The Stowaway

XXIV

"Anything that's human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less scary. The people we trust with that important talk can help us know that we are not alone." Fred Rogers

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XXIV.

The sun rapidly warmed as it rose in the sky, and Eliza quickly dried. Enough so that her chemise was no longer transparent.

She was still in complete and utter awe at her surroundings. The sound of the waterfall spilling over into the lagoon was so beautiful.

She and Tom, as she now called him, were completely alone in quite possibly the most serene environment on the planet. There could be no better place, no better time, to truly know one another. She had already kissed him. She was in no hurry to retreat.

"I feel as though you know rather a lot about me," Eliza confessed, a little while after Tom had finished explaining to her the meanings behind his tattoos.

"It is no fault of mine that you like to talk," he quipped in a deflective manner.

Eliza frowned. "Why do you do that?"

Her sudden question made him turn his head to look down at her beside him. "Do what?"

"You know what," Eliza rebuffed, but then she stopped herself. "Or perhaps you do not," she realised. "Perhaps you do it so often and have done it for so long that you do not even realise that you do it."

Whenever she had asked him a question, he had always snapped back at her with an insult or a flippant remark to make Eliza feel nosy or silly. She hoped that he did not mean the things that he said.

"What am I doing?"

"You put me down," Eliza informed him poignantly. "Whenever I try to know you, or to speak personally with you ... or converse with you generally, you put me down. I do not know whether it is to push me away, or to protect yourself, or if you do genuinelybelieve that I am silly and nosy and inept ..." Eliza trailed off. It would not be the first time someone had thought those things about her, and it would certainly not be the last.

But she did not want Tom thinking those things about her. Eliza only wanted Tom to think well of her.

Her words had made Tom sit up a little straighter, and he turned to face her, crossing his legs in front of himself. His shoulders were still as tense as they always were, but his face was soft and sympathetic, with a furrow of his brow telling her that he was apologetic.

"Eliza ..." he began softly. "I do not think you are silly or nosy," he assured her. "Inept, yes. I was the one watching you try to use a mop and bucket for the first time, remember? But you are remarkably less incompetent now. You perform your tasks well, and you are valued," he said confidently. "I particularly like how well you interact and help Eggs. He is a fourteen-year-old boy and he deserves opportunities, and not to be sentenced to a life he does not necessarily want because he is illiterate."

That was only part of her quarrel with him, and it was clear that Tom knew it.

"You are right," he admitted. "I do insult you, and that is ... that is truly unforgiveable, Eliza. I am sorry." He frowned deeply as he realised his wrongdoing. "I do that to most people I meet," he confessed. "To keep them away from me, you are right about that." Taking a breath, he added, "And to protect myself. You are right about that, too."

"Protect yourself from what? What are you afraid of?" Eliza pressed, though trying to sound as soothing as possible. It was almost as though Tom was a deer in the woods, and she was trying not to spook him.