Sixty-Two ☼ Phan

Seven

Thursdays were laundry days. Or at least, for cabins five through ten.

We'd only been there for a couple of days, so I didn't have much to clean. I washed a blanket brought from home, some underwear, and two pairs of jeans. The laundry room was pretty tiny, so it's understandable that certain cabins can only wash clothes on certain days. The machines were free to use, but you had to bring your own detergent. I was not smart enough to consider bringing any but, thankfully, wise Peej and Chris were willing to share.

I hadn't seen Phil all morning, but assumed he was somewhere around here. Now that I knew where he went off to, I didn't need to worry about not being able to find him. I sat on top the dryer, bouncing my legs a little as I waited for the load to finish. Midday light came in through the dirt stained windows, highlighting all the dust floating around. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, lying it against the wall.

I let my mind wander. First thing that crossed it was Phil. His happy smile in the pictures, his sad smile at the table the first day we talked, that almost-smile he'd been giving me lately. So many smiles for such an unhappy person.

Second thing that crossed my mind was the colors of fire, of reds and yellows and the smell of gasoline. Two books and a funeral pamphlet burning on my desk.

"Tired?"

I snapped my head forward and opened my eyes. James was standing in front of me, smiling ever so slightly.

"No," I told him.

He leaned on the washing machine next to me, watching my expression carefully. He looked thoughtful, then all of a sudden worried.

So many colors. Burning colors.

"You okay?" he asked.

I only then noticed I was crying. Not crying, really, more like tearing up unwillingly. Not very badly, just a bit of a damp skin that could have possibly been mistaken for fatigue. It wasn't as if I felt any extreme emotions to the point I needed to cry, so it confused me. Why was I crying?

I wiped my hands across my face feverishly. "I'm fine. Sorry."

James turned away, and for a moment I thought he was going to leave. But he just stood there and faced opposite of me, without moving, leaning against the steel washer. Most people had already left, and only the two us plus a couple others finishing up remained in the room.

My dryer buzzed loudly, but I made no move to get off the machine. After a few seconds afterward, James spoke up again.

"If you ever need to talk to anyone, you can come to me. You know that, right?"

"Okay."

I bit my lip.

James stood up straight, shoving his hands down into his jean pockets despite the unwavering warm temperature.

"Okay," he said, before walking out without another look at me.

I slid down and hit the floor, gathering my armful of now dry clothes. The bell rang for lunch, but I wasn't really hungry, so, for the main duration of it, I just sat in the cabin. There was this feeling in my chest, twisting to the point I couldn't shake the memories dancing around my head.

Chris, Peej, James, and Phil all currently MIA of the sorts, I decided I had time to do what I felt I needed. Or wanted. Or both.

I grabbed my backpack, it being light short of just a couple of objects, and headed out the door in the direction of the woods. I had a small urge to head towards Phil's stone house, and even found myself standing right outside it at one point, moments away from opening the door and seeing if he was in there. But I quickly smothered the idea and turned to go the complete opposite way. Dirt lie all around, hidden beneath grass and leaves, thudding underneath my shoes. The sound of birds and tiny invisible insects made a buzzing sound, harmonious but uncoordinated.

After I had delved far enough away from the chances of running into any people, I was beginning to feel a bit anxious. I could have just been winded because, as I've stated already, I was not one for excercise, but my heart was thudding a little too loudly. I sat down in the dirt underneath a tree, bag clumped between the two of us like a disgusting sandwich.

I pulled it into my lap, reaching in and taking the lighter I'd snuck from home into my hand. A buzz of electricity seemed to emanate from it, the short excitement of doing somethig you know you really shouldn't. Something that you've been trying to avoid for so long but couldn't take it anymore. You just had to give in.

And so I did. I picked up the first handful of sticks near me and set it to flames. It spread across the bundle, slow at first, then easily, devouring the sun-dried wood. Carefully, enraptured by the silent chaos in my palm, I used my free hand to brush out a clear place to set it down so that it wouldn't burn any further than I wanted. I rubbed away the top layer of dirt and leaves until I felt cool soil, then put the sticks down.

It was a gorgeous feeling. Having complete control over something usually uncontrollable. I watched the fire, the small pile of twigs in its circle. Even as the wind picked up here and there, it never made it further, never could touch the surrounding dry leaves. It calmed me down, just a little. Almost.

Then I heard a snap. A stupid crunch.

It was Phil.

I saw him stood, leant behind me, against a tree. His eyes bore nothing, no emotion to show his thoughts on the situation. This alone, his dead eyes, kept me from panicking. He sat down across from me to watch my tiny fire. I shifted uncomfortably.

"How'd you find me?"

Phil kept watching as he spoke. "I saw you outside the house. When you left without seeing me, I got curious, so I followed."

"Disappointed?" I asked.

"In what?"

"I don't know." I played with a blade of grass. "Me? What you found?"

Silence.

"Do you do this often?" he questioned, not answering mine.

"Do what?"

Phil nodded to the fire. I bit my lip for a moment. It felt like I was this glass vase, clear, trying to hide something that just could not be hidden. Something hideously obvious and bulging out.

"I've done it twice," I told him.

"Was the first one here, too?"

"No."

Phil did not ask me to elaborate. He seemed satisfied for the small piece I already shared with him. It made me wonder, would I ever tell him the full story? Would I ever tell anyone? The day I asked him for his, maybe. But what then?

The fire died eventually. With the gentle breezes already helping, its makeshift tinder burned up. Nothing but the sugary smell of charred wood and a bit of smoke left.

"I'm not disappointed," Phil said as the last of it fizzled out. "In you, or in what I found. In my opinion, we're even now."

"Even?" I looked at him.

He met my gaze, then smiled. I couldn't tell which one of his it was this time, his eyes were distracting me. Its blue contrasted so much to the bright fire.

"One secret for another, right?"

The stone house.

I felt my mouth twitch up. "Right."

After that, we left. No destination, but without confusion. Through the trees and away from the singed tasting air and colors of burning. In the distance, not too far away, the bell rang for dinner.

a/n -

and so it begins