R.E.birth Page 5

  “That does seem more efficient.”

  She relinquishes the knife again with a smile, and I begin cutting the potatoes as she instructed. While I am busy she grabs a large pot from above me and moves away. Looking behind me she sets the pot on one of the dark spirals on the strange stove. While continuing to chop, I think to myself.

  If I am to stay here there are many things I will need to learn. I am not even sure what I did for a living, let alone what skills I am proficient at.

  “Agatha, if I am to stay, I will need training in everything,” I voice my thoughts while continuing to cut up the remaining potatoes.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, since I am not of your time I will need to be brought up to speed on the world outside my time. And I will probably need to learn to speak like you if I am going to fit in.”

  “I am sure Ami would be more than happy to teach you.”

  “Why do you not have a book of history on your shelves?” I blurt.

  “We prefer to not know if our interactions affect history. We did have a book once, but as we went the book changed just out of minor interactions so we figured it would be better not knowing if we adversely affected the timeline.”

  “An interesting idea,” I move to the side to show her the potatoes. “I have finished.”

  “You have been up quite a bit. You should go rest a little bit while dinner cooks,” Agatha suggests while taking the cutting board and pushing the cubes into the pot.

  “Okay.” Turning around I head to the swinging door into the living room.

  When I get back to the couch I sit down a little too hard and wince from jarring my wound, but I do not feel that it has opened. Closing my eyes I resolve to rest until the soup is ready and sleep comes upon me quickly.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  I awake on my own. After sitting for a few moments on the couch, I find my way down the dark hall to the bathroom to relieve myself. When finished, I wash in the sink and stare at myself in the mirror again trying to find any sense of recognition behind the green eyes that stare back at me, but none comes.

  Moving back to the main room of the home Ami is waiting for me with two steaming bowls sitting on the short table. I sit down on the soft brown cushion and notice that it has become dark outside. Looking at Ami she looks expectantly back. I realize it must be for me to eat. Reaching down I find that the bowl has been warmed by the soup and drawing it near I inhale. It smells delicious. While I wait for it to cool, I make conversation.

  “Your mother said that you might be willing to help me adapt, maybe teach me about the future and help me fit in,” I tell her.

  “We don’t even fit in where we go,” she snickers.

  “I mean sounding more like you. Our speech patterns are different, but it is like you both slur your words together like a drunk man after too many cups of ale.” I smile.

  “Oh, I guess I don’t really think about it, but you’re right. I had a few years of school before we were taken but Mother picked up where it got left off, teaching me while we traveled through time.”

  “So then you will help?” I ask.

  “Sure, I think we can get you up to speed,” she says while taking a bite.

  Finding that the soup has cooled enough to eat without scorching my mouth I take one spoonful at a time and recognize the tastes of potato, carrots, celery and pepper. I chew, despite the vegetables being soft enough to squish with my tongue and the flavor seems to be heightened by something as vegetables do not normally taste this good.

  “What is in this besides vegetables?” I ask her.

  “A variety of spices that we’ve picked up over the years,” she says while continuing to eat hers, leaning back against the couch.

  The rest of the time eating is spent in silence as I fill my stomach and when the solid pieces are gone I gulp down the broth thirstily. I let out an exclamation of satisfaction through a deep sigh after guzzling it, wiping my mouth with my thumb and index finger after setting the bowl down.

  “I am not sure why you helped me, other than being good people, but I will likely say this several more times. Thank you,” I tell her.

  “Lesson one; you can replace ‘thank you’ with ‘thanks’,” she says while putting her bowl down with a lighthearted look on her face. “Saying ‘thank you’ is formal.”

  “Thanks,” I reply.

  “So you’ve made the decision to stay?”

  “I have.” I nod while resting against the arm of the couch.

  “Good, then I’m going to get busy and make you some clothes. It shouldn’t take me but a couple days,” she reaches down for my bowl while taking hers.

  Standing up she heads to the kitchen with them, returning just a moment after to head up the stairs. Looking back at me I can see that her demeanor has already changed for the better. I find myself happy because of it. She waves for me to follow.

  “Are you coming? I can’t make you clothes if I don’t take some measurements.”

  Pushing up, I shuffle my feet until I am at the stairs and she leads us up to the top, to that door on the left that I had seen her in before. When she pushes the door open the whole room is revealed to me. Stray cloth is strewn about everywhere and patterns drawn onto a stack of papers sit disheveled on a desk to the left. In the middle of the room sits the contraption that I had seen her sitting at before and when she moves off to the side to rummage, I move in. To my right I catch sight of many varieties of cloth in bolts hanging on metal frames. Beyond the bolts there lies a large closet with no doors, filled to the brim with endless clothes hung up.

  “Ah, here it is,” she exclaims under her breath and catches my attention.

  She moves over to me with a thick, flimsy white piece of banding with measurements printed on it. Beginning to move around me she places it against my bare torso in several locations and in different directions. Turning, she scribbles several numbers with a writing utensil on an already drawn on paper. When she lifts both of my arms she takes measurements from them. As I stand awkwardly with my arms out she scribbles and then gets down on her knees with the writing utensil in her mouth. As she uses the measuring device against the fabric of my flimsy pants I feel her gentle touch and I become uneasy.

  “Spread your legs,” she instructs, patting the inside of my knees.

  I blush hard and hesitate, causing her to look up.

  “It’s okay, I’m not going to do anything weird to you,” she mumbles through the item in her mouth.

  Doing as she has requested allows her to take more measurements of the inside of my legs. Just as quickly as she started she has finished, standing and writing down the final numbers and I feel the muscles in my shoulders relax.

  “Okay. Good. Now out, so I can work,” she says with cheer and pointing her finger toward the door.

  I take my leave from her room while shutting the door softly behind me. Moving carefully back down the stairs, I use the railing to support my weight.

  I head into the kitchen. Agatha sits alone at the table eating her own bowl of soup and when I sit to join her she smiles brightly.

  “It seems you have given Ami a new drive in her sewing endeavors,” she says while sipping a spoonful.

  “It will be nice to wear something other than bandages and these pants.” I look down and examine bandage, running my fingers over its bumpy texture.

  “I want to warn you now,” Agatha says seriously, and my heart skips a beat. “Once you travel through time with us you will be stuck like us, so if you are having second thoughts you may want to leave soon.”

  “Oh no, I am not thinking that.” I look her in the eyes.

  “Okay, because we will be coming upon our time limit here and I don’t want Ami to get her hopes up any more than she has that we will have permanent company.”

  “No ma’am, I will journey with you. I do not know if I will be of any help to you, but I will try,” I assure her.

  She nods and I s
tand up to leave the room. Pushing through the swinging door I return to the couch to sit down. Though my memory has fled to leave me feeling empty and insecure, I am able to find some comfort within this house and with these strangers who are willing to care for a dying man.

  Their integrity is solid. I wonder if I would have done the same in their position. I do not know who I am, or what I did before here. It is possible that I could have been any sort of person but very little has surfaced to tell me about myself. Will it always be this way?

  Then again, with no past to remember, I suppose I am left to decide who I want to be. I feel no bitterness or resentment to the situation, and I guess that would mean that I am not bound to those kinds of tainting feelings. My actions from previously standing up to Evalyn might be indicators of my previous personality, a strong protector. But there is no real way to find out except for venturing into the forest to find what is there.

  I do not think that it would be wise for me, though, to walk out there as Drake might be lurking to finish what he started. No, I seem to be safe here.

  Again, I feel fatigue setting in on me, though my efforts have been minimal since I last slept. Knowing that my body is still healing from its wound, I do not fight against rest. Instead I get a bit more comfortable as I lie down on the couch lengthwise and turn inward toward the soft padded back. The cushioning is soft and sinking in a bit I am forced to reposition my legs and arms so that I am not consumed into the cracks between the back and the seat. Finally, with my arm positioned under my head and one leg bent at an angle I find myself comfortable and drifting to the sleep world.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Feeling a little warm, I toss and turn, and it becomes hard to breathe. Fumbling with my eyes closed I find that I have been covered up by something and I panic, jumping up and huffing heavily, but feel foolish as a blanket was draped across me while I slept. My wound pains me and I feel that I may have caused some damage to it in my fright.

  Seeing that it is dark outside I tiptoe down the hallway, so as not to wake anyone that might be sleeping, to the bathroom. Pushing in, I close the door finding it completely dark but for a small patch of light beaming in from what I guess is the moon overhead. Flipping the little lever I had seen before illuminates the room, and I look in the mirror hastily to see if I have bled through. To my relief I do not see anything out of the ordinary. Unclipping the bandage, I spin it off of me and gently remove the padding that had been covering the scab.

  It looks almost the same and I do not know how much longer before it will be completely healed. Because I cannot remember if anything like this happened before I look for more scar tissue to compare my current wound against but I cannot find anything significant. My eyes become transfixed on the scab on my abdomen and it itches. Scratching a bit I cause some of it to flake off and it becomes addicting, finding those areas that come off without causing myself to bleed. But I pick too much, finally tugging on an area that is still attached and it begins to bleed some. I pick up the pad and press it back to my stomach but when I look up a shadowy figure behind me has appeared. I can see its white teeth through an evil grin and when I look down a dagger sticking through the wound as it throbs.

  Beginning to hyperventilate the blood pours from the wound all over the floor and I cry out as the dagger is retracted. The shadowy form disappears from the mirror and Ami bursts in through the door between her room and the bathroom with an alarmed look on her face.

  “What’s wrong?!” She asks.

  “He was here! I am wounded again!” I hold my hand over the wound.

  “Where? Let me see,” she moves to me and removes my hand.

  To my surprise I am not actually bleeding. No blood has been spilt on the floor and the wound is still closed except where I had picked a little too much. She looks up at me and when I look over my shoulder for the shadow, I find no one.

  “I…I swear they were here. I saw the dagger through my torso again!” I protest her look of confusion.

  “Shh, it’s okay. There’s no one here,” she says with a relieved sigh looking over my shoulder. “Let’s put the bandage back on.”

  “But…” I am at a loss for words at what I had just seen.

  “You were probably having a waking nightmare or some sort of hallucination,” she says soothingly while wrapping my torso back up.

  “I am sorry,” I apologize while trying to shake it off, that feeling of dread. “I do not know what came over me.”

  “It’s okay. You’re still adjusting to the house and it can be a little spooky at night, but there’s no one here that is going to hurt you. I promise,” she reassures me.

  Finishing with the bandage she clips it back in place and I move to the door, pulling it open while looking out into the dark nervously. She walks up next to me without hesitation and leads me by the hand back out to the couch. When we get there I sit and she tries to return to her room, but I make my nervousness known.

  “Please, would you stay out here with me?” I ask.

  I can see that she is tired when she turns back to me, but she does not hesitate to oblige me to quell my fear. Returning to the couch she sits next to me and lies down with her head resting at the opposite side of the couch.

  “Thanks Ami,” I tell her.

  “Mmhmm,” she mumbles as she drifts back to sleep.

  Lying down on my side of the couch I leave my feet dangling over the edge and while slightly uncomfortable, I find that it is less awkward than stretching out and pressing our two bodies together. Despite my heart having been beating heavily only a few minutes before, her presence comforts me enough to find a restful state and I am able to sleep again.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Sitting on the floor with the table in front of me, I comb through the book that Ami had picked off of the shelf while she retrieves us some breakfast. The book titled ‘Language Arts’ seems to have many lessons written out within it and I find that my reading skills are proficient enough to understand a significant portion of it. Near the back of the book I find a glossary of words called contractions that I find helpful in understanding Ami and Agatha’s dialect.

  Ami appears from the kitchen with a couple bowls steaming and she has a disapproving look on her face. Setting my bowl in front of me I can see inside is some sort of porridge that has been doused in a liquid and topped with a brown crystalized powder that appears to be melting.

  “I told you to wait for me,” she sits down on the floor next to me and jabs her index finger into my shoulder.

  “I am sorry. With so many voids in my head I just thought that I might get a head start.” I frown.

  She smiles to indicate that it is okay and begins to eat her bowl of soggy oats. Nudging her nose in the direction of my bowl she wants me to take a bite of the food and, when I do, I find that the brown crystals make it sweet. I take a few bites at one time and chew excitedly. When I manage to swallow it all I cannot help but find excitement in this food.

  “What is the brown sugary stuff?” I ask.

  “Brown sugar,” she snickers while looking up at me from her bowl.

  “Well then, I feel silly for asking.” I chuckle.

  “Don’t worry about it. We’re going to encounter many things you’re unfamiliar with. I just thought it was a little funny that without knowing what it was called you called it by its name.”

  We finish our breakfast and after she takes the dishes into the kitchen she returns to begin my lesson in how the language has developed from mine to theirs. Hours pass as she runs through many nuances of the language but I find my mind wearing a bit thin even after several breaks. Resting my head back on the couch I close my eyes to relieve some of the fatigue they are feeling, but Ami makes sure to keep me awake with a few taps on the shoulder. Looking over, I smile at her and, as her bangs fall across the side of her face, I am staring again. She notices and looks away, her cheeks turning red a little bit and I find it pleasing
that she has become flustered.

  “Stop looking at me,” she says while putting her hand up to the side of her face.

  “I am sorry, I did not intend to embarrass you.” I grin.

  “‘Didn’t’,” she corrects me on my use of ‘did not’ and peeks from behind her fingers. “You’re not embarrassing me, you’re being creepy.”

  “I am not creepy.” I push her shoulder playfully, knocking her off balance.

  She recovers by putting her hand out to catch herself and comes back at me by pushing with both her hands to shove me over. I counter and grab both hands, pulling her with me and she lands on my wound.

  “Ahh!” I cry out in pain.

  “That’s what you get.” She fakes apathy while turning her nose upward playfully.

  “See, I am not creepy. It is not unnatural to look at someone that you intend on living with is it?”

  “You make that sound even creepier.” She sticks her tongue out at me while pulling herself back up on the table.

  “You are impossible,” I tell her.

  “‘You’re’,” she corrects me again.

  “You’re impossible,” I copy her and pull myself back up.

  Until it is time to have dinner we practice over and over the newly covered information but I feel that it will take me a lot more time than just today to master the language to the degree that they were likely taught from the time that they were children. Agatha appears in the doorway to the kitchen and motions for us to enter.

  With my stomach growling at the savory smells emanating from the kitchen, I am the first to stand up, offering my hand for Ami to take. As she does, I find that it is easier to pull her up than anticipated, practically causing her to leap to her feet. She looks at me with a questioning look but a smile on her face. We release hands and she leads us into the kitchen to sit at the large table.

  “You can sit wherever you’d like,” Ami tells me.

  Picking the chair at the end of the table I pull it out some and before I can sit, Agatha snickers behind me. Ami shoots her a playful glance and I wonder what I have done to warrant that response. Questioning them with quirked eyebrows, I look at both Ami and Agatha to try and get an answer. When that fails I resort to asking out loud.