I'm working in pretty much the most empty lab on campus and have seen all of two people the past three hours and Dashboard's Stolen is running on loop in my head and even though I have Alexander McCall Smith in my bag ("the literary equivalent of herbal tea and a cozy fire") I can't help but watch the clock, one second after the other.
A long Friday, to say the least.
Though I have spent a little more time with Matt + K, two kiwi characters I keep messing about with. I have no idea what they're doing, where they're going, or why. I didn't even give them names. But now Kaila speaks French and Matt's into Biology and apparently there's a Nell amid their friendship who I have yet to actually meet. Remember? How your writing teachers always warned you that you really had no control over your characters? When Bird by Bird predicted that plotline you never knew existed until it was nearly over? Those authors that laugh about the stories that waltz on in, uninvited, to every page-party you throw? Yeah, never believed it. Totally skeptical, actually. And then it happened to me.
And not just with these kiwis. Another page hosts Peter's thoughts, and after that comes a three-page dialogue between imagined friends labeled only "girl" and "girl two." The very first page of my ramblings opens with some unidentified boy who wears the same sweater he always wears. Or so it says.
Sometimes, this is incredibly cool. Most often, it's obnoxious. Aren't I supposed to have some idea of what I'm doing? Shouldn't I be allowed the smallest bit of control? My characters---my characters? Can I call them that?---quite literally make themselves at home in my words, pushing sentences about as necessary, kicking entire paragraphs out of the way, and rearranging episodes to their convenience. Yesterday I tried to talk K into a rugby game, but she'd have absolutely none of that. "Nell's there," she told me, one eyebrow raised. I scooted her toward the sideline, annoyed. "Are you kidding?" she asked. "Do you know anything? I said Nell! Nell!" She waved her arms then, rolled her eyes to fully acknowledge my idiocy, and stalked off. I closed the document in retaliation, swearing her off for an entire weekend.
And then, with today's minute hand nudging past the hour's half in an empty room, I got a little lonely. Just a visit, I told myself. Only a minute. I checked up with Peter first; the boy was fast asleep, just as I left him. On page fourteen Emily was deep in conversation with her sister, offering me a cup of tea with a wave of her hand. And Kaila? Just as obstinate as ever. I stared her down a paragraph or two, finally giving up with a sigh. Tomorrow, I thought, moving the cursor to the close. But I couldn't do it. The story's still open.
Right now, I'm just glad for the company.
: : : : : : : : : : :
We caught up with Daniel, Jenna, Johno and Hamish only ten minutes later; Jenna’d tripped a tree root and was insisting she’d broken an ankle to a doubtful Johno. Hamish looked mildly concerned from his perch on a low-slung tree branch, but Daniel was a good three meters down the trail, pretending to be patient.
“It’s not broken, Jenna. Honestly,” Johno said as we reached the clearing.
“Oh yeah? Whose ankle is this, John? Yours? No. Did you hear the crack? Are you feeling the pain? I don’t think so. Where’s Matt? He knows these things better than you. He’ll know. Matt? Matt?” Jenna was in one of her moods. She’ll take mountains for men anytime, but factor in the early rising and she’s not all fun.
“It’s not broken,” Matt said, standing over her. “Can you stand?” Jenna nodded, annoyed. “Good. Here, hand me your pack—yep, that’s right. Okay, is that weight better?” She nodded again. “Great, let’s go. Two more hours into this and we’ll only have three more hours to go!”
Jenna held onto my shoulder for support, limping a few paces before finding her rhythm. “Five more hours,” she whisper-laughed. “That boy’s no help at all.” I snorted, agreeing. Matt was completely in his element, and I certainly wasn’t going to play the kill-joy. He walked several strides ahead of us, joining Daniel with a punch to the shoulder. One arm swung exaggeratedly at his side, the other bent at the elbow and up around the straps of the two backpacks he was now carrying. He looked excited, a little sad. By tomorrow we’d be back in school, a long weekend of wilderness laid to rest. Give us a few more weeks, however, and we were done with school for good. The sudden acknowledgment of the fact caught me off-guard; I must’ve gasped out loud, because Jenna squeezed my shoulder. “You all right, K?” I nodded, repositioning my pack with a shrug. We both looked back to the boys, the four of them now laughing wildly at some joke—at Matt’s expense, most likely. I smiled when my suspicion was confirmed; Matt had turned around to roll his eyes at me, walking backwards a few paces before rejoining the laughter.
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