I remember the meeting where it started – whatever actually happened to us, all of it was somehow set in motion there. Looking back at it now feels weird; it feels so distant – but it was just last year when I joined a support group for grieving people; for those who had lost a loved one. About seventeen of us gathered in one of the rooms of Public Library – in this large space; a meeting hall open for reservation. There was a chalkboard, table with free coffee on display and these rather ugly, greenish chairs forming a crude circle. Grim people sitting there, sharing experiences and being miserable in a very honest way.
It was my first time attending such meeting; there were some other newcomers as well. One of them was Samantha – or Sam, as she preferred to be called. A young and short woman, usually dressed in a green wool coat with lots of large, black buttons. She had deeply black hair, tired expressions and somewhat shy manners; I doubt her demeanor was caused by her losses alone. Nevertheless, her fiancé had died from liver malfunctions and soon after her father had passed away too. Death had become a frequent topic in her everyday life, resulting in sleep deprivation – which happened to be one of our first reasons of bonding: neither of us could sleep well. A depressive basis for friendship, but I can't complain: it was nice to feel less alone for a change.
Sam was a student majoring in anthropology, though she admitted getting gradually less interested in such topics:
''Without Elliot, I just don't know what to do'' – that's what she told me outside the meetings. We did have somewhat different ways of grieving: Sam became passive, I worked more. Then again, there were many similarities as well: staring at walls, TV or laptop without any real interest, waiting for someone who never arrives. We talked about it; that unpredictable habit of expecting them to return. At first you don't even notice it, and once you do, everything falls down. Realization often hits in late evening and sleeping becomes another hopeless attempt to make time pass.
I'm not sure why Sam was the only one in those sessions who caught my interest – the others remained strangers to me. There was also this young man; a social worker whose name I've forgotten. He hosted the meetings, always asking people how they were doing and passing turns to speak. He very quickly learned that Sam wasn't too talkative: usually she would answer with either Quite fine or simple No with faint headshake. However, she did reveal her reasons for attending in the first place, like we all did – staring at the floor tiles while doing so. Only Sam's timid story about her fiancé and father reached me; I hardly remember anything else from that meeting. But I do remember the looks on their faces as I revealed my own reason. I can recall my phrasing as well:
''My name is Emily, and I am here because my daughter drowned in a bathtub. She got an epileptic seizure, and I found her when it was too late.''
The host went quiet; he just stared at me. It wasn't a car crash, suicide or an expected death due to sickness – she simply drowned at home. There was nothing to grasp; it was just chaotic. Eventually the host and this elderly man beside me said something, but all of it went right through my head – I was still staring at the floor tiles. Naturally no one brought it up at that moment, but surely someone was wondering how I could have let it happen – how I could have left her alone like that.
After the meeting I took some coffee from the table (since it was free), and so did Sam – I smiled at her faintly and said:
''Going by your looks, I think you really need that.''
She was visibly surprised; perhaps she hadn't expected to hear light-hearted comments in such miserable environment. Then she laughed a bit and replied:
''Maybe it's the other way around...I haven't slept well in months.''
''Sounds familiar. I haven't slept well in a few years.''
And that's how we bonded. For a while we talked about work and studies, both well aware of the fact that neither was willing to go any deeper. Still, as we stepped out of the library, Sam asked something:
''I'm sorry...but when your daughter passed away, was no one else at home?''
There was this sharp interest hidden behind her shy demeanor; it was my turn to get surprised. I decided to be brief yet honest:
''I was there. But I got a phone call from work, and I didn't hear it...she didn't make a sound.''
Sam started apologizing; I just nodded. She seemed – in an extremely subtle way – a bit happy about hearing my reasoning. Perhaps she found it logical, even if pathetic as well. I remember the faint feeling of nausea which came with the topic: it was my fault Fae was gone, since I should have been with her.
As simple as that.
Sam and I started spending time together. After the second meeting we went out for coffee; it felt weird after being alone for so long.
''Can't remember the last time I had coffee with someone'' I said. She stared at her cup while responding:
''I guess our social networks have diminished.''
''Yeah, maybe – not that mine was ever too vast. Work has always come first.''
''Sounds like work is your way to stay sane'' she said, referring to the meeting. The host had asked about our personal ways of remaining active after tragedy. He suggested finding such a way for the sake of routine; one should not become passive. It made sense, of course – so while I evaluated clinical trials, Sam took long walks. According to her, walking around wasn't a proper way to deal with grief; she just had no real interest towards anything.
''My master's degree is almost finished…has been since Elliot died. I talked with him about becoming a researcher, even – getting a Ph.D. and so forth. Twice I have heard people stating that Elliot would want me to continue studies. Perhaps reasoning like that works if you are naive and stupid.''
I didn't know what to say; it was weird hearing about Sam's problems when her speech was aimed directly at me – and at herself too, I suppose.
''I'm sorry about Elliot'' I said. Such a customary phrase, but in that situation I really meant those words. Sam replied with a bleak, expressionless stare. If her personality hadn't already impressed me, I would have surely found her pitiful. For a while we both remained quiet; Sam finally tasted her coffee. Then, she had another personal question to ask:
''So...what happened to Fae's father?''
I planned my answer for couple of seconds.
''We got separated...as expected.''
''Did he blame you?''
Once more she surprised me. I don't think Sam was just asking questions – she also wanted to see how I would react. But I didn't have time to answer:
''Sorry, I went too far...really, I meant it. I can't pry like that.''
Sam backed away by staring at the table and sipping her coffee; she returned to the form of a shy, reserved young woman, hidden inside the green coat. I had no idea what to say, so we kept sitting there in silence – luckily no one else was present in the cafe's first floor, since their evening would have been utterly ruined.
A few weeks passed. Sam hadn't been present at the third meeting; at the fourth one she remained quiet and was visibly troubled – more so than usually. As we stepped out of the hall, she approached me with a careful proposition:
"Emily...are you busy this Friday?"
"Not really – at least not in the evening. You have something on your mind?"
"In a word...would you like to join me at my apartment? Just for couple of hours."
I wasn't sure what to think – not that I was completely against the idea, but I hadn't really expected to hear it from Sam; she was usually so reserved. There had to be a specific reason to ask me over, which did make me interested. Sam continued:
''I just thought that sort of a get-together would be fitting.''
''Yeah, of course. We could meet here at the library – at five, maybe? I should be done with work by then."
"Five is good" she said and smiled faintly. I didn't ask anything, since it was clear she would reveal her reasons later.
On Friday, Sam and I met according to the plan. We walked to her apartment despite the cold drizzle (which she claimed to enjoy); strong wind threw around some fallen oak leaves. Eventually we arrived at a tidy row of orange brick houses – precisely cut lawn and some ornamental trees and bushes surrounded them. Sam lived at the very end of the row, closest to the driveway.
''Here we are'' she said while opening the front door. I stepped into a small hallway which led to a staircase and two doorways opposite to each other. The interior was just as tidy and charming as the house's exterior.
''I cleaned this place a few days ago, so...hope you feel at home. And hope you like coffee without cream, since I don't have any. No milk either.''
Sam seemed a bit nervous – I smiled.
''Black is fine.''
I followed her through the left doorway, which opened into a living room. Another doorway led to the small kitchen.
''You are free to sit on the couch while I fetch the coffee.''
I decided to remain standing, as there were many ornamental items around the room, neatly placed on small tables and drawers: wooden boxes, ceramic pots and miniatures. It was easy to imagine Sam correcting their placements and sweeping dust from them. In front of the couch, there was a white table, brown sofas surrounding it and a large TV hanging on the wall. Next to the TV stood a small bookshelf; most of its contents seemed to do with Sam's studies.
''Okay, so...I had this box of cheap doughnuts too, but they're kind of disgusting...or tasteless. Coffee should be better.''
Sam placed two cups and a pastry plate on the table. She sat on a couch and evaluated the coffee – faint nodding implied that it was drinkable. I joined her, curious about the reason behind this gathering:
''I have to ask...''
''Hm? Go on.''
''Are we celebrating something?''
Sam took a pause until answering:
''It's our anniversary'' she started. ''Last year I spent it alone. Weird how...hard it becomes. Just a day among others, yet...''
Apparently she had been well prepared to explain herself.
''I see. Well, we don't have to talk about it – this isn't a therapy meeting, right?''
''It really isn't'' Sam said and smiled. ''Want to watch TV? Me and Elliot used to watch lots of movies.''
''Sure, we can do that.''
Sam became seemingly happy. She turned on the TV as I tasted one of the doughnuts – and indeed, it was kind of like chewing gum.
''Heh, they are not good. How's the coffee?'' she asked, noticing my expression. I nodded in haste, slowly realizing how much this meant to her.
The movie was a comedic Japanese animation – I'm not sure what I had expected, since pretty much anygenre would have fit my conception of Sam.
''The plot is kind of dumb, but I love the art style'' she explained. Since the film didn't require too much thinking, we talked about mundane aspects of life while watching it. Sam was interested in hearing about my job, while I learned more about her own field: she had much to say about focus groups as a method of collecting data. Surprisingly enough, talking with her didn't feel contrived like I had feared: it felt natural. Despite and because of our losses.
The movie wasn't long, so Sam was ready to watch another one – and I had no objections to make. She started explaining the second film, though half of it went right through my head:
''...but the music is amazing. More coffee?''
''Oh, sure. Thanks.''
''If you want to, you can use the bookshelf. The brown book in the top row is about focus groups and the data analysis – in case my lecture wasn't enough.''
As she disappeared in the kitchen, I stood up and took a closer look at the literature. There was the mentioned book Methods of anthropology from cultural perspective. Next to it were Nature of Criticism Towards Society and Frozen City: A look at society now. I kept descending along the rows, inspecting a few interesting books – they had more pictures than I had imagined.
''Alright, I'm back...don't forget your coffee; it gets cold so quickly'' Sam said as she started the film.
''Coming'' I replied while reaching the bottom row. My interest was caught by a thin green book, which was stuffed between bigger publications. I pulled it out, setting free a little cloud of dust. The book's title read Notes on American magical symbols by Werner Marsden. There were only about 80 pages, but most of them contained lots of pictures – photographs and drawings depicting titular symbols of ancient religions. First pages presented variations of symbols associated with Norse mythology – Sleipnir was drawn inside a triangle. I returned to the couch; Sam was already invested in the movie.
''Oh, this is so dumb, just watch'' she said happily, as a woman threw her shoes at another woman's head – one by one, with lots of comedic emphasis on both throws. Since I wasn't able to appreciate the story like Sam was, I continued inspecting the pictures; they were really pretty with their simplistic designs. Last pages were reserved for religions associated with Native Americans, and the designs got more complicated: many precise depictions of animal silhouettes appeared. In this context one symbol was different: two concentric black circles with four smaller circles inside them, arranged in a rectangular formation. Between these smaller circles, two line segments crossed each other. Caption stated:
A somewhat rare symbol connected to practice of (black) magic in New England; used in different contexts from 18th to 19th century (mostly in various summoning spells and rituals). Possibly influenced by almost identical sets of circles drawn by the Penobscot Tribe.
Nothing else was revealed about the picture. I kept staring at it for a while until turning to Sam:
''Hey, do you...know more about this drawing? The one with five circles.''
Sam squinted her eyes; she didn't seem to even recognize the picture.
''Sorry, I have nothing. That's Werner's book, right? I was on one of his courses and every attending student got a copy.''
''You know anything about this Penobscot Tribe?''
''I haven't really studied native tribes...but there used to be many of them around the East Coast. It is interesting how they formed alliances with each other; ideas and customs got mixed quite a lot.''
Back then this symbol meant nothing to me – just an interesting drawing among others. I decided to forget about it and return the book to the shelf. Once the movie ended, Sam carefully proposed watching a third one; she promised to let me out afterwards. I gladly stayed, since spending time with her was something I had missed without realizing it.
