Chapter 4: Strangers | November 2015
Benedict
I've been in a contradictory mood for most of the day, so it's a welcome change of pace to meet with some admirers, exchange small talk and smile for photographs. Myself and some of the other cast members have set up for a meet and greet before we disband from New York, and there has been a steady flow of people coming in to greet me, along with my fellow coworkers. The surface-level interaction distracts me perfectly from the difficulty of the day just past, and the knowledge that, once the hour is over, I will be back on a plane to London, comforts me.
It's always surprising to see how many people take an interest in myself and my work. On most days, to stumble across myself in newspapers and magazines, to see myself on posters and—sometimes—even on t-shirts, takes me aback slightly, and it takes a moment for me to remember who I am, who I signify to the world. On other days I can admit to expecting to be stopped on the street, apprehended; never out of a sense of superiority or big-headedness, but out of a slight fear of my identity, who I have become. Often it's a difficult process to return to my inner self, who I truly am, when, simultaneously, my name and self have become so well-known and idealized.
But on a basic level, I know I am lucky, at least this evening, to be surrounded by people who are kind, and who don't thrust their interest in me upon the situation. It's easy today to settle into the pattern of hellos, photographs, signatures, and farewells, and after a time, though I take the time to appreciate each individual, every face begins to blur into the next, and I know that something is not quite right in my heart, for I feel exhausted under my personable, energetic surface.
Something about that little boy... And something about the young woman, about Holly Whitaker... My thoughts and heart won't be let alone by the sheer confusion of the tragedy—and also the enlightenment and human simplicity—of the day. I want to sit down and analyze my feelings, but I know I will have ample time to do so on the seven hour flight from here to London. And so, though it's difficult, I suppress my inner turmoil and maintain my jovial, easygoing temperament as I ask admirers about their lives, wish them well, thank them for their generous complements.
A kind young woman Ruth, who has been keeping me up to date on my schedule throughout my stay here in New York, slips to my side after almost an hour has passed and warns that I'll have to say my goodbyes to the fans in five minutes. She hands me a coffee, which I never requested, but which she must have known I was in need of, anyway, and I thank her with a smile before she disappears again. I finish up a few more pictures with a group of friendly men and women in their thirties, and just when the hour is nearly up, I spot her across the gradually emptying room.
Most of my admirers came in an early flood, and there's a pair of young women between myself and Holly, as the others have gone to interact with the other actors, or have already left after an announcement that the meet-and-greet will be ending in just under three minutes. I greet the two young ladies, take a few pictures with them, and send them on thier way, just as Holly and another young woman, who I gather must be the roommate she'd mentioned at the park earlier, approach.
I can tell instantly that Holly is mortified at being here, and it's more than clear that she's been dragged across the city by her friend, who drags her along with difficulty given her limp and crutch. I put on my best smile, patching over the surprise at encountering her here, and the pain that the sight of her has stirred up in my heart.
"Hello," I say, in an ambiguous way, as I can't be sure whether Holly has informed her friend of our being acquainted.
"Hi," says the other young woman with an excited exhale. "I'm Alex, and this is Holly. It's an absolute honor to meet you!"
I grin back at her, and with a short but very meaningful glance shared with Holly, quickly deduce that, not only has she not informed Alex of our interaction, but that she also prefers to keep it that way. With respect to her wordless message I decide against talking with her in a familiar way, and, instead, say, "It's wonderful to meet you both. Gracious, what happened here?"
I gesture to her crutch, and she gives me a slight look of amusement at how easily I've established a false lack of connection between us. But I notice that she, too, is adept at pretending, for she opens her mouth slightly and stutters a little, to keep her friend under the impression that we're strangers.
Alex laughs lightly, and lowers her voice, leaning in a little closer to say, "She actually was caught in a shooting in the subway last night," she informs me.
"Please, Alex, don't," says Holly, not having to act as far as her embarrassment goes. I smile at her, and react to the situation accordingly.
"I heard about that," I say, noticing the look of protest on Holly's face, and I quickly decide to steer us away from that line of conversation before too much pain is drawn up, and before Holly and I have a chance to make a slip of the tongue and make ourselves suspicious to Alex.
"Could I get a picture?" Alex asks brazenly, pulling out her phone and smiling.
"Of course," I tell her with another smile, and Holly reaches out to take Alex's phone for her while I put my arm around Alex. I watch Holly lean against her crutch, getting the camera ready, and while Alex is caught off guard, I take advantage of the moment and make the telephone signal with my other hand, so that Holly can see. She catches my eye for a split second, and then looks away and readjusts her weight on the crutch, holding up the phone.
"Okay," she says, with a double meaning of answering my wordless question and brining Alex to attention. Her tone is admirably light, given the stress of her day, the pain I'm sure she's still riding out, and the tenseness of the current situation itself. "Say cheese!"
Both Alex and I comply with her request, and Holly takes a few pictures before bringing the phone down and handing it back to Alex. I open my arm and look at Holly with the suggestion of taking a picture or two with her, in turn, but she politely declines with a shake of her head and a limp motion of her hand through the air. "Thank you," she says, not to be rude, and I shake my head in understanding.
Ruth appears nearby again promptly, and taps on her wristwatch, signaling that it's time to go. I nod at her and then return my attention to Holly and Alex. "Thank you so much for stopping by, ladies. I'm afraid I have a plane to catch. It was lovely meeting you both."
"You, too!" Alex exclaims, and grins broadly at me before turning away. Just as Holly is following her on her crutch, I catch her eyes and we share one more meaningful look before I finally wave them farewell, and Alex reaches back to help Holly out of the room. I look after them for a moment before going to say goodbye to some of my fellow cast members before accompanying Ruth in a cab to the airport. But the focus of my thoughts is that I hope I wasn't too obvious with Holly, and that I haven't inadvertently started anything between them...
Holly
Alex has been worried about me all evening and night especially after, when we were on the subway on our way to meet Benedict, I told her about how I've been feeling regarding possibly switching my major to English, come the spring semester. When I told her she looked extremely concerned for my sanity, and I couldn't help blaming her. For the remainder of the ride and the delay in traffic aboveground that caused us to have to take a detour and wind up late to the meet-and-greet, she was extremely careful around me, keeping her tone gentle, not being too rough and being sure not to walk too fast. I detested that sensitivity.
But now, as we return to the dorm room after a subway ride of very rigid silence that only made me more and more afraid as time wore on, I wish for that sensitivity. Anything would beat the reeled-in annoyance that she expresses, now.
"I can't believe you would do this, Holly!" she exclaims, a look of absolute betrayal on her face as we sit on our separate beds facing each other. After she expressed her deep suspicion at the few meaningful looks she'd seen Ben and I exchange, I was forced to tell her the truth about what happened both last night when he encountered me outside the low library, and the interaction we had when he showed up at the hospital earlier today. She's infuriated, to say the least.
"This is exactly why I didn't say anything, Alex," I say, keeping my voice level. "You would have thrown a fit. I swear, I didn't even recognize him the first time!"
"I was literally watching Sherlock for the hundredth time when you came in last night!" she exclaims, having a hard time keeping her voice down for the excitement ripping through her body and mind.
"Which only proves I was in the right," I say. "At least at the moment. Sure, I should have told you I saw him again at the hospital, but I had a lot on my mind. Okay?"
More than anything, I'm afraid that my acquaintance with Ben will somehow interfere with the relationship Alex and I have been carefully developing since the beginning of the semester. I know just from the way she's reacted to my having met him that telling him I have his phone number will be an impossibility until further notice. The only comfort I have is that I know Ben will likely get caught up in his own separate life, and we will go different ways in the near future. Then this little episode of coincidence will evaporate like so many others, and Alex and I will be troubled by it no longer.
...But, then again, the thought of my acquaintance with Ben so soon fading away isn't necessarily a pleasant or relieving one. When we were in the park today I genuinely felt a connectivity to him, and though I know to be cautious around new people, especially men, and men of his sort, with power and status, I can't help but see his gesture of the phone number as a gesture of reaching out in kindness to me in a difficult point in both our lives, punctuated by the coincidence of the event on the subway, not to mention the tragedy of the young boy Tim.
"I just... I don't really even know what to say to you right now," Alex says, breaking me out of my quiet thoughts. "I guess, I think it's really cool that you happened to meet him, and... I don't know what to think." I can tell that she's conflicted between the act of confusion and betrayal and the extreme excitement she feels underneath, but I can understand her hesitancy in changing her mannerisms. I'm sure, before long, she'll be excitedly asking me for every detail about our interactions. For now, I decide to let her sit still in the complication of the fact itself.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I wouldn't have known what to say. And I won't lie and say that I would have been champing at the bit to let you know about him if tonight hadn't happened."
She nods her head up and down, and I'm grateful that the base of our relationship continues to be honesty with each other about our feelings and our lives—apart from one gaping hole, the matter of my childhood abuse, which I still have yet to address, and which I can only hope she will understand my reluctance about when the time does come.
"I'm going to take a shower," she tells me, excusing herself from the room, taking her bag of toiletries and a new change of clothes out of the room with her. Before she leaves, she turns around with a smile on her face, and I return it in relief, glad that she's not going to decide to hold a grudge, even if I know it might take a few days for her initial annoyance to wear off.
Once alone in the dorm, I take some more Advil in the vain hope that it might quell my pain, if only slightly, though the pills have been doing barely anything for the wound over the course of the day. I check my email to find various responses from my professors regarding my being excused from today's classes, and some kind words praising me for my act of kindness, hoping that I'll be feeling better, soon. I read the emails from some of my medical field professors with a slight twinge of guilt—the conversation with Ben in the park has really gotten me thinking about what I might want to do regarding my dreams of pursuing literature... But I know I'm in too much pain both physically and emotionally to process anything more than going to sleep for the moment.
So, in an act of bravery, I decide to forego studying tonight, and I put away my anxieties about the things that will need to be done tomorrow morning, climbing into bed with my phone, one last thing on the mental checklist before I'll be able to (hopefully) fall asleep and get away from all of this until the morning.
I go to Benedict's contact in my phone and start to compose a text message, considering and re-typing once or twice before finally settling for "Hey, there. It's Holly. I hope you have a safe flight," and sending it with a decisive exhale.
The last thought in my mind before I slip into a troubled sleep is: what have I gotten myself into?
Author's Note:
Hey there, all! Sorry, there wasn't as much happening in this chapter as there was in the others! I couldn't bring myself to lengthen Chapter 3, and in the next chapter there's going to be a time shift back to the present (2020). So, here's a little baby chapter to avoid overcomplicating things! And don't worry, I will be sure to pay you back for the brevity of this one! I'm overjoyed that so many people are reading... PLEASE Let me know what you're thinking and feeling about the story!
Thank you for your loyalty and your general amazingness!
Une-papillon-de-nuit
20 July, 2020