Part One of a new short story …
In Professor Penn’s usual style, they stayed in a tiny, inexpensive, but lovely out-of- the way spot in Germany near the Rhine river. There were no tourists, and only fishermen and laborers in the vineyards to talk with. At the end of a tiring day of climbing and wine cave exploration, the students collapsed on their cots under puffy duvets, with the windows of the pension thrown wide open to encourage the cool night air to come in. That kind of day tends to make sleep deep and long. At first, Lilly’s was no exception, but suddenly her eyes flew open. Some sound must have woken her. Her instant rise to awareness was too fast to be natural. She lay very still and held her breath to see if she could tell what it was. None of the other twelve students stirred. The clock on the wall showed it was four in the morning, not a time she was used to being awake, and it was still inky black outside.
Lilly began to distinguish the sounds of the students’ breathing from cots lining the walls. Jen; her grandfather was a famous diplomat. Jen was cool and aloof one moment, warm and friendly the next; but she treated everybody the same, regardless of age or pecking order; hard to take offense. Cassie; little and wired tight. Her father was a professional jockey and Cassie was shy around people, though she trusted animals. Lilly struck up an instant friendship with her. Celia; covered in her cot, as always, with two duvets and three coats layered to ward off the night chill. Celia was the friend who introduced Lilly to Professor Penn. A southern peach from Georgia, Celia preferred living indoors to the challenges of nature outside.
“Y’all don’t unde’stand,” she drawled the first summer night they watched her pile on the covers. “Southerners have thin blood. We can’t stand the cold. Why, it can’t be more than 70 degrees in here. I’m freezin’!” Her syrupy vowels slowed to a crawl while their octaves rose precipitously when she wanted to make a point; point taken. They were all different.
Lilly enjoyed the disparities Professor Penn encouraged. After a summer of European exploration together, these girls were close to her even with their variances, yet she’d never felt so alone. Surrounded by friends and allies, she was still unmistakably miserable and separate. How could that be? All her life, some of her happiest moments had been spent isolated at the top of mountains, wrapped in the claustrophobia of swirling blizzards, or stopped at the pinnacle on a clear day to look out over the border of an adjacent country thousands of feet below.
“What were you doing up there for so long,” her mother often asked. “We were worried about you.”
“Listening to birch trees rubbing their trunks together and whispering about life,” Lilly said. “There’s not another human being on the mountain; just me and the birches.”
“Aren’t you awfully lonely up there?” her mother asked.
Lilly’s answer was always the same. Sharing the mountain with its natural inhabitants was enough for her. Once she’d brought a friend along who called the talking birch trees ‘eerie’. Lilly knew she was lonelier with her friend there than not. But this two month trip through Europe had moments of excruciating loneliness no matter where she was or whom she was with. Lilly still lived with the shock and grief of Simon’s death at her core.
There was so much she wanted to finish with. Junior year in an academically competitive high school is never a picnic. Lilly’s year was more of a forced march with the Taliban. There was no time for anything but basic survival; and the suggestion that a sixteen year old might benefit from an occasional rest stop along the way was inconceivable. She seldom qualified for praise under the critical evaluation of her teachers. Social skills were considered deviant forms of behavior; practicing them undermined the school’s idea of proper intellectual development. Why they thought you had to shut down one side of the brain to motivate another, Lilly had no idea, and she had no interest in finding out. Her personal rebellion grew out of her developing relationship with Simon.
They’d known each other since they were children climbing together in the Laurentians; but being five years older than Lilly, Simon understandably paid no attention to her; or so she thought. She was aware that he was a fine athlete everyone gravitated to and a handsome boy, but their orbits were completely out of sync. Eventually Lilly’s devotion to the outdoors brought her back often to the mountains during her early teens, and their paths started to cross.
“What’s your name, little one?” Simon asked the day he found her on her sixth birthday slumped in a sorrowful heap of tears. The older climbers had refused to take her with them.
“Lilly; my name’s Lilly” she said to his straight forward gaze. “It’s a silly name” she added, hoping he wouldn’t think she was a baby and leave when he saw the tears on her face.
“I don’t think it’s silly” he answered back, and then with a breathtaking smile, “I think it’s pretty; like you” he added, mussing her hair. He wasn’t making fun of her, and she grinned up at him knowing her name would never embarrass her again.
More than Simon’s looks, the warmth of his smile struck her that day; and his smile was what she still saw even in the dark at four in the morning. It moved from his upturned lips to light the corners of his blue eyes the way a thermal air draft lifts everything in its way without effort. By the time his eyes joined the laugh the entire space around him felt warmer, which is why she wanted to get as close as possible. With all his superior athletic skills and natural gifts, Simon was still the nicest person Lilly had ever known. In her adolescent world filled with aggression and challenges at almost every turn, Simon’s easy joy and inclusiveness were life-giving. He happily joined what he hoped for his own future with hers.
…to be continued next time.
by Sidney S. Stark