain that it didn't matter. Her father's excuses for violence were numerous and irrelevant. All she knew is that she left after dinner, opting not to stay the night as was initially agreed, called Jason after renting a room in a motel, and made tearful love to him until daybreak.
Sorrow brought them together and eventually parted them when Jason got angry at Liz for not crying at her father's funeral. He was as irrational as the man they buried that day. The breakup was a messy one but they promised to remain friends. Yeah, Liz thought and winced, that totally worked. Jason became just another face in a river's worth of repressed memories, another forgotten tome of her storied past. Some things she'd rather not think about. He was kind when surrounded by others but when they were alone, he was cold and distant. They had very little in common.Their entire relationship was based on impulse and loneliness. Two souls in this mess of a world that just happened to find one another at the right moment. Or rather, at the wrong moment. What unsettled her was the parallels she could draw between her relationship with Jason and this thing she had with Michael. It began in much the same way. She felt something when they set next to one another on the plane and afterwards she acted on it. It was all just fucking impulse. That's what she wrote down on the blank page in large lettering.
"It's all just fucking impulse."
Drawing Michael's shirt up her shoulders, she huddled up to the pillow and continued writing. A list of pros and cons appeared on the lines in front of her followed by all the things she recalled of her relationship with Jason. Both Michael and Jason were a product of sudden infatuation. Both were exceptionally cold people in vastly different situations. Jason feigned sociability and warmth in the presence of those he could extract profit from. In a way, he was a sociopath. Jesus fucking christ Liz, do you know how to pick them or what? Michael put up a wall around himself when he was in the presence of others but when it was just him and Liz, there were no secrets. Everything was like an open book. Jason had no interests outside of his job. Michael rarely talked about his. Two vastly different individuals grew on the paper in front of her. The similarities she saw a mere ten minutes ago just fell through her paws like sand. Jason managed to conjure up an illusion of closeness for the duration of their relationship. But it was just that. An illusion. The closeness between Michael and her was so much more. It was an actual sensation, one she could feel whenever they touched.
Tapping her pen against her forehead, she tried to remember what making love to Jason felt like. It was just plain old fucking. There was nothing romantic about it, as she would find out just hours after her father's funeral. In an explosion of pent up anger, he slapped her across the face again and again, all the while screaming that the only reason he stayed with her was because she was so willing to "put out". Liz kicked him in the nuts so hard the heel of her shoe broke. It was a miracle that he didn't end up in a wheelchair. That was the very first proper fistfight she had with another man, and she won. The image of her limping into a motel room on the other side of town while tears streamed down her face etched itself into her mind. The final nail in the coffin, the terrible climax of an awful period in her life. Just as she was about to flip the page and continue on the other side, the doorknob turned and Michael came in.
"Hi there. Busy?" He asked and sat down beside her, looking over all the jobs she circled "Personally, I think you'd look exceptionally good in a Walmart uniform."
"Shut up, you." Liz said with a smile and drew Michael in for a kiss, the notepad slipping from her knees to the floor.
"What's that for?"
"You'll see."