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Erik closes the folder and sets it on a side table next to me. “I mean, there’s a little more in there, but nothing crazy or really enlightening. Good luck, I guess,” he replies, stepping down off the patio towards his car.
“Yeah, thanks,” I call out to him sarcastically.
I skim through the papers, looking for something, anything that will give me a peek into River’s mind. The only thing I find is the name of a song by that same band, One White Thread. A few years ago, she posted a link to the song with no caption aside from a few hearts.
That could be something.
I’m annoyed at the idea that she posted it for some other guy, I will admit. The concept of her being with someone else, even before I knew her, feels disgusting to me. But so far, this is the only thing I have.
Pulling up the video on my phone, I listen to the song intently, searching for anything in the lyrics that might help me understand her better.
Erik is right; this band is pretty generic. The song is predictably about love, and there are no big revelations to be had within its words or sound.
Whatever. I have to make it work.
I’m tempted to just run up to her room and play the song to see if she remembers it, but I know that it would be unusual for her. She’s so used to me being stoic and well-composed. I bide my time.
A few hours later, I find River in the garden where she’s been spending most of her time lately. It’s amazing and a little interesting to watch her just sit there with her thoughts. Sometimes she reads a book, or maybe she absently listens to a podcast while she gazes out into the distant forest where the treetops meet the horizon.
She’s sitting in the grass, which is something I’ve never seen her do out here before. She must have been out here for a while because I notice a slight sunburn across her face and shoulders.
I try not to sneak up on her, making sure that she hears the door open and close as I enter her sacred space. She looks over her shoulder at me, waving slightly with a warm smile.
“How’d you get in the grass like that? Are you alright?” I ask her, scanning her for any sign of injury.
“No, I was just testing myself to see if I could get back into the wheelchair on my own. Turns out, I can’t yet,” she replies defeatedly.
I offer to help her up, but she gently swipes my hand away.
She brushes her bangs out of her eyes, closing her eyes as she turns her face to the sun. “I kind of like it down here. It feels like I’m closer to the earth. Being in that bedroom for so long without fresh air was making me crazy.”
“You sound like a hippie when you talk like that,” I joke.
She playfully scoffs at me, motioning for me to come down and join her. I sit down next to her, feeling somewhat out of my element as a former city kid.
“So, what’s up? What brings you out here? Usually, you’re in your office or on the front patio,” she asks, absently reaching up and scratching my back lightly and tentatively.
“I was just going through some old playlists, and I found this song that you really loved before the accident. I wanted you to hear it again for the first time,” I say, pulling up the song on my phone and connecting it to the Bluetooth speaker I brought with me.
The song begins to play, and I expect a reaction from her as the music swells. At first, she seems curious about the song, but as soon as the drums and bass kick in, she wrinkles her nose at it.
“This was my favorite song before?” she asks with displeasure.
I backpedal a bit, suddenly feeling like this was a mistake. “Uh, I mean, it wasn’t yourfavorite,I guess, but it was something you really liked.”
She looks at me with confusion and a little bit of disappointment.
“Are you sure you don’t remember it at all?” I ask, feeling just as confused as her at this point.
“No, I don’t remember it, but I definitely don’t like it anymore. It’s way too upbeat. It has no substance,” she replies. “Maybe I’ve just lost my taste for happiness.”
I want to ask what she means, why she would suddenly dislike a song that she loved so much at some point. Was it because of a breakup? Is that the connotation she has with the song?
I feel like I really fucked up, but I can’t let her know that.
“Oh, okay. I’ll go back through it and see if I can find others that you liked. They’re all different, so I’m hopeful that you’ll remember something from them,” I say, trying to cover up the defeated undertone in my voice.
She shrugs. “Okay, I’m just going to keep reading out here. Is that alright?”
