I've really been on a kick for the past few days! I'm posting a lot right now because I don't know when I'll have time later, so I apologize in advance for not updating in a while. I worked really hard on these next two chapters, and I hope you like them. I'm sure you all will find many things to be interested in (*wink*).
How in God's good earth did I get here? I wonder. Thinking back on the steps I took, it's hard to pinpoint the moment that my legs began moving of their own accord without telling my brain what they were doing. The path that I was following in my head is obviously flawed, I realize. Maybe I wasn't really planning on going home at all. Maybe, in some dark, strange subconscious corner of my mind, my plan all along was to come here.
The moon leaves a white trail across the water, and the stillness of the area is mesmerizing. As I stand and stare, a gust of wind rattles the tree branches around me, scattering moonlight and stray leaves across the pond's glasslike surface. "It's changed so much," I whisper to myself. And it has, since the last time I was here. The frozen lake, ambulance lights flashing, people screaming and crying and shivering in the cold winter sun.
I'm suddenly overcome with the urge to sit down on the bank and stay a while.
So I do.
The ground isn't wet, which is a plus, but sitting there isn't exactly the most comfortable thing in the world. I ignore my discomfort, though, and pull my knees up to my chest, folding my body into the smallest shape it can possibly make. My music is still playing, although because of the absence of lyrics, I'm unable to recognize the song. It's a lilting, haunting violin melody that makes goosebumps rise on my arms and a shiver run down my spine. I love it. Perfect for the atmosphere, and perfect for my mood.
"How did I ever get here?" I murmur, to no one in particular.
"That's what I'm wondering, too. How did you get here?" a voice asks from behind me.
I gasp and pitch myself sideways, rolling into a crouched position. My heart is pounding so hard that I can feel the blood pumping through my veins. I squint into the darkness. "Who's there?" I demand in the strongest voice I can muster.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but I make out a figure standing about ten feet away, watching me. As I wait for an answer, my surprise visitor takes a step forward, holding his hands out in front of him in a gesture of surrender. Almost how I would imagine an alien would approach a human being. I come in peace.
I don't move, and neither does he. After a few minutes, he takes another step towards me, and another, until the distance between us begins to make me uncomfortable. The closer he gets, the harder it will be for me to run away, if I have to.
The muscles in my legs are screaming against the cramped position I've been holding, but I can't bring myself to move. There's no reason for me to run away quite yet, but there's not really a good reason that I'm staying here, either. My silent companion stares down at me, almost as if he were considering something, and then takes a seat a few feet away, crossing his legs in front of him as if he were relaxing on a tropical beach, instead of sitting on the cold bank of a pond in the dark with a terrified stranger.
In the moonlight, he looks much less threatening.
Unruly blond hair spills into his eyes, which glint in the reflection of the light on the water. He looks fit, but doesn't seem to notice that he's as big as he is. Bigger than Jack, smaller than North, is the description my brain comes up with.
"I'm sorry for scaring you," he says in a quiet voice. The silence after his comment stretches out as I remain silent, unsure of my response. "You're Clara, right? The one who's living with the Winters?"
I nod, and I know my face is still full of fear, because he cracks a reassuring smile at me. "You probably don't know who I am. My name's Kristoff. I'm in…the same grade as Anna."
The name doesn't ring a bell, but I suddenly remember where I've seen him before. My first day of school back in Burgess. The boy standing at the edge of the group, staring at Anna like he'd never seen anything more breathtaking in his life. The recognition makes me feel better, and I quietly wipe my dirt-crusted hands on my jeans and settle into my previous, less cramped position.
Kristoff turns back to the pond, as if he's given up expecting a response from me. "I remember you," I say, and he turns back to me with a smile. "It's, it's nice to meet you, Kristoff."
He nods at me, the smile growing wider on his face. "It's nice to meet you too, Clara. And really, I'm very sorry for scaring you. I wasn't expecting you to go all ninja on me."
I shrug. "Overreaction is a specialty of mine."
"I noticed." A pause. "Why are you out here? It's not a place I would usually expect to find anyone on a Friday night."
I shrug. "I was at the football game, and I just decided to leave. I was gonna walk home, but I somehow found myself here instead."
He nods again, as if he understands my vague explanation. "Too many people at the game?"
"Yeah," I say, confused. "How did you know?"
He sighs and looks down at his hands. "That's how I feel, too. Not a huge fan of big crowds, especially ones that keep yelling and whistling."
I shudder at the thought. He glances over and his face takes on a look of concern. "Are you cold?" He begins shrugging off his thick jacket.
"No, no, I'm fine!" I say hurriedly. "Please, keep your jacket. I was just thinking about the big crowds of people, I guess."
"Oh."
"So were you at the game, too?" I ask, just to keep the conversation from lagging.
"Nah. I haven't been to a football game in a long time. I was walking my dog."
"At night?" I don't know why the idea of walking a dog in the dark is so bizarre to me, but it just strikes me as something that no normal person would do. Well, leaving a football game at halftime and walking home in the dark isn't something that normal people do, either.
"Yeah. Fall nights are the best time to walk a dog, because no one thinks about doing it then. And that way, I don't have to keep him on his leash the whole time. Sven isn't very fond of his leash." He chuckles, as if recalling some memory of his dog's escapades.
"Where's your dog now?" I turn my head back and forth, searching for signs of Kristoff's canine friend, but there's nothing there.
He glances up casually. "Oh, he's somewhere around here. He'll come whenever he feels like it."
"Is he friendly?"
"The nicest dog in Burgess!" he announces to me with a smile. In that instant, the bushes to my right begin to shake, and I can hear panting as footsteps approach. I tense up again, but Kristoff just leans back and brings his fingers to his mouth. A whistle, high and sharp and piercing, leaves his lips.
"Speak of the devil, and he shall appear," he murmurs, as a massive dog breaks through the foliage and bounds toward us with wide, loping strides. I crouch back, preparing myself to be knocked over, but the dog breezes right past me and launches himself onto Kristoff.
"Sven!" my companion yells good-naturedly. The dog fusses around him, sniffing his clothes and licking his face, and his diverted attention gives me plenty of time to just take him in.
It's the biggest dog I've ever seen.
"What kind of dog is that?" I ask, and the canine's head whips around to study me. Kristoff pauses his progress of untangling the snarls in Sven's mane to look up at me.
"I think it's called a Leonberger, but I'm probably pronouncing it wrong," he says with a beaming smile. It's obvious that he loves this dog.
"Sven, I want you to meet my friend Clara," he says, sweeping an arm out as if he were presenting me. The dog watches me with intelligent eyes, then slowly approaches. I reach out a hand in front of me, palm out, to greet him, and he presses the top of his head against it without hesitation. The hair is warm and soft. So soft.
"He's a good dog," I say with a smile.
"That, he is," Kristoff agrees.
We sit for a while with Sven laying between us, before the silence is broken again.
"So Clara, why were you sitting out here by yourself before?"
"I already told you, I wanted to leave the football game, and-" he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.
"Yes, I know you said that. But before I scared you half to death, you asked how you ended up here, and I don't think you meant that literally." He keeps his face averted from me, as if he's embarrassed he's spoken. For a guy, he's surprisingly observant.
I press my hands to my face and let out a sigh. What do I tell him?
Why not the truth?
I start to send the thought away, but I hesitate. Why not? Kristoff doesn't know me. He probably doesn't know about Elsa, either. And maybe it would make me feel better to tell someone.
"Well, it's kind of a long story," I say.
In response, he turns away from me and scoots forward, then leans back so that his head and upper back are resting against Sven's stomach. "I'm not in a hurry," he drawls. "And I won't watch you if that makes you feel more comfortable."
I laugh. "Thanks. Gosh, where do I start?"
"The beginning. A very good place to start."
"Well thank you, fraulein Maria."
"I was hoping you would get that reference."
I smile at the back of his head. Such an easy person to get along with. Why can't Anna be dating him instead of Hans?
"Three years ago, when I was fifteen, I used to live here. And my friends and I decided one winter afternoon that we wanted to go ice skating on this pond. But the ice was too thin, and two kids fell through…"
Throughout my story, Kristoff doesn't say a word, not even to clarify anything. He doesn't move, either. It's as if he's become a statue, leaning against his dog. I don't know how long I've been speaking when I finally break off after relating the events of tonight. And then I sit, and wait for his reaction to what is essentially my life's story.
"So what's this Music Exchange thing?"
I laugh. A big, hearty laugh that comes from someplace in my stomach. A laugh I haven't heard in many moons.
"What? What did I say?" he demands, craning his head back to look at me.
"Nothing," I say, wiping my hand across my eyes. "Of all the questions that you could have about what I just said, and that's the one you ask?"
"Well," he says, "I get all the other stuff. You're Elsa, that's fine. You changed the way you look, okay, I understand. You moved to Arendelle, cool. It just seems like the music project is the thing you're holding onto, now. That you've lost Jack as your partner for the exchange."
"What do you mean that I'm holding onto?"
"I mean that after tonight, it's the whole Exchange thing that started your little scuffle with Jack and that seems to be one of the biggest problems on your plate right now. The rest of it, you've already dealt with, for the most part, but the Music Exchange is still in the future, and now the burden of working on it has all fallen to you." He speaks quickly, as if he can't get the words out fast enough.
"Hmmm. I think you may have a point." I angle my head to the side and stare off across the water. The Music Exchange. The words settle like a weight on my chest. How am I ever going to pull this off by myself?
"On the bright side, though, once you figure that out, you'll be free as a bird!" my companion announces as if he's just discovered how to end world hunger.
"Free as a bird."
"That's what I just said."
Suddenly, I wish I had brought my notebook with me. "Stupid, stupid," I say out loud. "Don't you know by now that you'll always need something to write with at the times you least expect to?"
"Excuse me?" he says indignantly.
"Sorry, Kristoff. I wasn't talking to you," I mumble. The purse that's been all but forgotten suddenly flashes through my mind. I rip through it, searching for any form of writing utensil, but I come up empty handed. No pen, no pencil, no marker, crayon, or quill. Sven, who's lain quietly this whole time, raises his head to look at me through warm brown eyes.
"Ugh!" I'm about to fling my purse away when my eyes light upon the small bag that holds my makeup. I have eyeliner. It's not ideal, but it'll do. I pull it out of the bag and pop the cap off, holding the eyeliner pencil in my hand expectantly, as if I'm waiting for a sheet of paper to magically appear in front of me.
Free as a bird.
"What in the world are you doing, Elsa?"
I turn to him. "I need paper."
"What?"
"Paper. I need it." Another search of my purse yields nothing, so I settle for writing on my hand. I need to remember this, I think as I scrawl the three words on my palm. The bold, black writing stands out against my pale skin in the stark light of the moon. LET IT GO.
My dad's favorite phrase. Let it go. Let go of the things holding you back, of the things keeping you down, of the dreary thoughts and depressing ideas that keep you from achieving your full potential, from being the person that you truly want to be. Let it go.
And be free as a bird.
"That's it," I whisper. I've finally figured it out, after months of worrying and planning and brainstorming with Jack. And I've come up with a solution without him. I know what my song is going to be about: freedom.
"What's it? Elsa, what in the world are you doing?" Kristoff's voice fades into the background of my thoughts as I concentrate on the words that seem to be coming.
For more room to write and brainstorm, I take off my jacket and roll up the sleeves of Anna's shirt, leaving my entire arm bare and ready for scribbling. But then, I hit a wall. My surprise moment of brilliance is fading quickly, leaving me with predictable writer's block and a mountain of frustration. I rest the point of the eyeliner pencil against my wrist as I think. Let it go…freedom…how will I make this work?
Kristoff remains still, staring at me as if I've gone totally mad. Which I may have, I'll admit. But I ignore his silent questioning and focus.
A poem that I read way back in Ms. March's English class rears up in my mind. One that I had always admired, but that I'm only just now beginning to relate with. And that's the best kind of poetry, you know; poetry you can relate with. The pencil begins to etch more black letters onto my skin, and I try to keep my writing as small as possible to make room for all the words that come rushing out in a torrent now.
The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens up his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill for the caged bird
sings of freedom
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens up his throat to sing
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.