Todd the Spectacular Chp. 19

 hello everyone, so sorry i forgot to post a chapter yesterday, but here it is!

C h a p t e r  N i n e t e e n

The Shadowy Places

Felix was strengthening again, and I hadn’t noticed how quiet I had been lately. I didn’t notice it myself and I would have never thought Felix to be one for observing little things such as that. He simply asked what was wrong, and I didn’t know what to tell him.

I did cheer up though, eventually. 

The others didn’t take too kindly to the idea of going to church, alone without any parents. I did understand though. Henry was nervous and hadn’t talked to anyone really, except us five. And Artie—well, I think his reasoning went a trifle deeper.

I found Artie that evening, sitting on a dock where most of the townspeople went fishing in the afternoons. He sat crosslegged at the edge of the dock and stared off into the sun that was leisurely sinking into the clouds. The sky was red and pink and there was no wind. It felt strange. I could hear both of our breathing.

“I know a joke,” I said all of the sudden, and he stared at me with a strange look on his face. When I didn’t say anything, he rolled his eyes a little and chuckled.

“Have at it then, Miss Phoenix.”

“Why don’t horses tell many stories?”

Artie’s head dropped in his hands and he sighed with laughter, clearly thinking I was ridiculous. “Isn’t Felix enough, Annabelle?”

“Well go on, guess.”

“Why, Miss Phoenix?”

“Because they only have one tail.”

“One tale?”

“Yes, tale. You know, one story? And one tail?”

“You mean…” and then Artie fell on his back and reluctantly began to laugh. “You English,” he said and sat back up. “What do you think and dream about?”

I suddenly thought of something: thinking and dreaming.

“I want to write a poem.”

“Really?”

“One with a verse about each of us. I’ll begin with you.”

Artie lifted an eyebrow. “Alright.”

I cleared my throat, a little bashful. “Do you have any paper?”

“No. You’ll just have to memorize it.”

I chuckled and tried to begin. “The boy in the corner is reading. And thinking. And dreaming.”

He nodded his head slowly, as if he were approving of it.

“His straw hat covers his ugly eyes—”

“Wait—”

“I meant to say emerald eyes, really,” I said laughing.

Artie waved his hand.

“They’re gleaming…and shining.”

“Do they really shine? And gleam?”

“Well, all eyes do, in my opinion. But I need to say something poetic in a poem.”

“Something!” he said in a high voice, I guess pretending to be me.

“I’ll continue the poem sometime else.”

“Oh Annabelle, don’t be mad. Say the whole thing again, so you can commit it to memory.”

And I did, and then we made a second verse about Henry.

I didn’t know how many hours had gone by. Our conversations changed from jokes, to poems, to our opinions on slavery, to our favorite kinds of desserts.

When I told him another joke, one about the moon, he rolled his eyes and said he wouldn’t ever laugh, not at my jokes.

“But isn’t it wonderful?” I said through labored breath, hardly able to get enough air to my lungs.

“You are fairly interesting.”

“I meant the joke.”

Artie’s brows furrowed. “I know.”

After a quiet moment, he looked at me and grinned. “Do you want to hear something?”

“What is it?”

“You’ll never get me—tag, you’re it!”

I gasped and leapt to my feet. I chased him until finally, he slowed just a little and I caught him and he stumbled to the ground. 

“You’re not supposed to be so fast,” he panted.

“And why is that?”

He shrugged. “I’m older than you.”

I laughed, and soon we went back to the dock.

That’s when the quietness came. It must have been silent for nearly half an hour. 

But finally I worked up the courage to break it.

“Henry’s still waiting for a name from the great ‘Todd the Spectacular,’” I said with a cautious laugh. 

Artie looked dark right then. His brows were set in a firm line that furrowed close to his eyes. I was grateful when he began to speak because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I haven’t gone to church since Ma died. I was little. Don’t remember much about it,” he barely opened his mouth as he talked.

I had a feeling he had been thinking about church during all that quietness.

“After our mother died,” I began, “we stopped for awhile, too. Then we returned, but without Father. He wasn’t against church or anything like that,” I cleared up. “He simply stopped liking people. So he studied at home, alone. And if I must be completely honest…”

“What?” He turned to me.

“The more people I meet the less I enjoy the company of others, too. Of course, I don’t mean the people here in Averdeene. I felt convicted about not truly knowing them.”

“My pa never liked the idea. Of church, I mean. He just threw words at us when we said anything about it. Words and sometimes other things.”

“Do you think he’ll ever return?” And in that moment, I wasn’t sure if I meant his father or my own. I wanted both of them to come back. I wanted both of us to be truly happy again. 

He didn’t respond. Instead he said, “God doesn’t want us to have a pa. He wants us to be alone because He doesn’t care.”

“Has He said He does not care?”

Artie shrugged. 

“Well, then you shouldn’t say such falsehoods. You simply need ask. And listen, too.”

It was a peaceful quiet. And then Artie turned to me with a resolute face, like he had made up his mind about something. But then he said, “Annabelle?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve told you a great deal.”

I nodded. “Yes, you have.” 

“A lot of things, actually.”

“I suppose so.”

“I’ve never told anyone the things I’ve told you. And you need to understand that.”

“I—I do.”

His face distorted with a form of confused, lost anger. I didn’t know whether or not it was for me. “You can’t tell others this. I don’t trust anyone. Never have. Only you. I’ve not spoke to anyone about all this. Only you.”

What did he mean? I didn’t know whether to feel honored or heavy, like he had laid a burden on me. Because that’s how he said it: like he was entrusting me with a burdenous task. 

I would hold his secrets. I would be there for him. And that didn’t always mean talking and speaking and offering wise counsel. It just meant—

Listening.

Listening quietly.

Listening without speaking, without giving any advice.

“You can trust me, Artie.”

He looked down and sighed. “I just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

“I won’t tell, if that’s what you’re implying.”

His mouth twitched. The same twitch I saw on the wagon ride the day I met him.

“I’m not used to…having a friend. When you go so long being alone and not trusting anyone, it’s hard to reverse it.”

“It might surprise you, Arther, but I do know what you mean. And Henry does too. I wish you’d get along more often.”

He didn’t say anything to that. “Just—” he looked at me anxiously. “Just don’t leave and abandon us like we’re dogs.”

I didn’t laugh. Not then. For I knew these things he said; they came from the shadowy places that no but I seemed to enter. The shadowy places that each of us have, but not all of us ever venture far in.

The things that he said—they hurt him more than anything. But that’s how I knew that they meant the most.

“I’ll promise to always be your friend if you’ll be mine,” was what I did say.

He didn’t speak his promise but he nodded his head and avoided my eyes and I knew that he promised in his heart.

His words still echoed in my mind.

Just don’t leave and…

But his words were in vain, for I was not the one who left.