September 17
Ryan
"Damn it."
I watch the screw fall and disappear somewhere on the ground. At this rate, I'll have to call Joe again and order more. I frown at that thought. I'd rather crawl around in the dirt searching for a screw than talk to that jerk.
I descend the ladder carefully and sigh as I crouch, scanning the ground for the little piece of metal. I'm just one screw short of maybe being able to convince Ana to come outside again at dusk. After that incident with the bear three weeks ago, she strictly refuses to come outside after the sun has gone down. Which, by now, is just after 8 pm. The days will only continue to get shorter.
A dim metallic wink catches my eye and I spot the screw. Finally. I shove it in my back pocket and risk life and limb once again to ascend the ladder. These floodlights better work. I hold the light, the bracket, and the screw in place with my right hand and fit the drill bit into the screw head with my left. Very, very carefully I pull back on the drill's trigger, allowing the screw to bite into the wood without taking a bite out of my hand.
With that last screw in place, I give the security light a tug. It holds firm. For what I hope will be the last time, I climb back down the ladder, almost losing my footing on the last rung. Even though I know she's inside, I instinctively look around quickly to make sure Ana didn't see my blunder.
I know it's silly, this fear I have of tripping, stumbling, dropping something, or failing at any simple task due to my injuries in front of her. I've watched the woman walk straight into a table while talking, trip over her own shoes multiple times, and even once drop a glass, shattering it. If anything, by this point I should be comfortable being a klutz around her. My injuries are already conspicuous enough on their own. I don't like additional reminders of my disability. And I especially don't like her being reminded of it.
I step back to appraise my work. I've spent the afternoon mounting these motion-activated floodlights around the cabin and shed. The parts just came in this morning. The sudden blinding light should serve as a deterrent to any curious bears in the future.
Satisfied that I've managed to complete this task with relative success, I head back inside to show Ana the new countermeasure. What I find stops me in my tracks.
Ana is washing the dishes, the smell of something baking wafting from the oven. Apparently, she didn't expect me to come back inside so soon. Her treasured headphones are on and must be blasting her favorite tunes, because she doesn't hear me come in or stop what she's doing. Which is dancing. Hilariously. While doing dishes.
As evidenced by her style of dance, or rather, lack thereof, it's clear she hasn't spent much time in clubs. I suspect the only other witnesses to this particular spectacle have either been murdered, sworn to secrecy, or simply died laughing. It's all I can do to keep my reaction contained to a smile. If it were anyone else, this would be terribly cringe-worthy. But because it's her, this might just be the most adorable thing I've ever seen.
After she dries a bowl, she busts out a move I can only guess is supposed to imitate a moonwalk as she travels over to the cabinet. She puts the bowl away with a flourish, then executes a dramatic spin. And sees me. And stops.
Her mouth falls open and she pulls the headphones down to her neck. "Oh my gosh Ryan - you scared the crap out of me! Ha-" she pauses. "How long have you been standing there?"
I smile wider in spite of myself.
She crosses her arms and does her best to glare at me, but she can't suppress her own amusement, letting it out as a wry grin.
"You're an awful human being, you know that?" she says, her cheeks becoming red as she teases me.
"The worst," I agree with a smile. I almost wink at her.
"You're even worse than Kelsey. You know how good Kelsey was at scaring the crap out of me."
I had, indeed, been regaled with many stories of how Ana's college roommate Kelsey had terrified her by popping up in places unexpectedly with the "silence of a ninja assassin."
"I can't believe you. How long were you standing there?" she asks again, feigning indignation.
My refusal to provide any answer other than a smile provokes her playful ire. She grabs the dishrag thrown over her shoulder and winds it up before releasing one end and smacking me in the arm with it. The towel isn't wet enough for it to actually hurt, but Ana begins to wind the towel up again, preparing for another strike. This time I dodge and grab another towel from the kitchen to retaliate. Ana laughs when my towel lightly smacks her arm and she begins to give chase.
Casper looks up from his dog bed to confusedly observe this new human ritual. His ears perk up on his head and he appears rather alarmed at the towel-snapping. I discover after Ana's chased me halfway around the cabin I'm not nimble enough to out-maneuver her. Instead, I drop my towel and grab hers when she strikes next. I give it a hard tug, expecting her to let go. She doesn't let go.
Instead, Ana is dragged across the space between us and crashes into my chest. She's lost her balance so I throw my arms around her to keep her from falling. I hold her like that for a second, her head on my shoulder, her body pressed against mine. I don't want to let go.
But I do, far too quickly. Ana is slower to respond. She pushes back with her hand on my chest, just far enough that I can look into her eyes. Her teasing smile is gone. Her playful expression has vanished. She's just looking at me with an intensity I've not seen from her before. How is it possible to go from such a lighthearted, innocent moment to such a serious one?
Catching movement, my eyes flick down to her lip caught between her teeth. My gaze holds there for just a moment too long.
Ana takes a step back and I look up to see that her expression of playfulness has returned, but it seems a little forced.
Quit staring at her lips, you idiot! You're going to freak her out.
"Fine. Have it your way," she says. I struggle to figure out what she's talking about.
Ana presents the towel to me with a flourish.
"I bestow upon you the great honor of helping me dry the dishes. Congratulations."
I accept the towel reluctantly. She spins around and heads back to the sink. I follow, dreading the next several minutes of what's sure to be a painfully awkward silence.
"So, what have you been doing out there all afternoon?" she asks.
"Working on something," I say vaguely.
"On what?" she asks, looking at me while her hands dry a measuring cup.
"Something to make the bears stay away."
"Bear traps?" she suggests.
I pause while drying a wooden spoon and raise my eyebrows at her.
"What are either of us going to do with a bear with a stuck foot? Wait for it to slowly starve to death?"
She frowns. "I suppose you're right. I guess shooting it isn't an option either."
"For the last time, no one is shooting any bears. What's your deal with bears anyway? It's almost as if you choked on a teddy bear as a child and haven't forgiven the species since."
"Hey," Ana says, setting down the measuring cup and giving me a light push on the left shoulder. "I told you never to bring that up again. It was a scarring childhood experience!"
This earns her a laugh out of me. She smiles brilliantly and takes the spoon from my hands.
"Come on. Let's go see this bear repellent you're so proud of."
~~~
After dinner, we sit out on the porch reading. Ana sits in her chair, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. I made her the chair so she wouldn't have to sit in the awful one I made when I was still getting the hang of things. That's my chair.
The evening air is a little chilly, a light breeze occasionally making Ana's curls dance in the golden glow of the sunset. She looks up at me and just watches me for a second. Then she turns her body toward me and dons an impish grin.
"I haven't seen any bears running for their lives in terror yet, but I suppose I can be convinced to come outside at sunset now."
I look out at the setting sun.
"Yeah, well, the weather won't be cooperating for much longer."Â I look back at her, the girl from Arizona. "It might only be September, but you better brace yourself. Winter is coming."
She laughs, much harder than that comment should merit.
"What?" I ask.
"Winter is coming." She looks like she expects me to get it.
I still don't understand.
"The meme? From Game of Thrones?"
I shrug.
"Ugh. I forgot you haven't been on the internet for half a decade." She looks at me with an expression of pity. "You've missed such great meme content."
She sits back and looks up at the sky. "What else have you missed out on?" She contemplates this for a moment. "Oh - the most disappointing presidential election ever. The whole thing was just a mess."
She eyes me carefully. "If I'm not mistaken, I believe your family threatened to move to Canada."
I scoff. She laughs.
"What else, what else," she muses as her eyes rove to the ceiling again. "Brexit, the Zika virus, #MeToo," she sits up and looks at me. "And Southern California caught fire several times."
"That's news?" I ask.
"I think some celebrities lost their homes."
"If my family's house had burned down, I'd definitely have heard about it."
She goes back to thinking. "So much has happened in the last few years. If you ever rejoin society, you're going to be a caveman."
"Good thing I don't plan on rejoining society," I say, crossing my arms.
"No, you prefer the Unabomber lifestyle," she smirks.
"Hey, my cabin is not that small," I argue. "And I've got electricity and running water."
"And a potentially criminal fascination with composting," she says, raising one eyebrow and steepling her fingers like an evil overlord. "Should I be keeping an eye out for a Manifesto hidden somewhere?"
"Oh please. You're just trying to distract me from asking where you learned those sick dance moves I saw today."
Her mouth drops open. Then she jumps to her feet. "Do I have to go get the towel again?" she demands.
"Your style was decidedly enthusiastic and showed a characteristic rejection for the traditional rules of dance."
"I'm getting the towel," she deadpans, heading inside.
"I'd love to discuss your technique with you, if you could demonstrate some steps," I call after her.
"I'm getting the towel wet this time!" she yells back.