No walls. No walls anywhere. Portland, by comparison, seems tiny, a blip.
Alex stops in front of a dingy gray trailer. Its windows are missing and have been replaced by squares of multicolored fabric, pulled taut.
And, um, this is me. Alex gestures awkwardly. Its the first time he has seemed nervous all night, which makes me nervous. I swallow back the sudden and totally inappropriate urge to laugh hysterically.
Wow. Itsits
Its not much, from the outside, Alex jumps in. He looks away, chewing on a corner of his lip. Do you want to, um, come in?
I nod, pretty sure that if I tried to speak right now I would only squeak again. Ive been alone with him countless times, but this feels different. Here there are no eyes waiting to catch us, no voices waiting to shout at us, no hands ready to tear us apartjust miles and miles of space. Its exciting and terrifying at the same time.
Anything could happen here, and when he bends down to kiss me its as though the weight of the velvety darkness around us, the soft flutters of the trees, the pitter-patter of the unseen animals, come beating into my chest, making me feel as though Im dissolving and expanding into the night. When he pulls away it takes me a few seconds to catch my breath.
Come on, he says. He leans a shoulder against the door of the trailer until it pops open.
Inside its very dark. I can make out only a few rough outlines, and when Alex shuts the door behind us even those vanish, sucked up into black.
Theres no electricity out here, Alex says. Hes moving around, bumping up against things, cursing every so often under his breath.
Do you have candles? I ask. The trailer smells strange, like autumn leaves that have fallen off their branches.
Its nice. There are other smells toothe sharp citrus sting of cleaning fluid, and very faintly, the tang of gasoline.
Even better. I hear rustling, and a spray of water descends on me from above. I let out a small shriek and Alex says, Sorry, sorry. I havent been here in a while.
Watch out. More rustling. And then, slowly, the ceiling above my head trembles and folds back on itself, and all of a sudden the sky is revealed in its enormity. The moon sits almost directly above us, streaming light into the trailer and crowning everything in silver. I see now that the ceiling is, in fact, one enormous plastic tarp, a bigger version of the kind of thing youd use to cover a grill. Alex is standing on a chair, rolling it back, and with every inch more of the sky is revealed and everything inside only seems to glow brighter.
My breath catches in my throat. Its beautiful.
Alex shoots me a look over his shoulder and grins. He continues folding back the tarp, pausing every few minutes to stop, scoot his chair forward, and begin again. One day a storm took out half the roof. I wasnt here, fortunately. He, too, is glowing, his arms and shoulders touched with silver. Just as I did on the night of the raids, I think of the portraits in church of the angels with their sprouting wings. I decided I might as well get rid of the whole thing. He finishes with the tarp and jumps lightly off the chair, turning to face me, smiling. Its my own convertible house.
Its incredible, I say, and really mean it. The sky looks so close. I feel like I could reach up and slap my fingers on the moon.
Now Ill get the candles. Alex scoots past me toward the kitchen area and starts rummaging. I can see the big stuff now, though details are still lost in darkness.
Theres a small woodstove in one corner. At the opposite end is a twin bed. My stomach does a tiny flip when I see it, and a thousand memories flood me at onceCarol sitting on my bed and telling me, in her measured voice, about the expectations of husband and wife; Jenny sticking her hand on her hip and telling me I wont know what to do when the time comes; whispered stories of Willow Marks; Hana wondering out loud in the locker room what sex feels like, while I hissed at her to be quiet, checking over my shoulder to make sure no one was listening.
Alex finds a bunch of candles and starts lighting them one by one, and corners of the room flare into focus as he sets the candles carefully around the trailer. What strikes me most are the books: Lumpy shapes that in the half dark appeared to be a part of the furniture now resolve into towering stacks of books more books than Ive seen anywhere except for at the library. There are three bookshelves mashed against one wall. Even the refrigerator, whose door has come unhinged, is filled with books.
I take a candle and scan the titles. I dont recognize any of them.
What are these? Some of the books look so old and cracked Im afraid if I touch them theyll crumble to bits.
I mouth the names I read off the spines, at least the ones I can make out: Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman, William Wordsworth.
Alex glances at me. Thats poetry, he says.
Whats poetry? Ive never heard the word before, but I like the sound of it. It sounds elegant and easy, somehow, like a beautiful woman turning in a long dress.
Alex lights the last candle. Now the trailer is filled with warm, flickering light. He joins me by the bookshelf and squats, looking for something. He removes a book and stands, passes it to me for inspection.
Famous Love Poetry . My stomach flips as I see that word Love printed so brazenly on a book cover. Alex is watching me closely, so to cover up my discomfort I open the book and scan the list of featured authors, listed on the first few pages.
Shakespeare? This name I do recognize from health class. The guy who wrote Romeo and Juliet? The cautionary tale?
Alex snorts. Its not a cautionary tale, he says. Its a great love story.
I think about that first day at the labs: the first time I ever saw Alex. It seems like a lifetime ago. I remember my mind churning out the word beautiful. I remember thinking something about sacrifice.
They banned poetry years ago, right after they discovered a cure. He takes the book back from me and opens it. Would you like to hear a poem?
I nod. He coughs, then clears his throat, then squares his shoulders and rolls his neck like hes about to be let into a soccer game.
Go on, I say, laughing. Youre stalling.
He clears his throat again and begins to read: Shall I compare thee to a summers day?
I close my eyes and listen. The feeling I had before of being surrounded by warmth swells and crests inside of me like a wave. Poetry isnt like any writing Ive ever heard before. I dont understand all of it, just bits of images, sentences that appear half-finished, all fluttering together like brightly colored ribbons in the wind. It reminds me, I realize, of the music that struck me dumb nearly two months ago at the farmhouse. It has the same effect, and makes me feel exhilarated and sad at the same time.
Alex finishes reading. When I open my eyes, hes staring at me.
What? I ask. The intensity of his gaze nearly knocks the breath out of me as though hes staring straight into me.
He doesnt answer me directly. He flips forward a few pages in the book, but he doesnt glance down at it. He keeps his eyes on me the whole time. You want to hear a different one? He doesnt wait for me to answer before beginning to recite, How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
Theres that word again: love. My heart stops when he says it, then stutters into a frantic rhythm.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach. . . .
I know hes only speaking someone elses words, but they seem to come from him anyway. His eyes are dancing with light; in each of them I see a bright point of candlelight reflected.
He takes a step forward and kisses my forehead softly.
I love thee to the level of every days most quiet need. .
. .
It feels as though the floor is swinginglike Im falling.
Alex I start to say, but the word gets tangled in my throat.
He kisses each cheekbonea delicious, skimming kiss, barely grazing my skin. I love thee freely. . . .
Alex, I say, a little louder. My heart is beating so fast Im afraid it will burst from my ribs.
He pulls back and gives me a small, crooked smile.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, he says, then traces a finger over the bridge of my nose. You dont like it?
The way he says it, so low and serious, still staring into my eyes, makes me feel as though hes actually asking something else.
No. I mean, yes. I mean, I do, but . . . The truth is, Im not sure what I mean. I cant think or speak clearly. A single word is swirling around inside mea storm, a hurricaneand I have to squeeze my lips together to keep it from swelling up to my tongue and fighting its way out into the open. Love, love, love, love. A word Ive never pronounced, not to anyone, a word Ive never even really let myself think.
You dont have to explain. Alex takes another step backward. Again I have the sense, confusedly, that were actually talking about something else. Ive disappointed him somehow. Whatever has just passed between usand something did, even if Im not sure what or how or whyhas made him sad. I can see it in his eyes, even though hes still smiling, and it makes me want to apologize, or throw my arms around him and ask him to kiss me. But Im still afraid to open my mouthafraid that the word will come shooting out, and terrified about what comes afterward.
Come here. Alex sets the book down and offers me his hand. I want to show you something.
He leads me over to the bed, and again a wave of shyness overtakes me. Im not sure what he expects, and when he sits down I hang back, feeling self- conscious.
Its okay, Lena, he says. As always, hearing him say my name relaxes me. He scoots backward on the bed and lies down on his back and I do the same, so were lying side by side. The bed is narrow. Theres just enough room for the two of us.
See? Alex says, tilting his chin upward.
Above our heads, the stars flare and glitter and flash:
thousands and thousands of them, so many thousands they look like snowflakes whirling away into the inky dark. I cant help it; I gasp. I dont think Ive ever seen so many stars in my life. The sky looks so closestrung so taut above our heads, beyond the roofless trailerit feels as though were falling into it, as though we could jump off the bed and the sky would catch us, hold us, bounce us like a trampoline.
What do you think? Alex asks.
I love it. The word pops out, and instantly the weight on my chest dissipates. I love it, I say again, testing it.
An easy word to say, once you say it. Short. To the point.