Shadows flicker on stone walls as the candles reach their limits. A grand hall is quiet. The shuffling footsteps that usually fill it were somewhere tucked away in slumber. I sit on the edge of one of the many tables in the hall. I can’t keep my legs still and let them swing in and out from under the table. My hands stay braced on its rough wooden edges as I stare at the floor. It feels like the elevated seat at the end of the hall is casting judgmental eyes on me.
Quiet footsteps approach and I finally look up. A young man, my main character. Through the dim light, I can make out a small smile on his face. “It’s been a while,” he says. “I should ask how you’ve been?”
I shrug and nod, then shake my head and nod again. A terrible response, but I don’t know what to say. “What about you?”
His answer is very similar to mine, but with more shrugging. He motions to the table and I scoot over so he can sit beside me. “This new edit you’re doing.” He gives me a side-long glance. “I’m not so sure about it.”
I huff. “Yeah, me neither. What are your thoughts?”
His shoulders shrug again and he picks at dirt on his trousers. “It’s not very flattering. Do you think people would actually like it? Or relate to it?”
I shrug. “It’s different. I don’t read much, but I don’t know of any books with characters that do it. As for relating…” I trail off and do another awkward shrugging, head bobbing, shaking head bit. I catch a frown on his face and sigh. “Look.” I lift one arm and press it against his. White lines and dark patches scale up and down our arms. I take my other hand and match a dark patch on my skin up against a matching one on his wrist. It was something he did to himself several months back when he was trying not to cry. “I don’t know if anyone can relate to this–I certainly don’t know anyone–but I relate to this. I’m sorry. You got this because of me.”
It’s hard to read his expression in the dim light. I hold my arms up as long as he wants to look at them. When he pulls his arm away, I go back to bracing the table. I cross my ankles and stiffly wait for him to say something. It feels like forever before he finally speaks.
“I guess it isn’t so bad.” He scratches at one of the scars on his arm. “Does it ever go away?”
I blow air out my lips. Scars can fade, but that wasn’t what he was asking. “Yes and no, I guess. Some seasons are better than others. Depends on stress level?” I look at him and give a crooked smile. “And boredom too, I suppose.” He seemed to accept my answer as he bobbed his head and folded his hands in his lap.
“Do you think the beginning is good?”
His question doesn’t surprise me, but I dread it all the same. I know exactly what he means. “I don’t know,” I admit quietly. “It’s different. It’s easily questioned, but things shouldn’t go to plan.” I glance at him. I don’t need to defend myself to him, but I spout it into the universe anyway. “People become more of themselves when they realize where they’re supposed to be, but not everyone knows where they belong. You didn’t.”
He doesn’t say anything, so I keep going.
“Then, there’s times you think you know what you’re supposed to be in life. Only to find out you were wrong.” I look down at my hand, picking at the yellow fluid on a scrape near my thumb. “I thought I was supposed to be an animal doctor, but that didn’t happen and I like what I do now a lot better.” I pinch the scrape and watch as more fluid oozes into it. “I thought I was supposed to be an author too.”
We trail into silence. I can’t look at him. Can’t look up at the beautiful hall cast in night’s shadows. He nudges me and his tone falls quiet. “You’re still an author.”
I try to give him a grateful smile. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
He laughs and the hall echoes with it. “And you think I do?” A turn of his head and I know he’s looking at the elevated seat at the end of the hall. “We all make choices.” He looks back at me. “That’s the heart of it, isn’t it? The choices we make. Choose to act. Choose to be idle. Choose to say something. Choose to stay quiet.”
I speak up before he can say more. “Choose Light.” When I look him dead in the eye, he falters and looks away. “Choose Dark.”
A deep breath lifts his chest and he bobs his head. “Yeah,” he says stiffly and I know he’s dreading a moment towards the end of the book. I know he’s afraid of how I’ll edit it this time.
I nudge him. “You’re right.” I wipe the scratch by my thumb then rest my hands in my lap. When I lean my shoulder against his, I feel him lean back. “So…how about…I keep on choosing to believe–even on the hard days, and you keep on holding out.” I try to catch his eye and he only offers a side-long look. “I do think the beginning is good.” His eyebrow twitches and I know I caught his interest. I start smiling and I can’t stop.” I’m starting to think the rest of the book doesn’t measure up with it though.”
The biggest groan I’ve ever heard from him escapes his lips. He pulls away from me with a big roll of his eyes. “Well,” he says smartly. “That’s just great.”
“Exactly.” I give him a shoulder shove then take a deep breath and lie back against the top of the table. Through one of the hall’s stained glass windows, I can see the full moon shining through. “It’s gonna be great, because that’s what we’ll choose.”
nikki diekemper 