53 Ganymede

Episode 29 - Wander

Few people wander the muddy pathways of the Grey Market this morning — perhaps because of the intensity of the downpour, or maybe the distant rumble of thunder. Whatever the reason, the oppressive slate-coloured sky helps the market live up to its name as Claire huddles beneath her umbrella. At least the temperature isn't too bad, she thinks.

Despite the violent rainfall, she walks slowly and without any clear purpose; between her water-proof jacket, rain boots, and umbrella she is protected enough to feel comfortable — cozy, even. Occasionally something catches her eye underneath an awning-covered stall or inside the half-opened flap of a tent and she ducks inside to investigate, but nothing holds her attention for long before she wanders away again.

What am I looking for? she asks herself, a tightness in her chest that is something like anticipation, but also something like fear. The fear of being disappointed. Even here, in this impossible place, she worries that she will fail to find something wonderful. Something that speaks to her soul. Something for her and no one else.

Look at this place, she thinks, it's full of magic. It's made of wonder. There has to be something. An answer. Meaning.

Ducking beneath a low tarp she meets a young man with a spread of tiny figurines before him, each delicate ceramic form hand-painted with obvious care. Gold and silver glint in the flickering light of a row of small candles by his crossed legs, carefully painted swirls and dots — like tiny universes — cover the miniature forms of insects, animals, trees. Claire looks at each one, but their details are lost in the tumultuous whirling of her thoughts.

I wonder if he makes these himself. He must have so much talent. I wonder what he does when he's not making things — how do you even decide to make something like this? Do I have a talent? Maybe it's just gardening...

As she leaves the tiny stall, lifting her umbrella over her head once more, she thinks of the praise that Veena and her family have given her for her work at the Chateau de Verre. Of the apologies that they couldn't keep her on for longer with Melanie coming back after her maternity leave. Claire looks back at her time at the Chateau with nothing but fondness, so why does the thought of finding another horticulture job make her stomach drop?

I'm not going anywhere.

She glances around at the statues that dot the pathways and the gardens that line them. In the hedge next to her the statue of a small boy reaches for something with one hand and Claire wonders what it might have been. Or had there ever been anything there at all? On a whim she reaches out a hand, cold pinpricks of rain assaulting her skin, and she touches the wet stone of the boy's fingers. Nothing happens, but for some reason she is loathe to remove her hand, the sensation of cold and wet, of smooth stone beneath her fingertips, temporarily fills the hole within her. Maybe she relates to this boy in some way, frozen here in time with his hand outstretched toward something he'll never reach.

Maybe he just has.

Claire retrieves her hand and shakes away the thought along with the raindrops on her fingers before continuing down the path.

After several more minutes and half a dozen more stalls selling trinkets and treats, she notices that the pounding rhythm of the rain on her umbrella has slowed and the sky, though still dark, has lightened a measure.

I'm running out of time.

It's a thought that has plagued her on many mornings, has tinged every pleasant moment for the past few weeks with a sense of urgency. She has tried to rationalize it away — I still have another job and it isn't as though I'm struggling to pay rent yet — but each time she grows more and more certain that the feeling doesn't stem from external pressures like finances or job markets. Its roots are deeper than that. A knowledge that her time at 53 Ganymede isn't infinite and every day brings her closer to the end. An end she still isn't ready for. All this time and she still feels like she's been — well, wandering. Waiting for things to happen to her, to give her meaning. Her sister's memory. Declan's curse. For everything she told Lucy about blazing the trail ahead, she still feels as though she's been following in everyone else's footsteps.