Episode 21: An Ode to Personal Space
Episode 21
An Ode to Personal Space
Diary
Entry 5
Dear Reader,
The fire had been put out a little
over a week ago. The damage is bad, like, really bad. Half the town had burned,
the forest partly too. A few of the hiking trails had gone up in flames, a bird
hide as well – all of which need to be rebuilt. Some of our historic buildings
are gone too, but luckily the fire never reached the library, but more on that
later. Much money will be spent to restore it all, but I don’t even know if it
would be worth it – what’s gone is gone. One the other hand, our town relies so
heavily on tourism that we can’t afford to lose the business and will most
probably rebuild anyway. People are quite morbid, and most have matched the
dullness of ash with that of their expressions.
A lot of houses had burnt also –
luckily there were no human casualties. There were, however, a few injuries.
The worst of which being a house that had collapsed on one of the firefighters, who was trying to rescue a family dog – Rodger. Rodger died, but the
hospital reports that the firefighter is now in a stable condition. Other
injuries include burns of various degrees, sprained ankles (from the
evacuation) and a few cases of the flue (from sleeping outside).
Our house had also fallen victim to
the flames, luckily, not everything burnt and the structure of our house is
still intact – for the most part. The first floor had burned, and we had lost
everything there, but the second floor was mostly intact and, somewhat,
untouched. The heat made the wallpaper peel and bubble, our clothes smell like
smoke, as well as everything else that could be salvaged. We are among the few
that didn’t lose everything and regard ourselves as very lucky. The firefighters managed to put it out before everything could burn, but they think
that the structural integrity of our house might be compromised. Someone will
be coming later in the week to assess the house before we start renovating
rebuilding restoring… whatever you want to call it. We’re living
in a hotel, while our house is being worked on.
The firefighters managed to salvage
a few things. The Author’s Advocate letters and my letters to Enoch, being
among the lot, but our board games, television, phone chargers and personal
space had gone up in flames.
Our hotel room isn’t big, but there
is, in theory, enough space for our entire family. There are two bedrooms, a
kitchen and a small sitting room, but, where the real trouble comes in is the
single bathroom. Since sharing a room with my brother, I have never valued my
now-lost personal space more. If I were writing my own story, I would probably
name this chapter An Ode to Personal Space, but I don’t know if that
would be too dramatic. It would be accurate on all accounts. I can’t imagine
him ever getting married, what woman would want to live with such a creature?
Maybe they get better as they grow older?
On the other hand, at least I’m not
shearing a room with Patrick… maybe they do get progressively better with age.
As you see, I’ve taken to writing.
That’s because I’ve taken to secret-keeping. Since Ronita ran away After
everything that had happened, Enoch hasn’t been in the best mood (He had lost
much, but, at least, their home wasn’t touched by the fire). The note did
nothing to console him or ease the impact of the blow. He doesn’t even want to
decode the Author’s Advocate letter. He has completely distanced himself from
all events and things connecting him to the fire, other than the occasional
phone call to the police department – he had filed a missing person’s report.
He even avoids leaving his house and, when he does, he spends most of his time
in a corner in the library with his nose in another world altogether.
I miss him. I miss the way he was,
the Enoch from my memories.
What does any of that have to do
with writing? Well, I sometimes don’t see Enoch sneaking into the library and I
do work there, and I am keeping the true origin of “Ronita’s” note from him. I
want to tell my readers about how guilty I feel and about how scared I am – what
if he finds out? – but Enoch Reilly can hear me. So, I’ve resorted to writing.
Tessa and her mum had lost their
home to the fire too. They’re not living in a hotel, though, they have other families to take them in. They’re living with her aunt and, from what Tessa’s
told me so far, they’re getting on each other’s nerves as well. She’s not used
to sharing things, let alone a room or a bathroom. Tessa and I spend most of
our free time together. Mostly we just walk – walk up and down the narrow
streets of our small town, looking at all the destruction and loss, but not
wanting to go back to our respective small spaces, slowly fading into the ash.
Sometimes we talk, but other times we find comfort in the silence- and history
between us.
Ms H is still the same. She doesn’t
seem to be bothered by the fire. She doesn’t smell of smoke and neither her
mood nor her face has grown dull from cleaning ash off everything. She is
exactly as she had been before – it’s as though she’s living in the eye of the
storm, untouched by the howling wind and chaos around her. She is managing a
few fundraisers and things like that, to help with the rebuilding of homes,
but most of the time she’s just her usual self. She does resort to delegating
some of her work to me, being a bit busier, but I don’t mind. I prefer being
busy to sitting at the desk and resorting to thinking.
Thinking leads to thoughts of the
past, to memories of a friendlier Enoch, to memories of a larger home and a
room all to myself. Thinking leads to wondering, wondering leads to curiosities
and in a world where the wind blows about ash instead of Autumn leaves,
thinking would be the fastest way to lose one’s mind.
There is much to be morbid about,
but, as long as the birds sing, I am sure that the world will continue to turn.
Goodness, that’s a little cheesy even for me. I’m clearly too tired to be
writing, I should go to bed.
I’m never sure how to end letters
these diary entries conversations.
Anyways… bye.
Diary
Entry 9
Dear Reader,
So, the structural integrity of our
home has been compromised and we’re going to be here for longer than expected.
They’re going to have to do something or rebuild something or replace… I don’t
know. I wasn’t paying attention when my father explained it at dinner, but, to
be fair, I didn’t understand even half of the words that he was saying and I
was hungry. The fact of the matter is that we’re going to be stuck in the hotel for
longer than we planned.
I’m fine with staying in the hotel.
There is, however, just one little problem: I’ve started smelling like boy.
Shawn throwing his clothes on the
floor, I can handle that. Late-night farts from his side of the room… I’m sure
I’ll survive. But, if pick up another one of my T-shirts and smell boy, I am
going to murder him move out. I don’t know where I’ll live and, frankly,
I don’t care, but I refuse to smell like sweat and stale bread for a single day
longer.
I would ask Tessa if I could stay
with her, but things are tense enough as is. I don’t think she would want
another person in her space… even if it were me. I wonder if Ronita’s
apartment is still open? I’m sure I’ll think of something or just learn to
live with what we’ve got. That’s the thing, unlike Tessa, we don’t have other
family in Mecha Falls or outside of Mecha Falls. As a family, we’re all alone
and we have on one else to turn to for help – we’re all we’ve got.
Maybe Ms H will let me stay in the
library. I’ll take a tent and a sleeping bag and a little lantern and lounge
around all night reading, occasionally walking through the dark shelves with
the lantern in front of me… in search of my next book. Now all I need is a
tent, sleeping bag and little lantern and I’m all set to go.
I am so glad that I have the
library. It’s something to keep me busy – something productive. I would have
lost my mind, had I not had something to do. Ms H is a rather big help also.
She is so calm. She is also the only thing that had stayed constant –
everything about her is exactly the way it was before and there is something
strangely comforting about that. Today she talked to me about a book she had
read – awful book – and contrasted the horrid characters therein with Lady
Macbeth. She said that the thing that upset her most was that the characters
felt no remorse for their truly evil deeds; Lady Macbeth, at least, had the
decency to go mad and throw herself from a tower.
I was awfully amused after our
conversation. Ms H is an interesting character – I sometimes wonder what her
story is.
I saw Enoch again today. He was reading
on the second floor, in one of the window seats. I couldn’t make out the title
of the book, but I would recognize that cover from any distance – The
Author’s Inclination. That had gotten me thinking, against my will, about
the power one has over the stories one pens down on paper.
Whilst writing I can scratch out as
many parts of the story as I wish – drawing lines through words, erasing them,
painting over them with a coat of white. I have the power to remove whatever I
want from something that I have written. I could even change what I write –
change the past through an altered record. Or rewrite it entirely.
That is why I don’t think I should
ever become a writer. Diary entries, that’s okay, but writing novels and short
stories… it would be too tempting to try and change myself or my past.
The other problem would be one of
self-entrapment. Let me explain. When I write these diary entries, I relive the
day’s events. I get so caught up in the inked loops, the story line of the day,
that I lose myself as I write. I lose track of the present, sacrificing it to
write down the past – which is quite ironic when you think about it. I get so
caught up in writing down events of my own life, I hardly doubt that I would be
able to resist the urge to trap myself in a different world entirely… if I were
to write a novel, a story other than my own.
Once again, thinking… wondering,
becoming curious and then losing one’s mind, a rabbit hole one doesn’t want to
go down – there is no Wonderland at the bottom of this one.
I’m a little hungry, but, after a
snack, I’m heading straight to bed.
Diary
Entry 9.1
Dear Reader,
So, it’s me again. I couldn’t
sleep. I did get myself a muffin, but my mind doesn’t want to switch off
tonight.
I keep wondering about Enoch and
what he would want to rewrite. The first time he told me about the book, it
looked like there were something that he wasn’t telling me. Something that he
was keeping secret. And, here’s the problem, I don’t know him well enough or
long enough to be able to put a finger on a specific event. He hardly ever
talks about his past or his childhood – he rarely talks about his brothers.
There is too much mystery around Enoch, too many questions.
What secrets would he have to keep?
What could have possibly happened in his short life? Why would he want to read
that book again? Does he wish to rewrite what had happened with Ronita? Would
he have contacted social services? Would he have run away with her?
The possibilities to rewriting the
past are endless. One could remove whole events, traumas and even people from
one’s life entirely, but then the opposite is true also, one can write
people into a story too. That’s where my heart sinks. As much as I would
want to remove people, places or events, I can’t. I am the product of
everything that has happened to me – removing one event would leave me as an
entirely different person. As strange as it may seem, I do quite like the
person that I am becoming. I cherish my mistakes, for they are what lead me
here.
Shawn just snored so loudly that I
dropped my flashlight! I’m sitting on my bed, his is on the other side of the
room, with a flashlight in my mouth, while writing – my heart is racing.
All distractions aside, a thought
just occurred. What would Ronita change? Would she change anything at all? If
she knew what would happen, would she even befriend Enoch?
On another note, Tessa told me
about her father today and about how her life had changed – I had no idea. We
were walking down the main road – when she told me. I feel awful about
everything, about not knowing earlier. It’s just one of those things, I guess.
I can’t change the past, but I can learn from it. This is definitely something
to learn from…
Shawn just farted – that is
officially the last call of the night. I am going to Wonderland now… I’m sure
there’s a rabbit hole here somewhere.
Diary
Entry 11
Dear Reader,
I haven’t written in a while,
simply because there is nothing to report. Today, however, there is something
to write. It’s five in the morning, everyone else is still asleep. I just
wanted some time alone with my diary before the madness of day started and I
had to go off to school again.
Yesterday was the first day back at
school, after the vacation. I don’t know why I’m shocked that half of the
people I know had lost their houses and are living in hotels or with family.
The reality of it all just sunk in.
I don’t know why the penny dropped just now, but it did. It’s all gone and
there is nothing any of us can do. Why does something like this disrupt
everything? The Earth is still round, time is still ticking and yet everything
is different – nothing is the way it used to be anymore. It’s like the world
had shifted slightly and now nothing is where it used to be.
The classes were the same, the
people were the same, the school looked the same and, yet, nothing was the
same.
Mr Nibbs was his usual self, Mr
Glasby was completely unchanged, Mr Goodhals couldn’t stop talking about frogs
and our English teacher disregarded the subject of the fire entirely. I don’t
understand how they’re all fine. Nothing is fine – our homes are gone, our
tourism is slowing and we’re basically snorting ash with every breath and
they’re just fine.
Tessa is back to normal. Chatty and
bubbly and disgustingly so – I can’t stand her when she’s being this way. This
is all an act. I know how hurt she is and how much she’s lost and all of a
sudden, as though she’s stepped onto a stage, she’s just back to being the main
gossip, the girl with the perfect life and the even better future. I just
wanted to yell at her all day – each time she would force a smile,
flirtatiously touch someone’s arm, or fake a laugh. I’ll probably avoid her
today…
Enoch wasn’t too happy to be there,
at first, but he brightened up as the day went on. I think that being busy
might do him some good – it might put things into perspective for him.
Ironically, I also think that it might do him some good to keep him busy with
reality for a while. But, only time will tell.
I’ve got to go… the day awaits. I
might update you later today, but, honestly, I don’t know.
Diary
Entry 12
I don’t want to be here. Not here,
as in in the room that I share with my brother – I mean that I don’t want to be
here. I don’t want to be in this hotel. I don’t want to be in this town.
I don’t want to be in this stupid book!
I’ve had it.
I’ve had it with our resident
gossip and our heartbroken hopeless romantic and I’ve had it with this
pointless plot line. I’ve had it with all of this running around in circles,
going nowhere, looking for the author of disturbing letters and doing nothing
interesting along the way.
I’m done.
Diary
Entry 13
Dear Reader,
So, I haven’t caught you up on what
had happened yesterday…
Well, here’s what happened, I went
to school and everything seemed fine. I talked to Tessa and she was fine. I
talked to Enoch and he seemed to be fine – boy was I wrong!
Enoch looked like he was back to
his old self. We talked, we caught up and everything was fine, until I asked
when we could get together and decode the Author’s Advocate letter. He kind of
yelled at me.
We were in the hallway and we were
having a lovely conversation and I know that I shouldn’t have brought it up,
but it just slipped out and he loudly said no. He, um, continued to rant,
saying that the Author’s Advocate was nothing more than an elaborate ploy and
that all the letters should be burned.
Then when I got home, I found Shawn
rummaging through my stuff… When Dad got home, he told us that our house is
going to take longer to fix than expected and mum burnt the food. On top of all
that, Patrick was screaming and I just couldn’t deal any longer.
So, that was yesterday. Since then,
I have calmed down – I am no longer considering running away to Narnia, or
Wonderland, or Oz or just simply making a road trip of the event. It won’t
help, moving to another book and never returning. And, besides that, I had a
slight realization this morning: Yesterday lives on only in memory. It has no
more power over today than I give it. So, today, we’re going to decode a letter
and maybe not run away.
