GRAVE FOR THE SOLITUDE, theodore laurence

04| the grand theatricals of the pickwick club

CHAPTER FOUR
the grand theatricals
of the pickwick club

Breath against breath, arms tangled, bodies squashed together like animals in a cage restlessly waiting for their release. Eleanor didn't know how she ended up agreeing with Jo March to join her little theatre group, beyond surprised yet hesitant. But when she agreed, she didn't expect Jo stuffing her and Laurie behind a claustrophobic rack of clothing, with the humid heat burning Eleanor up by a thousand suns as she pulled her legs up to her chest. She tucked her knees snug underneath her chin and Laurie sat cross-legged, arms rested on his bent knees. They had been like this for at least an hour— knees touching knees and the background noise of the Marches with their theatrical antics.

          There was no form of entertainment other than each other while keeping quiet and not causing a racket. It was tricky, almost, to stay dead silent yet muse yourself so you won't die of utter boredom. Boredom is a serious crime, Eleanor believed. No one could deny the tense thick air shared between the two— it was impossible not to ignore. Eleanor would frequently perch from her aching spot to sneak a glance as to what's going on out there, only to be greeted with terribly crafted British accents and fake smoking. The club looked jolly and as time rolled by, the more Eleanor was eager to see whether she'd be accepted or not. Because if she wasn't? What a fool she'd be . . . and one thing Eleanor Rigby knew was if solitude wouldn't kill her to her grave, then boredom would surely will.

          'How much longer?' Eleanor complained beneath her breath.

           Laurie peeked through the slits of clothing. 'Probably a good more fifteen.'

           'I'm going to die of heatstroke.'

          'Hey, don't die before we could get out of here and celebrate fresh air.' Laurie laughed contently and grinned.

          Eleanor smiled a little. 'Well, I'll be damned.'

          A stiff silence broke again and Eleanor frowned. She pulled out her two index fingers and showed them to Laurie, egging him on. He stared at them blankly. 'What?'

          'Chopsticks,' Eleanor whispered. 'Don't you know how to play?'

          'No, never heard of it.' Laurie sprung out his index fingers, parallel to Eleanor's. 'Teach me, I suppose?'

          'Here,' she instructed. Eleanor took her right index finger and tapped Laurie's left index, 'if I do that, you have to add another index by how many fingers this hand has.' She shook her right hand while Laurie hesitantly released his middle finger and Eleanor nodded in approval. 'Right, right. Now, it's your turn.'

         Laurie unsurely tapped his two fingers on Eleanor's left hand and she sprung two fingers out. 'The aim of the game is making the opposed person run out of fingers if you get what I mean.'

         'How does that work?' Laurie questioned.

         Eleanor tapped her three-fingered hand on Laurie's two fingers. 'Just like that,' she said with a smug grin.

          'Hey!' Laurie hissed with a mocking pout as Eleanor stifled a laugh.

          She shrugged. 'Well, that's how you play. You're still in the game, just saying.' Eleanor pointed towards his remaining hand still standing and Laurie bit his upper lip, furrowing his brows.