AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I will not lie: There are times I’ve thought of doing this for myself—meeting someone online, taking a virtual opportunity and making it as real as it can ever be. But it wouldn’t be the same. The architecture of all of these words is based on a foundation: the promise that Holly and Natasha will someday see each other again. And that is a promise I will never be able to make someone else. Or I can only make it as a lie. And the simple lie would complicate everything else.
N: It’s time to go home now. I don’t know why I bother. Neither of them will be there.
H: No other place for you to go?
N: I’ve learned my lesson. I’m only passing through. I’m tired of the hello-goodbye.
I’m between classes now, on my way to English. There is no way Holly can understand Natasha’s words as much as I can.
H: Your life is your life. You can’t live it in compartments. Each place you’re in has a door open at either end.
N: But I’m here for such a short time.
H: If a day can be long, six months can’t be short.
I want to convince her even if I’m not entirely convinced myself.
N: Is that the truth?
H: I’m sending it to you in the clouds.
Some days I’m only passing through. Some days are all hello; some days are all goodbye. Some days I have no idea what I am supposed to be doing, and other days it’s abundantly clear, as if the person I am for a day has left me a note, left me instructions. Today I am meant to maintain the golden tether between two people. It doesn’t take much strength to hold on to my end. It’s good to hold on to something, to feel the pull of another person on the other end, to feel the attachment before I must let go and pass the golden tether back into the person who should really be here instead of me.
Day 5909
Hamilton Keyes wakes up at 4:44 in the morning. At first I don’t believe it when I see the clock—the alarm is definitely going off, which means he must have set it this way. The question I have is why.
As soon as I get a feel for the body I’m in, I have my answer.
Hamilton Keyes wakes up at 4:44 every morning in order to work out before school. This is his routine.
A strong body is unlike a regular body. Your movements become more precise, and your mind is more attuned to the body. The mind lets you know the force with which the body makes its way through the world. And the mind will also let you know when you are letting the body down.
I don’t feel I have a choice. Even though part of the body desperately wants more sleep, another part is awake, ready to go. It wants to be worked.
There’s a weight room in the basement. I quietly make my way down, accessing to discover the particulars of Hamilton’s routine. I’ve learned the hard way that just because a body is strong, it doesn’t mean that it can do anything. I warm up, stretch out, feel the muscles waken.
The worst thing for me about exercise is the boredom. I need to concentrate on what I’m doing, make sure I don’t slip up and catch the body off guard. Were Hamilton here, there would be a satisfaction alongside his exertion, a progression that he could chart and take meaning from. But for me it’s like driving a car and trying to get something other than a secondhand satisfaction from the speed.
I lift weights. I run in place. I sweat and towel myself off. Upstairs, I can hear footsteps, voices. But everyone leaves Hamilton alone here. This is his domain. These are his body’s hours.
I am tired for the rest of the day. My movements may be forceful and precise, but they’re blunted by the cloudy nature of my mind. My blood cries for caffeine, and I supply it. But this only gives me little flashes of wakefulness, short moments of being present in my life.
Were I a different person, I’d be able to fuel myself on admiration as much as caffeine. I’d like it when the girls call me Abercrombie. Or even the way the guys look at me; if this body is a car I’m driving, it’s a model that they want. Even some of the teachers give him admiration. Others write him off, or resent him. I read it all on their faces.
I am defensive on his behalf. I want to answer every teacher’s question, just to show them that they should not judge a person based on a body. But if I do that now, Hamilton will only have to uphold it in some way tomorrow. It may feel, in the moment, like I am doing him a favor, b
ut really I’ll just be chaining him to an aberration.
So I sleepwalk through the day. To some, it must look like a sexy languor.
But really, I’m just tired.
At lunch, I try to eat reasonably, but the body wants more.
I feed it.
Gym class is a release. I make volleyball a contact sport. Not with the other players—I don’t start body-slamming my teammates. But I feel like I am in contact with my body again, with what it can do. I’m wasted in the classroom, the body seems to be telling me. I wasn’t made to be sitting down.
