WELCOME

[isabella lamb]

Somewhere in the town of Oxford, a series of chimes intoned the hour. The mixture of low and high pitches echoed throughout the air as they intertwined with one another, playful, yet ominous at the same time. The hour they announced was one of change, liminality, and impermanence. Six o’ clock, sunset time, was the barrier between night and day, the thin veil that announced twilight, the oncoming evening. Carried by the wind, these sounds snuck between the leaves on the numerous trees, causing them to rustle with excitement as if they too knew that an hour of mischief and uncertainty was upon them. Only one solitary figure sitting on a common park bench was oblivious to the sounds. There she sat, hands folded across her lap, shoulders slightly hunched forward, as if she were trying to shield herself from something. But of what was she frightened? That secret, she never allowed to fall from her currently closed lips. The truth remained that she was not afraid of things as much as she was afraid for others. Her right hand moved to the arm of the bench, and she gripped the spiraled metal with strength and conviction. She’d felt the need to grasp onto something just to make sure she still existed, that she was still where she thought she was. After all, living without reassuring sounds equated living inside a sort of vacuum, a vacuum in which there was no familiarity. The motion caused her thick blanket of straight auburn to fall in to her face. Carefully, she secured it behind her ears once again.

By no means did she look out of place. Any normal passerby would glance upon her and see a young lady sitting in the park watching the sunset. Her clothing did not project anything other than a put-together wardrobe and a conservative sense of style. After all, very few people at the tender age of eighteen wore white button-up shirts and stormy grey pencil skirts on a daily basis. Alas, her life had, perhaps, forced her into a more mature mindset resulting in a more mature sense of style, but she really didn’t mind. Bella never really minded what happened to her, as long as nothing happened to those who were close to her. In this state of stillness, she began to reflect to what had taken place earlier that day. The clock had made no noise then, and the sky was a much more pure color than it currently was. Blue, periwinkle blue, with white fluffy clouds seemed much more virginal and chaste than the sunset’s blood red undertones. Yes, that day had been unusually sunny for jolly old England, and Bella, (along with a small companion of hers,) had taken advantage of it. “Simon, I don’t want you running off.” Such a simple, clear statement had been muddled by her able, but inexperienced tongue so that it came out missing a few consonants. The wiry dark haired boy had nodded hurriedly, “I won’t run off, Bella,” and proceeded to play only a few yards away from the very bench she presently sat in. Her younger brother, with his solemn green eyes, understood her struggles and empathized with her in an unexpectedly mature way for a five-year-old. “I won’t run off, Bella.” He knew she preferred him to actually speak then to use sign language, because it saved her from appearing handicapped in any way. He also knew how to mouth his letters clearly so she could read his lips without any difficulties. Simon, who always seemed to have dirt under his fingernails, knew so much about her.

Her recent memory faded as her brown doe-eyes focused once again towards the sinking sun. The clock stopped chiming, and while she had not heard the notes, she did feel the vibration of some of the lower ones. Oddly enough, some days, she secretly wished that she’d been born deaf. Then, in her present state, she would not have experienced the torture of knowing what something sounded like, but not being able to hear it. Some of these ‘sound memories’ were disappearing into her subconscious, at a rapid pace. For example, she could remember what a robin sounded like when it chirped, but not a cardinal. She could remember the sound of her father’s voice, and apply it to his mouth when he spoke to her, but the voice of her mother was becoming increasingly difficult to keep inside her mind. She did not know what Simon’s voice sounded like—In fact, she did not know what Simon sounded like, but she could guess. His jubilant nature, innocence, and underlying maturity probably made for a profoundly serious, yet happy tone. Ah well, she was not as forlorn as others. If she’d been struck dumb, she wouldn’t have the choice to speak versus the choice to use sign language. Blindness would be most uncomfortable, and would make attending school a nightmare. No, deafness was manageable.

As if she needed further reminding, the hearing aid that had been perched precariously on the edge of the bench fell to the ground. It did not break, but the sudden movement drew her attention to it. Of course, deafness allowed for synthetic ears, but they did not help her much. The sounds that exited from her hearing aid into her right ear were often grainy and unnatural sounding. Plus, they were never loud enough for her to actually latch on to them. It was much easier to read lips and apply her stockpile of past tones to them. Folding in half, she managed to reach the hearing aid just as the sun disappeared from sight. She’d have to return to her apartment soon, after all, seeing in the dark was difficult in itself, but navigating in the dark without sight and sound was stupid to do, (though it did give her a thrill.) By now, Simon and her father were probably sitting down to some sort of half-baked meal. Usually she returned to their home to cook dinner for them, but tonight she craved solitude. Her lips curved upward at her next thought, which affirmed that she’d see them both tomorrow, for better or worse.

[carver dawson]

At eleven in the morning a single drop of freezing water dripped down from the sickly salmon painted ceiling, landing square in between Carver's eyes and waking the boy. He jerked rather violently as it hit his skin, resulting in him spazzing out, rolling out of the bed, and having carpet thrust into his face. He groaned, his arm still trying to cling to the comforter, then flipped himself over lazily. He had been trying to get back to sleep for about an hour now, and he had actually managed to let himself doze off before that bloody drip of water had splashed him. Oh, how he loathed hotels.

Slowly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, resting his back against the bed. He sat there silently for a moment, the peaked over the edge of the mattress, staring at Tommy. In all of Oxford, they had managed to find the one place to stay that only had rooms with one bed available. Not that it was incredibly weird sleeping in the same bed as the other boy, it was just that, well, he tended to kick a lot in his sleep. That being said, Carver hadn't gotten much rest at all. He wasn't sure if he would ever get a good night's rest on this trip with the bad boy Thomas Spencer, but one thing was for sure: he was going to have a shit load of foot shaped bruises on his body tonight.

He let himself drop back to the floor with a thud, closing his eyes and watching the little specks that floated around in his eyelids. Was he supposed to do until his companion woke up, just this? He opened his eyes, biting down on his bottom lip. He couldn't keep this up for who knows how many hours; he didn't have the patience for it. Maybe he could find something to do in the inn? Nah, in the few seconds they have been in the main entrance last night, he could already tell that the building was a rather dull place. If he was going to find something to do, it wasn't going to be here.

He pulled himself off the awkwardly colored tan carpet. Everything in the room was rather awkwardly colored, and when you looked at everything combined it looked somewhat like they have been going for a cat vomit theme. He ignored this thought though, pulling his beloved Fraggle Rock t-shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor as he walked into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he groaned again, rapidly running his fingers through his hair. He was such a bed head; his hair was flying in every direction. It didn’t really matter though, if he was just going to take a shower now. But still, it bothered him.

Carver pulled the bathroom door shut, though he didn’t think Tommy was going to be awake any time soon. He turned on the water in the shower then stripped, his back to the mirror. Sticking his fingers into the main stream of water, he tested the temperature, then stepped in when he thought it was suitable. As the steaming water hit his body, he let his muscles relax some. A hot soaking was always a relaxing thing for him, no matter where he was or what mood he was in.

Once he was done washing and rinsing off, he turned the water off and reached out for the nearest towel, drying the majority of himself before he stepped out of the shower. The boy shook his head like a dog, shaking water out of his hair, then wrapped the towel around his waist. He opened the bathroom door and peered out. His friend was still asleep, but now in the middle of the bed now, probably because he had twisted himself around. Carver walked over to his bag, one hand on the towel and the other fiddling with the zipper, trying to get it open as he kneeled by it. He flipped through the different clothes he had brought, wondering what kind of mood he was in today. He made a face; he couldn’t decide. Finally giving up, he just pulled an outfit out at random. It wouldn’t matter much anyway; he loved all his clothes.

He dressed quickly and silently, glancing every once and a while to make sure he wasn’t waking the other. When he was done he went into the bathroom, combing his hair back in a stylish manner and popping on a pair of fake glasses and a scarf. Looking at himself, he felt warm and cozy, bundled up pleasantly in his clothing. It made him feel safe and comfy, like a person he loved giving him a constant hug. Carver smiled at himself, pleased. He looked like a fuzzy little nerd. At that thought, he laughed.

Walking back into the bedroom, he found a piece of paper and one of the sharpies he carried around with him. He jotted down a quick note to Tommy, explaining how he was going to find something better to do than wait for the other to wake up, then in mid sentence he stopped, glancing at his friend. He smirked, crumpling the paper he had been writing on and went over to the sleeping lump of mass tangled in the sheets. He took the sharpie to the young man’s skin, simply writing ‘taking the car, go have tea with some cops’ on his arm.

With that, he took the car keys and one of the room’s keys and left the building and headed straight towards their ride. As he slid into the driver’s seat and fixed his seat belt, he wondered to himself if this was a stolen car or not. Tommy really didn’t care about the law much, but Carver rather preferred to avoid breaking it, since he didn’t have Tommy’s magical skill of ditching the fuzz. He really hoped it wasn’t stolen, because then he would get to pay for it if caught. He sighed, then turned started the engine and turned on the radio, blasting it. As soon as he did that, he forgot about his worries from the seconds before and pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road.

It was about one when he left, and after that the boy just drove around for hours, taking in the country side views and burning gas. He sung at the top of his lungs when no other cars were visible, nearly crashing into a fence at one point when he got too involved with a song. He stopped once when he found a little restaurant that advertise amazing food and ate an incredibly satisfying, meat free meal, which would probably be his only meal that day considering that he finally ate around four thirty. After dinning, paying, and leaving a rather generous tip for the waitress whom he had been lightly flirting with, he turned and headed back towards the Inn, figuring that surely even Tommy wasn’t lazy enough to sleep past four. When he finally got back to the room though at ten minutes to six, the room was a disastrous mess, just like before, but with no Tommy. He should have figured as much, yet he had hoped anyway. Time to find something else to do, again.

This time he decided to stay close, exiting the Inn for the second time that day and taking a peer around. Carver stepped onto the side walk, a wind caring the left leaves that were residing on the street to into a dance in the air. They caught his attention as they glided from one side of the road to the other, and it was then that the boy noticed the park on the other side. He smiled, thinking that it was about time for him to get reacquainted with nature. He hadn’t been in a park to simple look at things since he was in middle school, and with nothing else to do, it was a perfect opportunity.

Somewhere not to near by, bells rang out across the city as he crossed the street, announcing that it was six o’clock. His footsteps against the pavement seemed to echo a bit, and it seemed oddly quite for this time of night. Maybe he was just used to having Tommy by his side, or a radio or cd player playing music into his ears. Inside his jacket he could feel himself getting goose bumps. There was just something about the silence that made him a little uneasy; he just always had to have noise to be comfortable.

When he got to the little path that lead into the park he stopped, just taking a moment to look around and enjoy the few last chimes of the bell. He wondered how safe it really was to be roaming about just as the sun was setting and it was about to get dark. It had never stopped him before, but he always paused to wonder about it before he started to venture about by himself. Even when he was eighteen, he still had the idea of monsters stuck in his head.

[isabella lamb]

There were so many things she needed to do, including a paper about the underlying middle-eastern influences in Shakespeare and sweeping out her small kitchen. Quickly, she stuffed her hearing aid into her purse, tucking it beside a pack of lemon-drops and under her house keys. Seeing the keys only further emphasized that she needed to get going. Walking home wouldn’t be that difficult; she’d just take the usual path out of the part and walk for ten minutes. Her apartment was located in a large, Ivy-covered brick building just five or six blocks away, and she loved it. The space was much nicer than any university student deserved, with two bedrooms, a bathroom, a proper sitting room, and a kitchen/dining room. Bella needed the extra bedroom to serve as a makeshift study, and to house her brother from time to time, meaning every few days.

She would never have been able to afford it without the help from her mother’s side of the family. God only knew that her father, by no means, could have afforded it. ‘Not that he would have even tried to afford it,’ Isabella thought almost scornfully. ‘No, no, you can’t say that,’ her kinder side chided, ‘you know how much mother’s death hurt him. It’s not his fault he can’t recover from it.’ The furrow-lines on her brow visibly emphasized her inner conflict as she watched the sky slowly change from orangey-red to dark blue. ‘It is his fault that he hasn’t tried to recover from it,’ she shot back. The guilt immediately consumed her. Now, she looked at her heel-encased feet rather than at the sky. Could she blame him? No. She didn’t know what it was like to romantically love someone as much as her father loved her mother, nor did she know what it was like to lose such a person. Therefore, she once again concluded, (as she had many times before,) not to judge him.

See, Bella had stopped believing in monsters at a young age simply because she’d faced real worries and fears, and had been exposed to the harsh realities of life quite early on. For her, the things that went bump in the night, like a tree branch scratching against her window, had initiated the fears and had helped her to imagine up fantastic, horrific creatures. After losing her hearing, she’d come to the conclusion that, since she no longer heard the foreboding creaks and squeaks of the family’s old Victorian house, that the monsters must have stopped existing. Ironically, once those monsters disappeared, she began to observe new demons, like worry-lines in her parent’s foreheads accompanied by grey hairs, and people assuming she was an idiot because her speech wasn’t perfectly enunciated.

It had taken her a long while to get used to the silence and the new things she saw as a result of it. People were supportive of course, but in the new, unexpected situation of dealing with a deaf person, people actually showed their true colors. Once, one of her friends-this was on a day she hadn’t used her hearing air- had randomly walked up to her and said something so quickly, Bella couldn’t read her lips fast enough to understand the comment. It turned out that the friend hadn’t wanted Bella to understand, just to listen. Then there was the other type of person who wouldn’t know she was deaf, but would change his/her attitude upon making the discovery. People, she found, were funny. Abruptly, she stood up. Nothing would be funny about getting home late and not having time to start her paper.

Carelessly, she swung the strap of her dark green suede purse over her shoulder. Pickpockets, though she’d never been bothered by one, were not uncommon in cities like Oxford. It’d be harder for them to reach into her bag undetected if she had it around her shoulder, because she’d feel them tugging at it. Walking at a brisk pace, she stepped onto the path. This particular route was practically suffocated by thick foliage. The forest around the right and left of this path made it impossible for Bella to see anything other than the things directly in front of her and behind her. By god it was dark, and though she liked nature, the plants weren’t helping. Presently, her right foot got snagged on a stray tree root, causing her to tumble down in a graceful, ‘snake tying itself into a knot’ sort of way. “Goddamnit!” She exclaimed, though it came out as ‘guh-DAM-it.’ What’s more, the strap of her purse broke, and the contents of said purse scattered everywhere. Frustrated, she groped around the earthy floor to retrieve her things and leave as soon as possible.

[carver dawson]

He started at the entrance to the park, moving around a little to see if he could see further down the path than he already had. It looked pretty dark, like even if the sun were shining directly down upon the top of those trees not a single ray of light would get through. Carver bit his lip, thinking about it, his head tilting to the right a bit. When he was a little kid, whenever he would approach a walkway like this he would avoid it, afraid that a kidnapper would randomly jump out from some crevice somewhere and try to abduct him. He had gotten better about silly things like that, but he still found he would walk just a bit faster than normal, as if the little boy inside of him were running the generator that moved his feet. Thinking of this, he shifted his posture, standing up straight, more for personal confidence than anything else. Today he would slowly stroll through this little trail, unafraid.

As he stepped cautiously onto the little all-natural footpath, the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving only small amounts of color in the sky that would soon fade to the black that was the night’s backdrop. He looked down at the ground with his first few steps, amazed at how little light there was in here, even if he assumed that visibility would be limited before he had even come into it. His mind drifted to monsters again. He loved watching those cheaply made horror movies and they never gave him nightmares, but thinking of fanged, hairy, bug eyed things now wasn’t helping him keep his pace. Trying to switch his train of thinking, he thought of people he loved and their faces: Len with her oh so serious expression, Tommy and his casual smirk, Hope with her glowing smile… He could just hear his father now. ‘You’re a sissy, Carver. Just get over it, there are no little monsters under your little bed.’

Now he couldn’t really see the outside world, just the plants that nature had created, that and the plastic glasses sitting on his nose. He wondered, was this was jungle explores felt like? Suddenly he felt the urge to have binoculars and a canteen hanging around his neck. In his head he played out the story: he was a famous scientist researching different species of animals and plants that were inside the rainforest. He had come with a companion when he had arrived two years ago, but he had been eaten by a large wild cat during the middle of the night. Now the only friend he had was an ape that followed him around which he had been named Bobo. He was about to pull out his room key and pretend he was trying to bait some animal to come out of hiding by jingling it when he heard a female’s voice followed by the sound of a falling body. By god, there was a stranded tourist lost along with him in his jungle? Wait, that was his own imagination. He cursed at himself under his breath for carrying his stupid story further than a boy his age should carry a story, then jogged slightly down the path towards where he thought he had heard the voice.

When he found the source of the voice he had to stop jogging immediately, nearly running into her. He couldn’t really see much of anything, and he had only seen her at the last second because movement had caught his eye. Carver squinted, trying to see what she was doing. Her hands were moving all over the ground, then he saw the tipped purse and the tree root sticking slightly out of the ground. At least that’s what he thought they were, he couldn’t really be sure. His hand went to his pocket, but his jeans were so tight that he had to stand up to pull anything out of it. Pulling out a small hand held lighter, Carver knelt again, lighting it and making the ground visible. He scanned the ground for things that might have been hers, spotting some lemon drops and a pair of keys. With his left hand, he grabbed both of them from a little pile dirt next to the some roots of a somewhat bizarre looking plant, then turned back to the woman whom they belonged to, then paused.

He had paused in the middle of handing her her things simply because he had been struck, like in those cartoons where one of the male characters sees a female character and his eyes just pop out of his head in awe. She had a very elegant looking face that held just the right amount of femininity in it, with artist’s lips and eyes like no one that he had even met. He blinked, coming the realization of how creepy he must be coming off, then smiled, offering her things. “You dropped these,” he said warmly.

[isabella lamb]

The events of the clumsy accident registered into Isabella’s mind at different, random times. Only after a disorganized ten seconds of fumbling around in the dark for her things did it dawn on her that her right palm was bleeding. Another fifteen seconds yielded the discovery that her left knee was scraped. She didn’t even begin to dwell on the fact that her shirt and skirt were both smeared with dusty dirt. She acknowledged it, yes, but didn’t dare to dwell on it. Why? Simply because if she did dwell on that aspect of her situation, the whole mess would only make her feel more frustrated and helpless. So, she chose not to. Besides, she had plenty more skirts and shirts in her apartment, along with a washing machine that could clean up her current clothing without any problems. The cuts were more bothersome, because they stung quite a bit, and were both being infiltrated by dirt, which, incidentally, did not help the stinging problem. After all those years of watching out for Simon, she should have been able to handle a simple walk back home without tripping herself up (literally). Out of the two siblings, she, magically, was always the one who landed into more accidents. Most would expect for the grimy, sticky-palmed, seven year old who constantly tried to defy the laws of physics to end up with a couple scrapes per day, but no. Oh no, Simon’s death-defying stunts, like jumping from trees and diving into fountains, almost never resulted in injury. Bella on the other hand found bruises on her arms even when she hadn’t bumped into anything. It was as if her brother was made of steel, and she was some sort of soft tomato, waiting to be squeezed into a messy pulp.

‘Then again,’ she pondered, ‘even soft-tomatoes have their day,’ as her left hand wrapped around the familiar shape of her hearing aid. She could easily let the lemon drops and her empty purse rot on the forest floor as long as she retrieved her house keys. Sure, the sugary citrusy comfort would be missed for the few days it would take her to get to the grocery store, and yes, the minor inconvenience of living without her only pocket book would eat away at her brain until she acquired a new one, but as long as her apartment and ‘ears’ were accessible, she could stave off a panic attack. So, to prevent pre-mature heart failure, she just had to find her keys. She didn’t like her hearing-aid, but it had cost quite a bit, and she certainly didn’t want to lose it. Bella’s blind groping around ceased for a moment as a thought circled around her mind like an annoying moth. Since she had no purse, as of now, to put her hearing-aid into, where could she safely put it? She cautiously placed it inside her right ear to answer the question for herself, and turned it on. Almost reflexively, she shuddered. Like a child sticking its hand on a hot stove several times just to make sure it still burned, or a person blowing cold air through a cavity to check that it still hurt, she rediscovered that her hearing-aid was just as useless as it had been every other time she wore it. The sounds were sluggish and grainy and faint as a whisper. Even if some large beastie, like an elephant, tried to sneak up on her, she probably wouldn’t hear it until it was a foot behind her. Fed-up, she yanked the device out of her ear and placed it beside her, continuing her search. The ground was safe enough.

Though her purse was near to her, Bella couldn’t see it in the dark atmosphere she sat in that appeared to be growing progressively darker. She didn’t hear or see anyone approaching her either, hence why she practically jumped out of her skin when the figure of a boy was completely illuminated in front of her. The gasp she uttered was not delicate or pretty in the least bit, and what’s more, it was completely audible. Her dark brown eyes darted to the source of the light: a cigarette lighter. Then, they moved to the young man that carried the cigarette lighter. After initially getting over his quirky yet strangely cook dress sense and good looks, a question dawned on her. What in the world was he looking at the ground for? ‘OH!’ she mentally exclaimed, ’He’s helping me look!’ Well, this certainly proved that there were still kind people in the world. When he handed her the lemon drops and her keys, she smiled nervously and blushed. Shyness was her Achilles heel, and it was ravaging her body with a vengeance. Though she hadn’t been able to read his lips, she assumed by his warm smile and gesture that he was returning her things to her. “Thank you,” she said as clearly as possible, hoping that it came out sounding somewhat normal.

[carver dawson]

He couldn’t help but simper a bit as her cheeks turned pink, something that he never did, and pulled his gaze back towards the ground, sweeping his eyes over the dirt to see if there was anything else that might have missed his previous search as well as hers. He blinked, the lighted being a bit harsh on his eyes in the otherwise complete darkness that was the growing night. He would have little miniatures flames dancing around in his vision for the next couple of minutes whenever he closed his eyes, but it wasn’t that bad. The boy had looked into enough bright lights and stared directly at the sun so many times that it wasn’t even a minor annoyance any more. If he kept that up, he would probably need real glasses soon enough.

It took him a few seconds until he finally spotted where her purse had landed again, its green color blending in well enough with the environment that he had lost sight of it when he had moved down onto his knee. Carver leaned around her a little bit, trying to reach the suede purse that had caused the search in the first place that was slightly behind her, next to her foot. As he started to move back to come face to face to her and return another one of her lost items, his eyes gazed at her, first at her foot, then at her scratched knee and her dust stained skirt. The young woman’s blouse wore the same battle wounds from her encounter with the ground, and if he hadn’t seen the tree root as he had nearly fallen himself, he might have thought she had been the victim of an attempted mugging. Well, at least a tree couldn’t rob you.

“You took quite a fall,” he comment as casually as he could manage, looked back at the face of the blushing girl now. His smile had changed how, into a slightly more confident and less silly and self conscious one. He wondered to himself what a sophisticated girl like her was doing at this time of the evening alone. Had she been coming to meet a date, but stood up? Or had she been leaving a dinner date possible and been left to walk home alone? But who would end up leaving a dinner date at six o’clock? Unless the meal had been around four thirty that wouldn’t make much sense. Why was he even thinking about this when she was sitting there still on the ground? No, scratch that, why was he even thinking of it at all? The boy wanted to shake his head, but doing that might be evidence that he had been thinking too long about something he needent think of. The sooner he quite this internal conversation with himself, the better it would be.

Carver held her purse out to her, coming back to reality for the second time in less than two minutes. He needed to quite going into his own mind, otherwise he might get lost. He tilted his head downward, his free, nonflammable hand going up and scratching his scalp, fumbling for words. As he did, he noticed her right hand, lacerated with a muddy combination of soil and blood. “You’re bleeding,” he noted calmly, standing up and finishing through his pockets again, the lighter going out for a moment. He returned down to eye level, then ignited the light again, appearing like a magician with a handkerchief in his hand, folded neatly into a long, somewhat thick strip, perfect for a bandage. He placed the black specially engraved lighter in between his teeth, gingerly taking her hand and cover the wound by tying the blue cloth around it, careful to gently wipe away the muck before doing so. He was so used to tending to Tommy after he hurt himself doing something, whenever he saw a cut he immediately went to work. The young man chuckled a little bit at himself, thinking that if he did blush easily, he would be doing so now. She hadn’t even asked for his help, and look at him go. If someone had done that with him he would have surely just stared at them with an expression that read ‘and you are…?’

“Sorry,” he mumbled embarrassedly after removing the lighter from his mouth, simpering again, “it’s habit to do that.” He pretended to accidentally drop the source of light, it letting the dark wrap around them once again. He made a face at himself, assuming that he couldn’t be seen, the face resembling that of a person who would say ‘what the hell was that?!’ That only lasted about two seconds before he lighted up again, his composure looking completely normal now. “Are you alright?” he asked, finally getting around to the first thing he should have said as soon as finding her.

[isabella lamb]

She blinked her eyes a couple of times, since it took a moment for her eyes to completely adjust to the bright light. The blushing was almost a natural reaction. Her fears associated with meeting new people were not solely based on confidence issues. Some of her worries were logical. If someone was speaking too quickly for her to read his or her lips, then the conversation could take a horribly awkward turn. She didn’t like feeling stupid, or like a lesser human being. The only thing worse than feeling like an idiot was dealing with the sympathetic, ‘I pity you’ looks. This unexpected encounter had caught her off guard, much like a deer in the head lights. In this case, she embodied a deer caught in the wake of a lighter. With her left hand, she moved some of her hair out of her face. Her right hand was throbbing, and felt sticky and warm.

When Bella fell, she fell. Mild was not a word that could be used to describe her accidents. Falling, tripping, scraping, bruising, these things were always big, obvious and uncomfortable. When she attended primary school, her teachers were always watching her to make sure she wasn’t getting into ‘trouble.’ By trouble, they meant anything physical at all. Gym class, while fun, had equated a trip to the school nurse, and recess on the slide usually caused a few bruises. It had taken her teachers a while to acknowledge that she never involved herself in physical confrontations, rather, her body was fragile. When she caught the measles, at age seven, not only did it take her hearing, but it also ravaged her immune system. She didn’t even need to bump into something for a bruise to form, she could just have it press against her skin for a few seconds. So, it didn’t surprise her that, upon falling, she ruined her entire outfit and also banged up her body.

Thank god she kept her eyes on his face; if she hadn’t she’d have missed his casual comment. “That is an understatement,” she mumbled to herself as she sat up, moving her legs into a less sprawled-out position. In doing so, she rubbed her knee against the trail, and winced. His face had changed, which Bella noted. For some reason, this reminded her of a character in a book she’d once read called The Phantom Tollbooth. Referred to as a dodecahedron, the character literally possessed twelve faces, which he expressed himself with, switching from one to the other when necessary. Whoever this stranger was had just changed his face from looking almost shy and surprised to looking more sure of himself. Likewise, she tried to make the rose tint on her pale cheeks disappear.

She gently took her purse from him, placing the items he’d retrieved for her into it satiny insides. She then reached beside her and hurriedly stuffed her hearing aid into the bag as well, not wanting him to see it. For the moment, he didn’t know she couldn’t hear, and frankly, she would rather keep it that way. Then, they could both avoid the sympathetic discovery. She missed half of his next comment, but she did read the word ‘bleeding.’ Instantly, her eyes darted to her right hand, but before she could cover it up and insist that it was nothing at all, the light went out, and she was plunged into darkness once more. The nerves rose up in her stomach once again; not hearing was one thing, but not seeing on top of that proved frightening. Then, out of nowhere, he appeared again with a strip of cloth in his hand, maybe a handkerchief? As if transfixed, she could only watch as he cleaned most of the dirt off of her wound, and wrapped the makeshift bandage around it. What surprised her most was that he did it so gently, she hardly felt a thing. Either he had magical hands, or he’d practiced bandaging people up before. This total stranger put a good amount of care into her cut, having never met her before. Her maternal side instantly perked up upon recognizing a potential kindred spirit.

His next statement made her smile. He apologized for being habitually caring and kind, how funny. When the light randomly disappeared again, she felt no nerves or fear, but rather, she knew it would come back on, and it did. “I’m fine, thank you. And your habit is a very helpful one.” Her comment was said very carefully and slowly, full on enunciation. Sure, she probably sounded like she was speaking like a prude, but doing so kept her speech from sounding completely garbled and sluggish. “My name is Isabella,” she added without thinking. “And you are…?”

[carver dawson]

Like gymnasts dancing around with ribbons with the word Isabella on them, her name ran through his mind. Isabella; it was beautiful. Back in Wisconsin all of the girls’ names seemed so bland, such as Amanda, Ashley, Jessica, or Danielle. But Isabelle, that title instantly brought to mind European flowers, perfume, and comeliness. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, all of which were present, especially the latter, and it wasn’t on his part. It was all her.

When she asked who he was, he replied with as much mustered confidence as a person named after the butcher occupation and a fictional character could. “Oh, little old me?” he replied, a tiny smirk playing on his lips for reasons unknown. He resituated himself so that now, instead of kneeing on one knee, he was squatting, his body balanced on his feet. “My name is Carver Macbeth Dawson.” He took the young woman’s hand in a polite manner, then kissed it then released her hand, keeping his sparkling eyes on her the whole time. “Very nice to meet you, Isabella.”

Was he coming on too strong? He thought about it for a second. Well, he didn’t really have that much luck in the romance department, mainly because back at home no one wanted to date the super smart guy unless they wanted homework done. No matter what he had done, it always failed. In fact, he was so used to rejection it really didn’t phase him anymore. Now, he sort of just did what came to mind, even if it was a bit random. Or cheesy for that matter.

He did a check of the earthy ground once more, and then turning back at Isabella. “Did you find everything that fell out?” he asked, leaning to the side to sweep his fingers through a small pile of dirt, looking. “I wouldn’t want you to lose anything.” The boy’s eyes weren’t at their best in this light, but he still didn’t see anything. His fake glasses slipped down a bit, sitting on the tip of his nose for a few seconds till he got to pushing them back up to where they were meant to be. Man, he would really hate to have to wear glasses all the time if they constantly did that.

Another small breeze blew through the small pathway, blowing a few leaves their way and onto Carver. He shivered a bit, then pulled something out of his hair that the wind had placed there. It was getting colder and darker, if they waited a lot longer than it was going to be pitch black out here and his lighter wouldn’t make much of a difference, plus it probably wasn’t the safest place to be. The boy had learned his lesson in the last city that Tommy and he had gone to: never wander around in an unfamiliar city when it is very dark outside. When he had done that he ended up in a gay man’s apartment being fed chocolate covered cherries while tied to a chair, and while the cherries were rather good, he wouldn’t want to relive that experience.

The young man stood up, dusting off his knees and picking a leaf off his scarf. In the back of his mind, he wondered what Tommy was doing now. That boy could very well be out and about, finding someone’s house to throw a rave at. If that was the case, maybe this lovely lady would accompany him, but he wasn’t even sure if that was his friend was doing. For all he knew, Tommy could be doing the same thing he was doing, talking to a girl and trying to be more charming than repulsive. He hoped he was achieving his goal.

Carver extended his hand to Isabella who was still sitting on the ground as an offer to help her to her feet. From this angle, with the light being cast down on her, she looked more fragile, like the type of girl who you just wanted to protect from evil. Well, at least he had help prevent her from getting an infected cut. “I think it’s best to be heading off now, don’t you?” he commented. “Besides, it’s much nicer up here than in the dirt, I promise.” He smiled.

[isabella lamb]

Bella read his first comment, and smiled. Little old him indeed, why, there was nothing little or old about him. Understatement was one of the few forms of humor that actually impacted her. Without the ability to hear the inflections and changes in volume of people’s voices, most jokes were not all that funny. Something about him amused her, for whatever reason. Carver Macbeth Dawson. What an interesting name! Even as she read it on his lips, she still had to double check that she’d heard him correctly. Literature was one of her passions, and she couldn’t help but think that ‘Carver Macbeth’ almost begged for the recipient of such a name to be an insane murderer. As he kissed her hand, she concluded that he was no such thing, and her blush deepened in color. “Nice to meet you too, Carver.” Even without hearing her reply, she could feel that the transition between ‘you’ and ‘too’ had been slow, and slightly sloppy sounding. Her tongue hadn’t quite hit the roof of her mouth like it was supposed to for the letter T. What’s more, the R at the end of ‘Carver’ had been lost in translation, but many brits dropped R’s, so perhaps he wouldn’t notice that fumble.

For all Isabella knew, he could have been a student at the University she had yet to meet, or someone from Eastern Europe. She couldn’t exactly rely on accents to figure out where someone was from. Bella assumed that her ‘savior’ was from England or Ireland or Scotland like most of the Caucasian people who resided in Oxford. Another reason why she didn’t generally talk to strangers was that her voice, more specifically, her accent, was something that she hadn’t heard for quite some time. She knew that, probably, it was a proper English accent like her father had when she was a little girl, or else a combination of her mother’s French/English accent and her father’s normal English accent. People rarely asked her about her heritage or origin, so her voice (when not slurred) must sound somewhat normal, and yet…Well, she never knew what she sounded like. Sure, she could ‘control’ her tone of voice by implementing the usual expressions and airflow, but in terms of speech, she had no idea of how she came off to people. Needless to say, in her mind, it fared better to make no impression at all than to make a bad first impression.

“I think we got everything, thank you for the help,” she affirmed, this time speaking more slowly. When the breeze picked up, she shuddered as well and instantly was covered in goose bumps from head to toe. While she liked that Carver had prevented the leaves from covering her and lodging in her hair, she did re-discover that night was falling rapidly right behind the trees, and that she needed to get home. Hopefully her neighbor, who usually watched the streets from her window at night, wouldn’t see Bella coming up the drive looking like a wreck. That could easily turn into an uncomfortable discussion, during which Bella would have to assure Mrs. Landers that she was not robbed or mugged or assaulted. Maybe it was because of the whole ‘poor dear can’t hear a thing’ instinct, or maybe it was because Bella reminded Mrs. Landers of her daughter, but the elderly woman acted like an overprotective grandmother. This proved kind and wonderful at times, like when there was ‘extra’ left over from a baking extravaganza, but sometimes the constant surveillance came off as intrusive.

She didn’t notice that Carver had stood up until he towered over her like a decently dressed skyscraper. The state of her appearance immediately became the most prominent issue on her mind. Was she that much of a mess? Hopefully her hair wasn’t soiled with dirt. Maybe if she was lucky, despite the dirt on her clothes, her ensemble was still somewhat presentable. His extended hand reminded her of how helpful he’d been in helping her to collect her things, proving that at least one gentleman existed in Oxford. Her cut hand held her broken purse, containing all her belonging, to her chest as she wrapped her slender left hand around his own, without hesitation. It was much nicer up there than in the dirt, Bella thought, smiling again. Remarkably, her heels were just fine, and though she was a bit unsteady standing up, she was relieved to get out of the dirt. She also discovered just how tall Carver really was.

[carver dawson]

The way she talked, it was interesting. Like her eyes, it was a characteristic that no one back in Madison had. Some of her words sounded slightly slurred and some sounded slightly weird, but for all he knew that could just be part of the local accent. He hadn’t really bothered to socialize with anyone in Oxford yet; he had left any necessary talking pretty much to Tommy. Sometimes the was she pronounced words sounded a bit like the French pronunciation of the alphabet (French had been his language in school, so he should know to some degree), but the accent, mm. He loved European accents.

As he helped puller her to her feet, he was surprised at how light she was. Of course, he wasn’t expecting a challenge or anything, but still the little amount of effort it took to lift. As he pulled her up, he came face to face with her blush again. Her flushed cheeks make him smile and in seeing it, he just wanted to compliment her to no end, just to keep that rosy glow on her face. But he decided to space out his cute moves and time them correctly; if he did them endlessly, they would end up with no effect at all. So for now, nothing fancy, just a simple ‘you’re welcome’ in reply to her thanks was all he said, as well as holding onto her hand for a few more seconds than necessary.

When she was standing, the full damage the earthy path had done on her was on display. Her skirt and shirt were wrinkled and stained, but nothing that a washing machine couldn’t fix the next morning. Her hair had minor side effects, such as a few out of place strands and a few random odds and ins. Carver reached out and picked out a small clump of dirt, showing it to her before dropping it back to where it belonged and giving a small chuckle. No major damage, the only signs that this had happened tomorrow would probably be a few bruises and a band aid sticking to the center of her right palm. Well, it could have been worse.

He took a few steps towards the entrance he had entered from his hotel just a bit ago, then looked over to Isabella. Carver took a moment to study her, then noticed the goose bumps she had acquired all over. Now, the wind was picking up a little bit more, making it a more constant thing. Without even thinking, he did the gentlemanly thing to do: he took off his coat. It was more sweater probably than coat, but acted like both: with the warmth of a winter jacket, but with the coziness and safe feeling that came with sweaters. He handed her the lighter as he did so, being careful not to set his own clothing on fire in the process. Then the boy wrapped it around her shoulders, as well as his scarf, revealing the plain black short sleeve shirt he had been wearing underneath. Another gust of wind blew by them and it gave him a fair amount of goose bumps as well, but he didn’t let it affect him as he adjusted the scarf around her neck, flipping one end over her shoulder so it fit around her neck loosely. “There,” he said grinning, taking back his lighter so she wouldn’t have to hold it. “Now you won’t freeze to death, and if you take another stumble, you have enough padding to keep you safe.” He laughed a little at his own lame joke, sending his gaze down towards the ground and scratching the back of his head a bit. Yup, that was pretty lame. He made a mental note for himself: think before you let anything else come out of your mouth.

“So… What now?” he questioned, sticking his free thumb into his back pocket, rocking on his feet ever so slightly. He wasn’t sure what was to come next. Worst comes to worst, he would end up two accessories and a lighter less, watching some random movie on the little tv in the inn room. If the best came… Well, he wasn’t really sure what the best case scenario was in this situation. He just blinked, waiting for a response, smiling awkwardly. He hated not knowing what to say.

[isabella lamb]

His hand was freezing cold and not a clammy cold either. This cold reminded her of ice, except without the water residue, like sticking her hand on top of a dry ice-cube. Her hands were always warm. Thankfully, she didn’t have sweaty palms, but nevertheless, her hands, even in the coldest of climates, were toasty. That, sadly, did not keep the rest of her from feeling chilly, as she was now. She wished some of the warmth from her hands would spread to her arms, legs, and chest. In his grasp, her hand grew colder by the second. Her face, in contrast, grew warmer due to the blush that refused to leave her cheeks.

Most girls complained about their weight. Isabella had been blessed with a figure that could eat anything and not gain a pound. Great, right? No. Not great at all. In fact, she despised how thin she became when sick, how emaciated she looked. One girl she considered a friend, Fernanda, was one hundred and fifty pounds, five feet seven inches. The remarkable part was that Fern’s body consisted of mostly muscle, so she didn’t like she weighed as much as she did. Fern’s curves spoke for themselves, and honestly, Bella envied her. Tall and lanky looked good in magazines, but awkward, gangly, and sick in real life. At least, that’s how Fern perceived it. Isabella shifted her weight, re-aligning her ankles in her heels after noticing that they were looking pigeon-toed.

Her hopes of sustaining a decent appearance were dashed when he pulled the dirt out of her hair, and while she liked that he helped her out, she kicked herself for looking like a mess, especially in front of someone so…so…so what? Good looking? Interesting? Come on Bella, pull yourself together! Guys (namely, boyfriends,) had never been a major thing in her life. They were scary to talk to, for one thing, and they took up too much time. She had Simon to watch over, and, to an extent, her father as well. Who knew what sort of trouble they’d get into without her help? Actually, she knew. She knew exactly what sort of trouble could rear its ugly head. If he hadn’t come along, she’d probably still be in the dirt, in the dark, looking for her things. Strange people came ‘round the park at night, and certainly she’d have been in danger.

He looked like he was going to leave, but seemed to change his mind. This surprised her, because he’d all ready helped her out and then some. Carver had no reason to stick around; she could make it home just fine now. Then, he did something truly unexpected, and took his coat off. Bella was taken aback; it was so cold outside, why would he take his coat off? She held the lighter in his hand, its warm glow immediately eliminating a couple of her goose bumps. A sudden touch of cloth against her arms drew her gaze to Carver, who was wrapping his jacket around her. Touched, she looked away from him, and borrowed into the jacket, being careful to keep the lighter away from it. The scarf only added another level of comfort. “Thanks,” she smiled “for all the help, I mean.” Silence ensued for another moment before she added “I’ll try not to stumble again.” He had a nice smile, one that wasn’t full of arrogance or underlying motives. What now? Was that what he’d asked? She didn’t quite know. There was no way she could just take his jacket, and his scarf, and his handkerchief home with her. How would she return them to him later?

“I can’t just keep your things…” She trailed off, trying to figure out a solution. The most obvious one surfaced in her mind, but she hesitated to say it for fear of coming off as forward. She bit her lip, but finally, the words flew out of her mouth. “My apartment isn’t far from here, maybe, if it’s not too far out of your way, you could accompany me there and then I could give you back your things.”

[carver dawson]

He couldn’t help but smile as she mentioned that she couldn’t take his things. “I’m glad, because I’ve grown rather attached to that jacket,” he laughed. Then she brought up the possibility of him escorting her back to her apartment, so that once she arrived at her home she could return his things back to him, of course. Carver looked out of the exit to the inn across the street, wondering if, left alone, he would be able to navigate himself back by foot. He had been able to find his way back when he was riding around in his car, but that had also been with the help of a clerk at a gas station. If it was only a few blocks from here, than maybe he could manage to do it. And if not, he could always ask someone like he did before, or call Tommy and convince him to come pick him up. While Carver might have been the more scholarly of the two, Tommy was defiantly the one with the sense of direction. Thinking it over for a second, he decided that there was probably nothing wrong with the idea. The boy was just going to help this lovely girl get home safely and warmly, after all. What was wrong with that?

“Alright,” he replied after the moment he took to consider her proposition. Carver could tell that she was nervous asking, the look in her eyes and how she bit down on her lip gave it away. He tried to make her feel more comfortable by sending a grin her way and chuckling a little. The young man always tried to make things more comfortable when it was obvious that someone was a little uncertain or up tight. Besides, it was the first time someone had kind of sort of, in a way, invited him to their apartment. Well, the first time that a non-family member did it anyway. He felt that a giggle was appropriate, but since his father had practically made it protocol for him not to do so, a chuckle was close enough.

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” he said. Again, Tommy came to mind. Should he let his friend and fellow schemester in on his plans? Of course, if he was only walking the girl home, that really considered plans for the evening, but what if it turned into more? He didn’t mean like wild hot sex or anything, he wasn’t going to do that until he was absolutely sure he had found the right person and at the right time, but maybe there was potential. After all, the night was still young. Carver looked at Isabella, wondering if he should drop his mate a line. Eh, he could do it later if anything did happen. For now, all that was on the walk down a street in Oxford.

Another gust of wind came by as they walked silently, arriving at the street. Once they were there, Carver put out the lighter, the street lamps making it bright enough to see, at least somewhat. He slid both the lighter and his hands into his pockets, jumping a little up and down for warmth, laughing again. As if caused by the night chill, his body seemed to have gained so much energy. If he really wanted to, it could run a few laps up and down the block and still be able to return back to this very spot and continue jumping. Lucky for his lazy body, he wasn’t very enthusiastic about jogging. Bouncing around would do just fine, unless the energy built up and he did something stupid. Embarrassing himself wasn’t something he was fond of.

Settling down, he felt like blushing. Ah, he felt so… was giddy the word? He wasn’t really sure, but he apologized for his behavior anyway. “The cold makes me kind of… hyper, I guess.” Hyper was better; the boy didn’t want to say out loud that he was lighthearted. He simpered again, actually blushing a little now, thought he didn’t notice it himself. Man, he was such a dork.

[isabella lamb]

“Great,” she shyly stated, with a small smile of her own. When he accepted her request so nonchalantly, she immediately felt a surge of relief. Bella, for the most part, was a proper young woman who’d never really invited anyone male to her apartment. Actually, she’d never really spent time with boys her own age. They made her nervous and unsure of herself, well, more unsure of herself than she all ready was. She never got over that initial stage of nervousness around boys that comes at about age thirteen. Her mentality had been that, since boys her own age made her nervous, it was best to avoid them. By avoiding them, she never got over her nerves, she only covered them up. So, in her current situation, Bella felt fairly self-conscious.

Having someone with her as she walked home would be a comfort. Of course, there was the downside of what her neighbor might say when she saw Bella coming up the lane in dirty clothes, with a young man. She knew that some of the implications weren’t flattering, but logically, it was the only way she could return his things to him. Implications or not, she refused to procure someone else’s things for longer than necessary. Besides, with the chill in the air, he’d need the warm coat and scarf. Bella glanced up at the sky, noticing that a few dark clouds were beginning to gather. She shrugged them off; it was unlikely that they’d get caught in the rain. In her opinion, they had at least an hour and a half before the rain would come, plenty of time for them to reach her apartment, as it would only take ten to fifteen minutes to walk there.

To some, perhaps, the night was young. But, Bella didn’t go out much at night. Usually, she stayed home and worked on various assignments, or she read. Her lifestyle was very quiet, as it had to be while she looked after her brother, and, to an extent, her father. Her habits seemed ‘old woman-ish’ in the opinion of her friends. Maybe she had been deprived of the typical teenaged experience, but who knew? She never devoted time to herself and to just…having fun. Sure, she had fun with Simon, but she’d never been out to a club, or to a bar, or even on a proper date. In matters of fun and romance, she was entirely inexperienced. The logical side of her head told her that those things were a distraction anyway, and would only detract for m her studies and family life, but the emotional side of her insisted that she needed to let her hair down every once in a while. Maybe one day, she’d figure it all out.

And this boy, Bella acknowledged as they walked, had so much energy and was so youthful, he could have been the exact opposite to her. She didn’t think he looked silly. Yes, he acted silly, but he didn’t look it. In her eyes, he still held onto his dignity while obviously feeling carefree. In response to the gust of wind, she clutched his jacket more firmly against her skin. She’d never make the mistake of leaving home without a jacket ever again. “Eh, it’s funny to see someone acting hyper,” she giggled without thinking about what she was saying. “I mean, not in a bad way, just kind of amusing. Reminds me of my brother a little.” Sure, her lips stumbled over the word ‘brother,’ and she knew it sounded unclear, but she, for once, didn’t worry about that. How could she while in the presence of someone so…fun?