Page 24

I breathed out a sigh of relief. It’s weird that I feel nervous just because I need someone to do something easy like this.
I requested her to read to me because I need to hear her voice again and again, but she doesn’t have to know that.
At first, I thought her voice was irritating, but that was only because it bothered me.
Emily asks, “What book do you want me to read to you?”
I feel dumb since I don’t even think about it. I just want her to read to me.
Sophie, my little sister, used to let me borrow her favourite books. I haven’t read them again in a long time since they’re not braille books.
“I put it on the shelf next to my desk,” I say. “These are just regular books. Choose the one you like best. They’re the best ones.”
They are, because I don’t want to hurt Sophie’s feelings. I clearly recall how happy Sophie was and how she would talk about her new favourite things with such passion.
She always had me read it too, and I was happy to do so.
“How about this?” Emily says again, as if she’s reading the title of the book she just took from the shelf. “Milk and honey?”
It’s a volume of poems from Sophie’s favourite Korean-Canadian poet. The final book Sophie lent me before she died is funny.
“I guess it’s a yes,” Emily adds, and I can picture her lifting her eyebrows. “You’re not frowning or scowling. It’s a yes,” she says with a smile.
I roll my eyes, but for some reason, I’m not mad. She slides the chair behind the desk closer to me so she can sit in front of me. I can hear her turning the pages.
“Should we start?” she asks.
I nod.
She reads it to me slowly: “The night after you left, I woke up so broken. The only place to put the pieces were the bags under my eyes.”
I breathe in and out while listening to her calm words. It’s soft, which makes me feel better. The sentence’s weight doesn’t worry me.
More words come out of her mouth: “I am hopelessly a lover and a dreamer, and that will be the death of me.”
I think I could listen to her forever. I know that I like every sound she makes, not just her laughing. I don’t know how she does it, but even the sound of her whisper at the end of the phrase does something to me.
I hate hearing her scream. At first, I thought it was simply annoying. But today, the prospect of hearing her screams makes me so angry.
Emily reads the book so effortlessly, like river flowing. I don’t even notice how much time has passed while I’m listening to her. I don’t know how long we’ve been like this, with me sitting here listening to her voice and her reading to me with such care.
“Fall in love…” she starts again, and I open my mouth too.
“We say together, “With your loneliness.”
I remember those words because I think about them a lot, especially when I’m sad.
“The way—”
“What colour?” I cut her off in the middle of her sentence. The words come out of my mouth.
“Sorry?” she asks, seeming confused.
“Your hair.”
There is silence, and I bet she has no idea why I’m asking this question.
“Um, auburn,” she says.
I nod, even though my mind is racing. For everyone else, it’s a straightforward response, but it’s not for me.
I hear her turn the pages again, but before she can read me more of the text, I ask her again, “What about your eyes?”
She stops talking again, and I ask, “What colour are they?”
“She adds, “They’re blue.” “Why are you suddenly asking me these things?”
A frown comes to my lips. “Just curious.”
I can’t hear what she says anymore as she starts reading the words again. These questions are still stuck in my brain, and I can’t stop thinking about them.
My heart is racing, and soon I’ll be so angry that I can’t stand it. I can already feel my body shaking.
Damn it.
I suddenly rise up, and she gasps softly.
“What’s wrong?” she asks with worry.
But I have to leave. I have to go because I need to get the answers. I’m mad, and all I’ll do is hurt her feelings.
“Liam,” she says, and I can hear her voice as I leave my room. I slammed the door shut so hard that I thought I damaged the hinge.
While I’m sprinting down the stairs, I miss a few steps. I placed my weight on the railing so I can leap. I really don’t care whether I fall.
I push through the back door and head straight towards the backyard. I go along the path that leads to a tiny woodland at the back of the property like I’m crazy. I think I’m going to lose my mind.
The noise my foot makes when it steps on a twig in the grass is so loud that it hurts my ears. The three branches hurt my skin as I push my way through the forest, and I’m pretty sure they make me bleed.
I can’t stand being touched. I can even feel the sun’s rays in the afternoon searing my face.
I almost hit a tree with my fist, which made my knuckles crack. The birds above me fly about like crazy, producing sounds that are like the noise in my brain.
The scent of the leaves hits my nose, and I can nearly taste it in my tongue.
I can feel everything.
I can hear it all.
I can even hear the wind talking to me.
But I can’t see for shit.
My knees hit the ground. I dig in the dirt with my bare hands and clench my teeth. The dirt… This is the closest thing I can locate that is the same colour as her hair. I don’t know whether it’s even the same thing.
When I try to hold it, the dirt slips out of my hand. I can smell it. I can feel every drop of it tickling my skin, and I may even be able to taste it if I had to, but I can’t recall what colour it was.
I breathe heavily and lower my back to the ground, looking up at the sky with my arms out to the sides. I know the sky is blue, but I can’t recall what blue looks like anymore.
What colour is blue?
What colour are her eyes?
“F**k,” I groan as I try to calm down my hard breathing.
I really didn’t want to watch this again.
I want to look into her eyes.
Her grin.
Her hair.
I want to know everything about her.