get the feeling I’ve barely scratched the surface.
Eight
Alexander
“Where were you?”
With only one foot inside the cabin, I turn and glare at the tiny woman huddled up in front of the woodstove. Every time I leave, she asks where I’m going. Every time I come back, she asks where I’ve been. I imagine this is the very reason some men avoid relationships.
I close the door and hang my coat and gloves.
“Felt like you were gone for half the day,” she says to my back.
I was gone for a couple of hours.
I left to check the water pump and then hiked out to the lake to get a better view of the sky to get a feeling of whether or not we’d get a break in the snow soon. Dark clouds as far as I could see. I readjusted the tarp on my woodpile, cleared snow away from the outhouse, and cleared a path to and from the cabin. All of that information seems pointless to share.
“This stupid thing is broken.”
I turn in time to see her toss a Rubik's Cube away from her lap. That’s when I notice she has a stack of books to her right and playing cards laid out in a game of solitaire. She’s been busy since I left.
“What?” she snaps, an angry glint in her eyes.
“You’ve read them all.”
She eyes the books then huffs out a breath. “No. I read a few pages of each. I think I’m more of a movie person. I tried to play solitaire but forgot exactly how to play. And that stupid Rubik’s Cube is rigged. I’m so bored and going stir crazy, and my hair is driving me nuts!”
Do all women swing from subject to subject like this?
“It’s not broken or rigged.” I cross to the discarded toy. I twist, turn, and flip the square colors, back, forth, and done. “There.” I hand her the completed cube, all six colors on their appropriate side.
Her jaw hangs open, and she takes it from me.
“What’s wrong with your hair?” The chestnut-colored locks hang beyond her shoulders and down her back. She’s been wearing one of my knit caps these last few days. To keep warm, I figure.
She inspects the Rubik’s Cube. “How did you do that?”
I shrug because I honestly don’t know. I was given the toy for my birthday when I lived in a group home, and after working with it for a few hours, the solution became easy. I remember being frustrated that no one else saw the cube’s solution like I did. That was around the time I started to hear words like social disorder, speech delay, and superior IQ.
“Wow, well…” She blows out a breath. “Call me impressed.”
My jaw tenses. I hate repeating myself. “Your hair?”
She picks at the tendrils on her chest. “It’s dirty and itchy, and I can’t pull it up.” She makes to move the arm on her bad side and lift it above her head, then hisses and groans in pain. “See?”
“Cut it off.”
Those gray eyes of hers widen. “What? No! It took me years and a lot of deep conditioning treatments to get it this long.”
I grunt and unable to help I turn back to the kitchen.
“Can I ask you a question?”
I almost laugh. Like my answer matters? We both know she’s going to ask anyway.
“What’s the plan?” Her quick inhale tells me she’s getting to her feet.
My muscles tense as I sense her moving closer.
“To get me home.”
I place an empty pot on the table and reach for a jug of water.
“Are you waiting until I’m healed and the weather clears? And then you’ll point me in the right direction and send me on my way?” She’s right at my side now, so close I can feel the heat coming off her body.
I shift to put a few inches between us. “You’d never find your way alone.”
“Okay, so you plan to come with me.”
I grunt and reach for the tin of brown rice.
“Do you have a map?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect!” I sense more than see her search the surrounding space for it. “Let’s bust it out. I’ll feel better knowing where I am… ya know, get my bearings.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” There’s a flicker of irritation in her voice.
I tap my temple. “It’s in here.”
“Your map is in your head?”
I nod once and scoop a dried spice and herb mixture into the pot.
“Great,” she mumbles sarcastically, and grabs a mason jar. “And you’re sure you can get me out of here? With your mind map?”
I don’t