KNOTS
IT’S LIKE MY left arm has been cut off, not having my buzz screen on—like my mind is constantly searching for this vital part of me, constantly looking for that connection, constantly coming up empty. It isn’t restful, not at first. The silence is unnerving: I wonder what I’m missing. At least with the buzz screen on, I’d know for sure no one is trying to get in touch.
After habitually reaching for it three times in a row, I climb up onto the kitchen counter and tuck it deep into the highest cabinet. It might not be out of mind, but at least now it is out of sight.
I drift from kitchen to fireplace to window wall to my bathroom, not quite sure what to do with all these empty hours. I can’t remember the last time I had time to decide—usually it’s crash on the chair, eat what I can, shower out of necessity. Now that Ihavethe time, I wonder if maybe I’ve been keeping myself busy on purpose without realizing it. When the silence starts to gape, I start thinking about how even anotherperson breathing in the same room, not speaking, can make a place feel alive. When I try to fall asleep—curled up in my bed for once, instead of my mother’s chair—my mind turns from nightmare to nightmare, fear to fear.
I turn on the shower to drown out the silence, let the steam fog the mirror so I won’t have to face the dark circles that haunt my eyes. I climb in, stand with my back to the deluge of watery needles as they rain down on me. It’s good we have a fresh filter ready to go; I haven’t had the luxury of a shower like this in weeks.
When I finish, I force myself to crawl back in bed. I stare out my bedroom window and count the stars until they blur, until my eyes are heavy and I lose the number. I must sleep eventually, for a dark and dreamless stretch of hours, because the next thing I hear is Leo at my door, calling my name.
If left to myself, I could possibly have slept forever.
43
INCENDIARY
THIS SPACE IS too tight for the six of us.
Natalin insists she be present for the water filter installation, insists upon seeing it connect with her own eyes—as if, after flinging themselves out into the stars, Zesi and Heath wouldn’t do everything in their power to finish things the right way. As if they aren’t also in dire need of fresh water like the rest of us. Leo let it slip, on our way down to the water chamber, that Natalin’s been buzzing into his ear all day with a too-sharp tongue:Why not now,why can’t they rest later,why is this not a priority for anyone but me?Leo also mentions that he spent the better part of an hour trying to make contact with Nashville, but still, their silence continues.
I don’t regret that I slept through all this.
So now we are crammed onto a catwalk in a tight, dimly lit alcove inside the immense hydro chamber, dwarfed by its massive orbs full of water—one is sparkling and clear, less than half full, while five others are filled with cloudy liquid yet to be purified. A maze of thick pipes connects orbs to filters, with dozensof smaller pipes snaking off to pump clean water through all offshoots of the station. This chamber was clearly built for the water—and a tech or two who know what they’re doing—not six people fumbling around in the dark.
“You’re blocking the light, Nat,” Heath says, holding one of the bulkyNautilusfilters, as Zesi performs surgery to extract the dying one from its snug compartment. “Could you shift a bit?”
“If I ‘shift a bit,’ I won’t be able to see.”
“If you don’t move, there won’t be anythingtosee,” Zesi says. A bead of sweat drips from the tip of his nose to the concrete floor. It’s hot in here.
A pinprick beam of white light hits Zesi square between the eyes. “Flashlight?” Natalin says, head cocked. She hasn’t budged.
Zesi squints back up at her, one eye hidden behind his dreadlocks. “I just don’t get whyallof us have to be here for this? This is a two-person job at most.”
Leo and I had planned to meet Zesi and Heath here, but that was before we discovered just how tight a space it was. Natalin came because she’s afraid, I think—afraid of our water running dry, afraid she’ll miss an opportunity to step in if something doesn’t go as it should. It’s like me with my buzz screen, how it’s hard to relinquish control even if you aren’t activelydoinganything.
Why Haven is here, I have no idea.
Well, that isn’t completely true. She told us flat-out shedidn’t want to be the only one out of the loop. I guess what I mean is that I have no idea why she’d choose this over doinganything else—it’s pretty miserable down here. I’m going to need another shower.
“We don’t all have to hover in thisexactspot,” I say. “I’ll be over on the platform if anyone needs me.” There’s a small balcony that overlooks the orb with clean water; the balcony is lit by a single recessed spotlight and is probably not quite as hot as the filter alcove. Not quite as stuffy, at the very least.
I trail my hand along the catwalk’s railing as it curves around the orbs, then climb six small steps to the platform balcony. The catwalk rings the spherical room at about half its height—a high ceiling above, a deep pit equally far beneath—with the orb system suspended in the middle. I sit on the balcony, dangling my feet over its edge, and rest my arms on the lowest rung of the railing.
“Mind if I join you?”
Haven’s voice startles me—either her footsteps were unusually quiet as she followed me over, or I was unusually lost in my own head. Probably the latter. Her tank top is dark with sweat, and under the spotlight, every exposed bit of her skin is slick and shimmering.
I inch over as far as I can, gesture to the space beside me. She sits, dangling her legs just like I do. We stare out at the still, clear water.
“You doing okay, Lindley?” she asks after a moment ofsilence. “You’ve been holed up for a couple of days, and I just... I’m a little worried, is all.”
It isn’t that I’ve been avoiding her, not exactly. It’s just that we’re both changing lately, for better and not, all at once. She’s been extraYou’re sure you’ve got this? You’re sure you’re okay?And maybe she means well; maybe she does have faith in me. Maybe she doesn’t realize how much it undermines the thin armor of confidence I have to put on every morning. I’mnotsure I’ve got this. I’mnotsure I’m okay.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t be the leader we need.
I try to hear her question for what it is: a question from my close friend, my close friend who cares enough to ask. Who knows me, and sees me—all of me—even the things I’m ashamed of, the things I’d rather hide. When we were younger, it was so much easier to just come out with the truth of my feelings. I hadn’t learned to hide them so well back then. Never felt such a need to.
