Chapter 18

eighteen

Lily

Vermont, September

Approaching the black saltbox house with a vibrant green door, whose color can only be described as mossy or cooked asparagus, I knew this would be my home for a bit. There is a group of traveling artists sharing the space. A mix of writers, painters, and others in the social space like myself. It is exactly what I need to reset after being in New Jersey. My new routine will allow me to piece together what comes next, I hope.

Each morning I record my classes with sunrise twinkling amber threads of light between the birch and beech trees lining the property. Then after a shower I edit and pull content for my social pages versus what is living behind the paywall. Mid-morning when the sun is high and the air is warm enough, Pete and I take a long walk. I get lost in the trees and watch as the world begins to prepare for the hibernation of fall.

River is arriving just in time for the upcoming Autumn Equinox event one of the housemates, Piper, is planning. I really hope he enjoys it and finds it to be a little like our hometown: spiritual, quirky, engaged with the natural order of things. More importantly, I really hope he doesn't think I've joined a cult up here .

Piper is planning an intuition humming ritual, and we've been asked to prepare something to focus on: gratitude, grounding, mourning a loss, healing something physical or emotional. I didn't really prepare him for this part during our call, mostly because it slipped my mind. I really didn't know how to word it in a text so I figured I'd just wait.

As Pete and I crest the hills leading up to our stone walkway, we see River's old pickup truck. Still well maintained, the ancient Ford F150 shines in cherry red against the mix of deep greens and yellowing leaves. His arrival looks like the final embers of a bonfire glowing against the deepening darkness. He's like a beacon of hope.

We join him in the driveway and he grabs his duffle out of the cab.

"Hey." He smiles and that hope fills my chest. Maybe I can stay close-enough like this to keep them all in my life, my thoughts nudge me but I push it down.

"Hi," I breathily reply. From the hiking I tell myself, but I feel my pulse continuing to tick upwards despite standing still.

"You won't believe what I had to bribe Mom with to get out of tonight's family dinner. And forget Delia, do you know what a Relavel Case is? I need to find one." He doesn't sound the least bit bothered by this though.

I lead River to the bedroom I've been sharing with Piper and we crate Pete for the afternoon before heading out to town.

We drive to the brewery I told him about. The converted garage has their glass doors open, around the stone patio are black string lights on poles that rope out the area and criss-cross the sky to provide light in the evenings. Each wooden picnic table has benches attached and a picture frame holding a menu on QR code atop. They are all about making things more sustainable, a practice River keeps discussing dipping a toe into without upsetting his Dad's focus on profit.

"What do you think of these menus being digital only?" I nudge, curious if he's seeing what I do with it.

"Seems like the place is still in 2020 a little doesn't it?" He scans and reviews the list. A few moments later he taps my hand, and electricity seems to zing between us. "You didn't mean it that way, I can tell because you haven't stopped chewing your lip." His cheeks redden with the admission.

"Well, I mean, that's not wrong. I was just thinking about how Jonathan keeps putting down your ideas about sustainability. Maybe this is an easy one: if you are going to have a rotating menu, you can keep it digital. You make one site, print these sort of things up, and only replace them if they're in truly bad shape. It is the kind of change that he might not even really notice. Your dinner menus stay as is, the chalkboards too. This is one tiny step in the direction you want to go." His face continues to redden, when the waiter approaches and clears his throat.

"What can I get you two?"

"I'll have a flight please." I give him a wide grin. "Can you include some of the new fall seasonals? Anything you are loving? Only requirement is the Maple Porter."

The waiter suggests rounding it out with the Sunflower Hefeweizen, hard apple cider, and a Sip of Sunshine IPA.

"Perfect, then I'm going to do what she isn't," River says, "the Red Ale, the Oktoberfest, and the Pumpkin Ale." He winces as he says that one.

"You don't have to get pumpkin if it's not your thing, we have plenty of year-rounds too," the waiter offers.

"No, we came here for a seasonal tasting, so I've got to give it a shot. Even if the pumpkin spice fad isn't my favorite…" he trails off blushing apologetically. "And the saison." He finishes with more certainty.

As the waiter heads back to the bar, he continues to fidget with the beer list on his phone. I watch his face to see all the gears turning: he worries his lip between his teeth. He shakes the device from hand to hand while bouncing his left knee—the one on the outside from me. Frowning, he turns and excuses himself. I watch as River walks up to the waiter and bartender and extends his hand. They shake and his shoulders relax a bit as they engage in a conversation for a few minutes. I want to make my way over to listen, but I don't want to intrude where it's not my place.

When he returns, River seems much less agitated. Turning to me, he says, "Sorry, I'm a proprietor and I can't be saying things like that outloud without also having a proper conversation. The team here aren't the owners, but they are really nice guys. They also don't love pumpkin so no harm no foul, and they'll toss in a half taster for me while swapping in their Classic American Ale instead. I just… I didn't want to be rude." He runs his hands through his hair.

Rude is the last thing I'd consider him generally, but watching how much thought he puts into an interaction with someone he may not professionally encounter again reminds me how passionate he truly is.

"You're never rude in my experience," I say while reaching for him mindlessly. My hand lands on his knee and that same spark returns, it's burning bright and confusing so I pull it back.

The waiter returns with our flights, two large pint glasses of water, and a basket of apple cider donuts I don't recall ordering. I smile thinking how easy this all is. It feels like being ‘home' without the anxiety, it's something I've been searching for. Maybe I will want to stay in Vermont for a bit after all?

That night at dusk the housemates and River gather around the circular stone fire pit outside. A number of their friends and colleagues from the community are mingling around as well. Everyone is snuggled into throw blankets and sweatshirts or topped by knit hats. Evening light casts a lavender and sapphire hue on the world, things feel calm and peaceful.

"Tonight, we're going to step outside our comfort zones and welcome the coming season," Piper begins. Her dark violet knit cape jacket combined with her fiery copper curls creates a beautiful contrast in the dimming natural light. She seems ancient and ethereal as she speaks. "Before tonight we discussed preparing something that matches what autumn brings up for us: a time to invite wisdom, to ground yourself and prepare for the hibernation of winter. This is the season for gratitude and healing, however remember that healing comes from inviting balance into your life. It comes from planning and preparation, providing self care, and mourning what ends. Like summer's inevitable exit, all things that enter our lives will also take their leave. Thankfully, they make space for something newer."

I look around the circle and everyone is nodding, their eyes are fixed on Piper and entranced by her. The musicality of her lithe voice. Everyone except River, who seems to be watching me from the corner of his eye.

"Take a few moments to reconnect with the information you prepared, then we will spread out to find a space where you can still hear my instructions but have some solitude if you prefer." She pauses, giving the group time to disperse.

"Lily…" he beseeches me, "I thought this was going to be a little different than home for a few days."

"Nope," I pluckily answer before taking his hand. "I didn't get to tell you about this part, but it's okay. You know what your goals are: to create a new era of The Featherweight. Mine is…" I hesitate. Peering into those teal eyes and reflecting on those feelings from our outing earlier, I admit, "Mine is to finally feel at home. Somewhere. Anywhere. The restlessness is exhausting sometimes."

I can feel his eyes on me as I pull my chair to the far edges of the patio, but thankfully he doesn't pry. He follows with an extra blanket and the chair. We sit facing one another as Piper continues to lead the ritual.

"Humming out loud in front of others will potentially feel strange. This is because when we step outside of who we are day to day, our desire to be comfortable increases. What is comfort except what is familiar to us? We don't do the same things over and over without knowing that the results will also continue to be the same. At the back of our minds, we all recognize that change takes place just beyond the familiar. You are welcome to have your voice be as strong or soft as you need, only you know what is right. However, if you find yourself using less volume because it is more comfortable to hide from the light I challenge you to speak up. If you are known for the strength of your voice towards others, I invite you to consider this an opportunity to soften. To let others shine. To connect within. Whatever you do, do it with your full heart." On a group inhale, we each let out a long noisy hum in unison.

Most people have their eyes closed, reminding me of the ohm's in a yoga class. River and I lock eyes and something shifts within me, suddenly, I feel like the little girl playing on the muddy banks of the water. I'm overcome with giggles, despite the poor timing. The harder I laugh, the more he tries to suppress his own.

"Is something amusing, Lily?" Piper snaps and I feel myself flooding with emotions: shame, embarrassment, resentment, helplessness, and a deep desire to be the kind of person others approve of.

I want to say to her ‘ not at all, in fact, the humming brought up being young. Being with my friend here, and acting carefree. Being unashamed of who I am and how I don't quite fit in any of the boxes I'm presented with.'

Instead, my heart is racing. I dislike being the center of attention in this way as it spikes a deep anxiety I cannot squelch. The longer it goes on, the harder it is for me to find my words. My lungs cannot take in enough air, my mouth has become a desert, and talking becomes increasingly challenging. Instead of an answer, I do what I do best. I raise up from my seat and jog off down the path to the forest behind our place and proceed to dry heave.

Dusk has set in and the shadows expand around us, enveloping the area with darkness. Or perhaps I'm losing my vision, who can say?

Instead of moving further inward or trying to take the path towards the house, I sit. The floor of the forest has a covering of leaves and dried dirt. There are curls of birchwood dried around me, perfect kindling for the bonfire we planned at the end of this ceremony. I begin to collect them into a pile when a phone flashlight appears in the sky. I'm on all fours, crawling on the ground for more bark, when I find myself face-to-toe with growing more familiar well worn boots. Peering up, I watch as River lowers himself to a crouch before me.

There's a moment where I am overcome by the urge to kiss him. To beg him to continue to be my home wherever I go. Except, that wouldn't be fair to him. He's earned the right to his steady life and build his legacy. So instead I peer up and simply ask, "Want to watch the world burn with me?"