Disclaimer: The Twilight Saga and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.
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"the lesson of the moth" is by archy (Don Marquis)
I wrote the other verses but, this week, 'they belong to someone else.'
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(Yes, this is getting posted much earlier than expected -- after all the love, I didn't have the heart to not post when it was finished. )
The sound of someone showering in the bathroom I shared with Edward awoke me. That would probably be Edward showering in his bathroom, I corrected myself. I groaned and pulled the covers over my head, sinking down into them.
I'd slept soundly, dreamlessly, but I wasn't sure if I was ready to face the Cullen clan so early.
Peeking my head over the covers, I noticed some changes from the night before. My dark gray robe lay across the injurious wooden bench. The curtains had been pulled so that just a hint of the cloudy day filtered in. A whisper of steam curled up from the mug of Earl Grey on my bedside table. The note beside it said,
I have waffles for anyone who stayed up all night doing homework.
If they're interested.
~ Esme
I smiled at her sweet note and considered getting out of my cocoon.
Light knocking came from the bathroom door.
"Are you awake yet, Bella? We only have a few more hours until we have to take the letters back."
"I'm awake. You can stick your head in if you want."
Sock-footed, damp-headed Edward stepped sheepishly around the corner. He had on a gray V-neck t-shirt and worn-in jeans and looked better than any Greek god had a right to after only having run has hands through his hair. Couched down at my bedside on the balls of his toes, he ruffled my hair and asked quietly, "Did you sleep well?"
"Like the dead."
For some reason, he thought that was exceptionally funny. I had better material.
"Esme thought I might wake you when I took a shower so she brought up some tea."
"I saw that, thanks. So, do you want to pick up where we left off or do you want to wait until we get to the Copelands to start in on Sophie and William again?"
The light made his skin look mother-of-pearl perfect -- every shade of pale backlit by some indirect source. A rare glimpse of the moon in daylight, but with a flush -- probably from the shower. His eyes were equally luminescent, like a jar of honey left sitting on a window-sill. Gone were the ebony eyes and their dark circles from late last night.
A restful night agreed with him.
I realized with a flush of my own, that those very eyes were skimming over my hair, my cheeks, my mouth…they lingered at my mouth.
"I'm trying to remember where we left off…"
My reply wouldn't come.
Edward stood from his crouch with a feral grace that would make a ninja check under his bed each night. He drew his cool pointer finger down the slope of my nose, dotting the "i" gently at its tip.
"You are the one who took the initiative to bring them here so we'll do whatever you want. I'll meet you downstairs -- how many waffles should Esme make you?"
After giving careful consideration to doing just the opposite, I took a searing hot shower in a moderately successful effort to burn the fog off my thinking faculties.
I tried to think about something else -- the gloomy weather that had settled in, Sophie's intimate connection to her uncle, breakfast. Anything apart from Edward Cullen would have worked.
But his presence clouded my ability to reason. I was so besotted with the man of my literal dreams that I let this one tug at my emotions while my defenses fell to the wayside.
On the other hand, why shouldn't Edward Cullen, the real Edward Cullen, be flirting with me? And, why did that prospect still make me a little mad?
Weren't those the million-dollar questions?
It would take more than a ten-minute shower to figure out some answers so I tried again to concentrate on the incredible smells wafting up from the kitchen.
I told her two but Esme insisted on making me three waffles. I ate one and a half -- as well as a pile of berries and two pieces of bacon washed down by a glass of juice. Wearing Alice's skirt had been a mistake; the waistband bit into me after my breakfast.
Her jeans were just as tight -- the skirt had still been the lesser of two evils. The added bonus of the gray tweed skirt was what she'd laid out with it --a burgundy cashmere sweater, ivory silk camisole and suede boots. The boots were almost black with a wash of wine to them, like a cherry coke held up to the sun. And just as delicious.
Jasper and Alice said goodbye on their way out -- well, Jasper said hello and goodbye while Alice mouthed the word "hot" and winked at me -- but Emmett and Rose were long gone by the time I came downstairs. Come to think of it, I still hadn't crossed paths with them yet. Carlisle had worked a night shift and wasn't quite ready for bed when I finished my breakfast. He, Esme and Edward chatted around the breakfast table with me.
Edward decided he needed to tell Carlisle about my toe so I stole the last of his bacon and dredged it in his syrup before I made a show of eating it.
He looked mildly revolted; only Esme thought it was funny.
"What does our day look like, Bella?"
Our. Intoxicating.
"We have a couple of hours before we can show up at the Copelands' front door, but I don't feel like getting all the letters out again. Maybe just go over a couple and some notes?"
"Your wish, my command."
I made him regret this morning's exemplary manners immediately. "So amenable today -- should Esme get the credit?"
His mother looked shocked. "Edward. You aren't mistreating our Bella, are you?"
"Of course not. I was brought up to treat ladies well. I think she might need to cop to some misconduct, though -- and under your roof, no less."
My face blanched. Why the hell would I tell his mom that we brought the letters here?
Esme gave Edward a reproving glare. "I see what Bella was referring to now."
Turning to me, she said sweetly, "I think that Bella is a responsible scholar who knows enough about how to treat antique documents to be able to decide when and where to read them. My library was honored to be the scene of the crime."
I smiled at her, fighting the urge to stick my tongue out at Edward. Carlisle was unsuccessful at holding in his smirk.
Looking down his nose at me with mock-seriousness, Edward said, "Miss Swan -- to the library, please. I think we need to make some arrangements for your surrender with the local authorities." He turned and, when I didn't follow, looked back and eyed me with an arched brow.
"Now." Esme and I giggled. I moved towards the sink with my breakfast dishes.
She handed me another cup of tea, shooed me out of the kitchen and whispered, "Go. Company doesn't do dishes." As an afterthought, she added, "I don't know what gets into him sometimes; he used to be so mannerly. Next thing you know, he'll be dipping your pigtails in the inkwell."
From the stairs I heard, "Isn't she lucky all the inkwells in this house have been dry since the turn of the last century…."
He was waiting for me in the library with a Cheshire Cat grin.
I shook my head. "You told your mom on me."
"She loved being in on it; they both did. And, um, they weren't going to believe you handle all your homework with white cotton gloves. It was preemptive; they would've asked."
My choice of Edward as a partner for under-the-table dealings was looking better and better. "I hadn't even thought about it. So, thanks for ratting me out, I guess."
"They're more than fine with us bringing the letters here. Don't give it another thought, really." Pointedly, he looked at my skirt and stockings, effectively changing the subject. "Alice?"
I smiled and rolled my eyes. "Yes. She laid out 'options' for me. I half-expected a look-book. I can't breathe in her jeans, but a skirt seems a bit much for doing homework -- though this was the least dressy. Beggars don't get to be choosers…." I shrugged, uncomfortable with being examined.
"You hardly look like a beggar. I only think I've seen you in a skirt at your graduation. I like it, if that counts for anything."
My cheeks began a slow increase in temperature and I played with a non-existent bit of lint on my sleeve. "Alice has lovely taste."
"Alice isn't wearing it. The compliment was intended for you, but I can pass it along to her if you don't want it." He smiled and shook his head at my inability to simply say "thank you".
"Thank you. For passing it along and…for saying so." I stumbled over the last bit but I knew he understood me. My cheeks only warmed a little more.
Clearing his throat, he indicated the white gloves I'd picked up. "So, back to business? Where do you want to start?"
As he donned his gloves, I slipped on my much smaller pair. "Definitely with the moth. She must have mentioned a moth in a poem, I can't wait to see hers. Here he is mentioning it in a letter and then," I fished around in our stack, "in a later poem."
"I like that train of thought. What made you put those letters together?"
I wish I knew how to explain it, but I woke up in my down nest this morning with it on my mind. "I don't really know. I just woke up thinking about it. And about the carriage poem -- compared to the others it's violently emotional. I haven't quite put that with anything else yet…maybe tomorrow morning I'll wake up with more revelations. I do my best thinking when I'm asleep. I slept through senior Calculus and somehow passed…."
He chuckled. "I'm becoming jealous of your useful dreams. Do tell more…."
Whoops. I'll hardly be telling you more about my nighttime musings. "Diffusion -- I put torn-out textbook pages under my pillow. I go to sleep and wake up wiser -- not much to tell."
At least he was still laughing. Now, if he would only move on….
"Why do I get the feeling you're holding out on me? Is it a trade secret?"
No such luck. "Yes -- that's it exactly. A trade secret. Now, can we get back to the moths, Mr. Cullen?"
"By all means, Miss Swan." He was indulging me.
The housekeeper was more than happy to see us return.
As we entered the Copeland's library I realized that I was surprisingly comfortable with Edward being here. And not just more at ease than the day prior. I could have been defusing a nuclear weapon -- not the red and blue wire, the red and black one -- and my impending doom would seem less certain than it had when we'd entered the same room twenty-four hours earlier.
I wasn't uncomfortable, not resigned, not even ambivalent. I was glad to have him with me, even in the close little room that I'd considered a torture chamber designed specifically for me.
We'd spent more than twenty-four hours together and I wouldn't have said that the immersion had made me oblivious to Edward's pull, but it had knocked the edge off it.
My guard was officially down. Things were cozy. We were friends.
Wordlessly, Edward walked to the library door to be my lookout -- we'd agreed ahead of time that he'd be more successful at distracting the housekeeper than I would ever be, should it come to that -- and I replaced the box on the shelf.
We set up camp and began working in companionable silence. I could hardly ask for better.
I dug into the moth poem immediately.
*
Each creature, assigned nobly their place--
A humble vocation,
A lofty midnight task.
-
He eschews it, fluttering vigil replaced--
Stolen assignation
Of illicit warmth.
-
The fixed orbit altered by a fatal pull.
Graceful, trembling pearl wings
Singed by vanity
-
Thus reproved, wings sooted and dull
The moth in search of balm
Unrepentant leaves
*
"So, what do you make of all the moth imagery, Miss Swan?"
When I finally spoke, I'd been silent so long my voice creaked like a rusty hinge. "First, the obvious -- a moth, as an insect, is pretty low on the totem pole of living things. And this one is a 'he'. I'm going to take a leap and say now that William is the moth, and he views himself as something lowly.
"Also, moths are associated with nighttime -- darkness. The moth's job is called both 'a humble vocation' and a 'lofty midnight task', so I'm wondering if he isn't referring to two separate duties…now I'm just speculating.
"Help, please? Where is your head?"
He pretended to consider his words for a moment -- probably to make me feel better for only being able to regurgitate the obvious -- and then said, "I love that the moth here isn't only a nighttime pest. He could've chosen a more sinister nocturnal creature."
Oooh. I liked it. "Yes. Exactly -- like a bat. They're creepy and come out at night."
He laughed and started again quickly. "There is that example…. I was thinking something more predatory, like a wolf, but instead he implies some forgiveness for the moth's impertinence early on, calling himself 'graceful' with 'trembling pearl wings' and only being 'singed', not consumed."
Instinctively, I cringed at the mention of sinister, nocturnal wolves. Their teeth dripping blood, lips pulled back in a snarl -- they were indeed my very own nightmare. They would certainly fit the bill.
My expression must have betrayed my discomfort.
Edward laid his white-gloved hand over my own, more than covering it. Kindly, he asked, "This letter is close to the end of your timeline, yes? "
"Very."
"Maybe he is almost convinced."
I pulled out my trump card -- the only real contribution I felt I could make. "Do you know the 'Lesson of the Moth'? I only remember part of it, but that's what this letter from William and the poem bring to mind. I've got it in my binder somewhere…."
I flipped through to find my copy while I spoke. "But, instead of what William says about the moth being singed because he's trying to perform the vocation he's been given by God and, at the same time, the one he wants for himself, it speaks directly to the moth's motivation for wanting more.
"Which is what I'm really interested in now…William's motivation for his actions in the first place, not the reasons he regrets his actions later. This is what I imagine William was feeling."
When I looked up from my rummaging, Edward gentle attention had crystallized painfully. As I prepared to read the Don Marquis poem, his hand went reflexively to the bridge of his nose and he exhaled audibly.
I continued anyway.
"The moth is questioned and then he speaks. He says:
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves'"
Visibly, Edward's jaw flexed; his entire body stiffened. The words that escaped the thin line of his mouth were terse and I barely made them out. "Twentieth-century pedestrian ramblings with no capitalization -- written by a cockroach, no less -- to explain the words of a celebrated seventeenth-century poet? Hardly the stuff of a defensible thesis.
"Maybe we can come up with something else together."
I didn't need to come up with something "together"!
He might as well have told me again, "You don't know anything."
Nothing had ever really changed, had it? He still felt that way and saying he regretted his actions didn't make the words true.
Being careful of my tone, and trying to keep things light, I said evenly, "That's what I have. When you have a better idea, we'll hold it up to the light…you're not holding out an idea on me, are you?"
He wasn't getting under my skin so easily.
He mumbled something and I pointedly got back to work.
The rest of the afternoon, I withdrew from Edward. I'd let him melt away my resolve to keep him at arm's length and the subsequent nip had reminded me why I'd constructed my boundaries to begin with.
We resumed our letter-reading and note writing in silence. He asked me a question or two and I answered as efficiently I could. By the end of the afternoon, I believed he was asking me questions I couldn't answer yes or no to simply make me quit replying in monosyllables.
It was probably for the better. Our unreal interaction when he put me to bed the night before didn't make sense in the light of day. Nothing about him wanting me around in the light of day made sense. We were so different. We disagreed at every turn. He took himself -- he took everything -- so seriously. There was no air around him, he'd vacuum-sealed himself off from me and there was just no wiggle room.
No room for me, period.
The drive home was equally painful. The classical piano that I'd found so soothing the day before simply served to piss me off as we zipped through traffic.
His perfect car and pretentious music and designer clothes that fit him just so…hmph! Even being hot couldn't bail him out -- it just made me more angry.
A pitiful actress, my performance for the rest of the afternoon didn't fool him.
Twice, he looked as if he might try to say something to address it but, both times, his phone saved me from having to chew him up and spit him out. Just make it through the next few weeks, Bella…you need his letters to back up your speculation.
When we pulled in front of my building, I practically jumped out of the door before we came to a full stop in my effort to escape the oppressive car.
Not to be denied one last chance to irritate me, Edward insisted on carrying my armload of books to my door.
He had the good sense to keep his mouth shut beyond "thank you" and "goodnight".
Alone inside, I pressed my ear against the front door to my flat. Once I could no longer hear the retreating footsteps, I leaned my back against the door and melted into a crouch in the floor, my forehead cradled in my palms.
No longer under his spell…no.
No longer under his thumb, I could breathe.
Frames of the last thirty-six hours randomly flitted through my head; already I was having a hard time nailing the events onto a timeline. The drama combined with a late night were catching up with me.
I slid the skirt and boots off, stepped into pajama bottoms and turned on the electric kettle -- proof in itself that, even if I hadn't spent every night in a different pub, I had been affected by living in England. I'd never seen an electric kettle before I moved here.
Looking down at my cozy mug of tea and cheery plaid pajamas about half an hour later, I was suddenly ashamed of myself.
Why was I abiding by this self-imposed restriction? I wasn't sixteen.
Studying in London was of no use if I were acting like I was studying in Forks. Live a little, Bella. Act your age, not the age of your middle-aged instincts.
Andrew had given me his number weeks ago and asked me to coffee just a couple days ago. Take him up on it, Bella.
Andrew already had plans to hit a pub with a few other students, but none of them minded me tagging along. Or so they said. He gave me the name of the establishment and the Tube stop to help me along.
I threw on jeans and boots with Alice's camisole and sweater combo that I hadn't taken off yet. I grabbed a coat and hit the door before I could change my mind.
I'd ventured outside of my flat enough to buy groceries and grab some takeout. Finding the Copeland's town house was no longer intimidating. But, I was moving in on having been here seven months and I was getting something akin to cabin fever from the track I'd limited myself to. A night out every now and then was healthy.
Dammit.
Why did I keep having to remind myself of that fact?
Going out with Ben and Angela and other students in Washington hadn't been a big deal. We hit film festivals, museums, restaurants, karaoke bars, pool halls -- all the college hotspots.
Had the deadly combination of social events and strangers in a foreign country done me in?
No.
I was afraid of coming face-to-face with my nightmare again.
My nightmares were an ocean away -- I hadn't had one since I moved to London. I'd had to take up stalking Edward in trade but, really, I was hardly going to complain about that.
Hairy monsters or beautiful research partner? Not a difficult decision.
I exited the tube at Aldgate and found the Still and Star with no problem. It was a quintessential British pub -- unpretentious and dimly lit with sausage rolls being nibbled at practically every table. I was immediately glad I came and worked my way over to the group Andrew was part of.
A couple of the faces I recognized from class, though I didn't know names that went with them. Only two faces apart from Andrew's already had names that I knew -- Vivienne and Phoebe. The other six were new.
He'd said a few on the phone.
I hadn't made eye contact with anyone when I snuck in, so I was surprised when Andrew had a stool waiting for me by the time I edged over to the table.
"You made it! I grabbed you a stool; they're in short supply here. Everyone, this is Bella -- the American girl I was talking about."
Introductions were made to the new faces and Phoebe held her hand out to shake mine.
Vivenne cocked a perfectly plucked brow and said, "'Alo, Bella. I didn't know you would be with us tonight. A surprise, non?"
"Yes, a surprise. I hadn't expected to be here." I smiled and left it at that. I hope you enjoy disappointment.
Yes, I borrowed your line. Now, go away, jackass.
The process of ordering and nursing a drink helped keep me from feeling out of place. The drink itself didn't hurt. Someone ordered me a Hopback Crop Circle simply because I'd asked what they were drinking.
From that response I gathered that the local boys were all about American girls talking less and drinking more. I said as much to Phoebe at the very moment the table's conversation hit a lull.
My volume was only appropriate against a roar; in the silence it rung out like the death knell of my infant social life.
Every eye at the table was on me -- Vivienne sported a pouty smirk at my faux pas.
The beer-ordering guy laughed until he had to wipe tears from his eyes.
I chuckled in relief and shook my head as he hailed the server -- the award for making him cry in public was another beer.
We sat around and chatted with no awkwardness for at least two hours. I wasn't already mentally planning my next outing with them by the time we left but I could see myself doing it again.
Knowing I had another early start, I said my good-byes and headed for the tube.
Twenty minutes after I left the pub, I was thoroughly turned around and wishing I'd taken someone up on the offer of an escort -- and turned down that last beer. The dangers of being alone on a London street suddenly outweighed those of being alone at night with a harmless grad student. Who might possibly be armed with some Keats…terrifying, Bella.
I could hear strains of female laughter drifting towards me from behind, egged on by the good-natured, lower tones of male voices. The mixed group was a relief and I let them gain on me, thinking I'd ask them for directions.
I leaned over and pretended to fiddle with my boot to buy more time.
A girl's voice piped up. "Those Sergio Rossi boots are hot! Where'd you get them?"
"Umm, they're borr--" I narrowed my eyes at the familiar voice. "Alice!"
My shock earned a few polite chuckles from the other Cullens and a booming laugh from Emmett. "You should have seen your face! You really didn't hear the little megaphone here? She's been entertaining anyone within a two block radius for a while now."
"No, I really didn't hear you that well. What are you all doing?" And I did mean all. Emmett had Rose draped over his arm, Alice played with Jasper's hand and Edward stood awkwardly between the four of them.
Alice said, "Rose, it's your show…."
There was no change in her inflection, no excitement for the outing she was apparently responsible for. "We're going to the graveyard."
I wasn't sure what the polite response to that was. "Oh. Um. What for?"
Alice rolled her eyes. "God, Rose. We're going to a very specific cemetery. There's one near the new house and we started realizing how old some of the graves were and how many of the headstones were for famous writers, politicians, musicians, actors. So, our goal now is to check out all the ones that have people we would like to have met."
Emmett spoke up. "Tonight, we are Bunhill bound."
I bit. This was fascinating even if it was macabre. The beautiful Cullens in ancient, dirty cemeteries? "Who's in that one?"
Alice looked pointedly at Edward, as if she were waiting on him to spill. He practically purred, "You'll love this one. We'll keep it a surprise."
Till when? I wasn't so sure I wanted to tag along.
Rose practically growled. "That's not why I'm going."
And, another reason to stay behind….
The moment Edward addressed me, my back was up. I reminded myself that I was not letting him get under my skin but the idea wrapping my hands around his throat was so appealing at that moment.
My hands opened and closed involuntarily at my sides.
I took a deep breath to reset my thought process and, when I opened my eyes, I could have sworn that Jasper winked at me. Baffling.
Alice walked over and put an arm around my waist as the others walked towards the cars. "Go easy on him, Bella. Just come with us, please -- you'll get along. He's a great tour guide, if nothing else, and we'll take you home the moment you want to go."
Author's Note: The original draft of this chapter was without any contribution of my own verse. SR, you upped the ante and I am ponying up to the table -- Maker's Mark, neat, and deal me in. These verses are here solely because you said there should be more such inclusions...so "Fatal Pull" is yours to do with as you see fit.
The second poem, "the lesson of the moth" is profoundly touching to me, very carpe diem for all its fatalistic implications, and was indeed written as if by a cockroach. Please read it in its entirety...and then go want something as badly as archy. ./~
I have new readers this week and I couldn't be more thrilled. Wow. Just WOW! I love all the fresh voices -- comments are the best part of doing this. Please leave one.
Danni, you pushed on this. I so love that.
Clem, thanks for keeping me from nibbling on the lights. Be more constructive with your feedback, please.
Thread slores -- you ladies keep me on my toes and make me giggle regularly. Naked hugs all around!