October 1st
Ryan
I sit alone on the riverbank, watching the current sweep briskly past, pulling my fishing line along with it. The bright sunlight sparkles off the little crests and troughs of ripples in the water's surface. A light breeze teases the weeds at the edge of the riverbank and leaves in the trees of the forest beyond. Melodic strains of birdsong, sounds of the forest, and the water rushing quietly by all blend together into the soothing rhythm of peace.
I've done this more times than I can count, spending hours and hours sitting by this river, reveling in the vastness of this place and the absolute solitude. The peace and stillness out here used to be my refuge. But at some point, that changed. Now it feels different. Something is missing.
I'm not exactly certain when I started realizing I felt this way. I'd always felt a certain pang of despair anytime I'd caught myself thinking about Saph. That usually alternated between hatred for the narcissistic woman and in my weaker moments, desperate wishing that she'd agreed to come away with me after Afghanistan. But in the last few months, something else has sprouted up like a weed in Ana's beloved vegetable garden. During the times when I'm with Ana, laughing and talking, I feel full. I feel complete again, like I'd never been struck with the gaping losses of family, friends, and a fiancee. In the moments when I'm alone, I feel an aching emptiness inside my chest. I find myself daydreaming about her - her smile, the light in her eyes, the way she makes me feel, the joy she brings even though I've touched the darkness she carries inside her.
What's even worse is that sometimes, these feelings of longing and loneliness infiltrate our moments together. It doesn't make sense, I shouldn't feel lonely or like something's missing when Ana's sitting right next to me. But still, I want something more. And I can't quite put my finger on what's wrong.
I'm startled out of my introspection by an excitable fluffy white dog. Casper is six months old now, more closely resembling the picture of the full-grown dog on the cover of Your Samoyed and You than the puppy he was when we got him. He pants happily, looking at me with that classic Samoyed smile I've come to expect from him.
"Where did you come from, boy?" I ask him, giving his head a rub. I can feel my heart leap when I realize Ana must have brought him. I look back to the forest behind me, but I don't see any sign of her. My heart sinks.
The dog can tell my attention has been pulled away from him and he fights to regain it, nuzzling his head under my arm and reaching up to lick my face.
"Alright, alright," I tell him and commence rubbing his head again. His joyful panting continues and his white flag of a tail waves in the air. In a few moments, he's down on the ground, lying on his back and closing his eyes while I rub his belly. "Spoiled dog," I say. How did this fifty-pound animal become a lapdog?
A tell-tale crashing in the forest behind me causes my heart to lurch again. That's definitely Ana. I tried to teach her how to walk quietly through the woods and she seems to pointedly ignore it. Maybe I should tell her the sound will attract bears.
"There you are, Casper. You shouldn't run away like that. Bad dog."
Casper is too busy enjoying his belly-rub to notice the rebuke.
I don't turn around at the sound of her voice, though I want to. I may be eager to see her, but I don't want her to know that. I'm frustrated with myself for how much I've allowed her to affect me. I keep staring at the river, though not really seeing it. All my attention is focused on sensing the activity going on outside of my range of view.
I hear the sound of a blanket being unfurled and spread across the ground nearby. Ana places items at each corner. Next to me is the pack we use to carry food. Has she brought a picnic?
"Why can't it just be this temperature all the time?"
I finally look over just as Ana sprawls out on the blanket, spread eagle on her back. She takes in a deep breath and sighs happily, smiling up at the sky. Having lost my attention, Casper seizes the opportunity and bounds over, licking her face and stepping on her stomach. Ana shrieks and flails. The dog loves it. I can't hold back a grin either.
"If it were always 70 degrees here, the Arctic ice pack would melt and all the polar bears would die."
She looks up at me and arches an eyebrow. "Bears, you say?"
"You can't possibly be suggesting global warming on that scale is a good thing."
She gives me a look that I loosely interpret as that was a joke, don't be an idiot.
"So, aside from fantasizing about the destruction of the local ecosystem, what have you been up to today?"
"Oh, the usual," she says, scratching under Casper's chin and causing him to melt into the ground beside her. "I did some gardening, finished a book, made a grocery list, and then realized my lazy roommate left me behind to go fishing."
At this point, I receive a pointed look.
"Then I decided to join him and bring food, to show I'm the more considerate roommate. It's become a contest now," she says matter-of-factly.
"Is that so? Who's winning?"
She smirks. "Who do you think?"
I look up at the scattered clouds traveling across the sky as I pretend to carefully deliberate. "Well, let's see... it's my cabin, I pay for the food, and the clothes, and the dog, and everything else you want."
"Actually, I think your brother pays for all that. I've never seen you hand over a dime," she interrupts.
"Fair point. What else have I done?"
"You built the greenhouse, though I helped with that. I think that makes us even on that item."
"Really now?" I ask, allowing the tiniest bit of indignation to creep into my voice, mostly for effect. "And I suppose you'd say the same thing about the garden as well."
"Certainly. I do most of the weeding anyway, so I think that's a point in my favor."
I roll my eyes. "And what about the guitar I bought you and the dog?"
"We've been over that already. Your brother pays, just like for everything else."
"But I came up with those ideas on my own, because I knew you'd like them," I shoot back at her.
This silences her for a moment and she just looks at me. I begin to get the impression that I've said more than I should.
"I cook all the food, which is especially merciful when you consider the quality of your own cooking," she pauses to smirk again, "and I clean the cabin. I also provide stimulating conversation and occasionally I make you laugh. I think we're about even."
"I saved your life."
She takes a moment to think of a good comeback to this. I can tell the exact moment she thinks of a response, because her eyes light up suddenly and she takes on a mischievous expression.
"According to what you've said, I apparently walked pretty much the whole way to your cabin, saving you from the inconvenience of carrying me that distance AND from getting me out of the helicopter. I think I did most of the work for you, all while barely conscious."
She shrugs as if to undermine my achievement even further.
"If I hadn't been there and taken you in, you know you would have died," I say.
She thinks about this, but finally concedes. "Oh well. I suppose I'll just have to save your life in return. Then we'll be even."
"You'd better not be getting any bright ideas about shoving me into the river just so you can drag me back out and claim you've saved me."
"Darn it Ryan! Now I have to come up with a new plan to almost kill you."
"I have an idea. How about you don't."
"You're no fun," she says.
After a few moments of quiet, Ana begins to find shapes in the clouds, declaring this to be a train and that to be a camel. When she asks for my input, I respond with the most uncreative ideas I can imagine. Cotton candy. A piece of popcorn. A pillow. A nebula.
"A nebula is a cloud, genius. I'm starting to think you're mocking me."
"Mock someone who thinks a cloud looks like Michael Phelps? Never."
"I hate you," she says, laughing while she says it and smiling at me.
"Have you ever gone hiking in the mountains?" she asks after a moment.
"No. I'm not great at walking long distances." I hold up my bad leg for emphasis. "Why?"
"I'd like to see them sometime."
"It's too close to winter now. Maybe next summer." I look over at her. "Are you planning to take up hiking as a new hobby?"
"Maybe. The view reminds me of The Sound of Music. Ever since Kelsey made me watch it, I've always wanted to go to Austria and see the Alps."
"Kelsey made you watch it?"
"Yep. She's a musical theatre major. She dragged me to every performance the student theatre group put on. The Sound of Music was her favorite musical and she'd watch the film religiously."
Presently, she begins to sing.
Raindrops on roses
And whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things
She continues through the rest of the song and I close my eyes, listening to her voice. I could do this all day. When she finishes, the silence returns. That feeling of something missing starts to nag at me. Why can't I just be happy to be around her? What else do I want from her?
She begins to sing the same melody again, but with some words changed.
Riverside picnics
And vegetable planting
Marshmallow toasting and Midsummer camping
Making him laugh out loud, Ryan Burke's smile,
These are a few of my favorite things
My thoughts come to a screeching halt. She just said that my smile is one of her favorite things. Did she really mean that? And if she did, what does that mean? How do I react to this?
I fall back on a tactic that's worked well so far: teasing.
"Come up with that all on your own?"
She flashes a smile. "I'll be the next Bob Dylan."
"Who?"
"You don't know who Bob Dylan is?" she asks in horror. She sits up to stare at me openly. "Ugh, you uncultured swine! He's only the best songwriter and lyricist of all time!"
I shrug.
"I can't believe you. Living up here for so long without music. If it were me, I'd have died."
"And yet, you chose to study economics."
"Music doesn't pay the bills. And besides, I like economics."
"No one likes economics."
"I do!" she protests, standing and putting her hands on her hips. "Know what else music is? Music is math. And you know what economists use? Math!"
"I think you simultaneously decreased my interest in both subjects."
"Ryan!" she says in exasperation. I laugh.
"You just wait. Someday, I'm gonna be a big-time corporate economist with buckets of money and then I'll retire early and spend all my time making music."
She seems to realize then. Her career plans can't progress while she's stuck up here with me. Her expression droops. She settles back down on the blanket and hugs her knees to her chest.
"I'm afraid I'm disappointing her."
"Who?"
"My mom. She told us we should do whatever we wanted, but I always wanted to be her when I grew up. She was so proud of me for getting that scholarship to UVM. She never had the opportunity to go to college. And now I'm wasting it, hiding here. Not doing anything."
"Hey."
She looks up at me.
"You know your mom's still proud of you, right?"
She looks away, turning her head down with her face out of sight.
"After what you went through - what you're still going through - she understands. I think she's proud of you for surviving."
She sniffs.
"And if she were here, she'd tell you not to worry about it. What matters most is that you're safe. And happy."
Ana doesn't say anything for a long moment, but sniffs a few more times. Finally she looks up, evidence of tears in her eyes.
"She'd like you. I think she'd really like you."
I give her a small smile and turn back to the long-ignored fishing pole. I need to recast it.
After the line is reset, I search for something else to say. I can feel Ana's eyes on me. She's on my left side, but her gaze is still unnerving.
"You know, if you wanted to go straight into music, I'm sure my family has some connections in the business."
"And do what, perform?" She asks.
I nod.
"You think I'm good enough for that?"
"I'm no expert, but yeah."
She smiles shyly. "Thanks." After a moment's pause, she continues. "But performing in front of people? No way."
"You sing in front of me," I point out. "Even dance, on one occasion."
She laughs. "OK, never bring that up again." She smiles at me. "But that's different. With you, it's..." she trails off.
I don't know if I've ever experienced more suspense waiting for someone to finish a sentence.
"I'm comfortable with you. Like... it's like..."
She searches for the right words.
"An annoying older brother?"
Why did I say that? What just possessed me to friendzone myself? I hope she can't see me cringing visibly.
She scoffs and says, "No," with a laugh.
I refrain from asking for further clarification. It would just bring disappointment. I don't know what I want her to say, but friend certainly isn't what I want to hear from her.
"Like someone who knows me, maybe better than anyone else on Earth," she finishes.
I can take that. At least she didn't say friend.