The library was certainly the coldest place in the bunker, Emelie thought, shivering as looked around the cluttered space filled with old, torn, dusty books. The selection was as old as the bunker itself but she didn’t mind even if her second reading of The Catcher in the Rye wasn’t anymore enjoyable than it had been the first time when she had read it for her tenth grade English class. Maybe it was Holden Caulfield’s fortune to live as though he had nothing to lose; a privilege not afforded to those with nowhere to fall.
She hugged herself, rubbing both arms in a vain attempt to contain her body heat. Two other residents sat quietly in the seating area which had a dozen or so chairs scattered around. Emelie had explored as much of the facility as she was allowed to in the last month since she had arrived and had determined that the bunker had not been designed with comfort in mind. For a place that was intended to house 3000 people for more than a decade, it did not seem to take into consideration the toll a place like this would have on the mental health of its residents.
The door to the library screeched loudly as it opened, causing the three present to turn and look in its direction. Emelie quickly glanced back as the man entered, barely acknowledging him before resuming her read. Suddenly, Emelie began to notice something was different. Her body was warming up. The air itself felt statically charged. Her senses heightened as her heart rate seemed to slow, causing calm and focused alertness within her. She felt the man approaching from behind. As he drew nearer, Emelie felt the hair on her arms and neck stand on end. The sensation was not fear or tension as such reactions usually arose from. No. This was exhilaration. She sat frozen in place as the man walked passed her, slowing down for a fraction of a second once directly behind her, sending a shockwave of electricity through her every nerve. Emelie looked down at her now shaking hands. She had felt similar energy from people in the bunker, most notably from Jacob, but this was somehow far more acute. With Jacob, there was a certain level of anxiety associated with his aura. It created a physiological reluctance to near him, mainly due to the “visions'' '' associated with such interactions. Emelie guiltily avoided Jacob after their first few conversations due to this seemingly insurmountable hurdle. This, however, felt empowering.
The man made his way to the far corner of the library and shuffled through some books on a shelf, his back to the seating area. Emelie didn’t realize she had been staring at him until he glanced over his shoulder at her. Snapping her head back down, she cringed at the lack of subtlety in the action. Try as she might to keep her eyes on the page before her, the subconscious magnetism drew her gaze sideways to what seemed to be the source of these fantastic sensations. He took a book from the shelf and found a seat several feet from Emelie. The air between them thickened. The man evidently suffered from a mutual draw to her, as she caught him several times grabbing quick glances in her direction. Every single fibre of her being was fully in the present; it was simultaneously peaceful and ecstatic.
A woman seated before her shifted in her seat, knocking over a tall stack of books next to her. The sudden crash of 20 books falling made Emelie jump and yelp in fear. The man seemed to mirror the reaction before standing up to help the woman. As he did, he took the opportunity for a quick glance at Emelie, who remained fixated at the toppled books as though they were a burning building that just exploded. Emelie did not make eye contact. Instead, she felt an overwhelming urge to leave the library immediately. As the man crouched down to pick up the books, she made a quick getaway, nearly sprinting for the door. She flung it open and quickly closed it behind her, panting much harder than the quick dash warranted. As she struggled to catch her breath, she realized the strong sense of familiarity associated with the man.
Emelie collected herself before instinctively burying the gravity of what had just transpired. It was a survival mechanism she had acquired as a child and fine-tuned over many years. Strong emotional reactions, whether good or bad, leave one vulnerable and this did not seem to be a fitting time for vulnerability. She dusted off the last remnants of the experience and headed to the mess for dinner, just as the P.A. system chimed the alert signalling the second dining round of the evening.
Several days later, Emelie encountered the man once more, while standing in line for weekly supplies. As she inched forward toward the supply closet door where a disinterested looking woman handed out toothpaste, bars of soap, and replaced empty 5 gallon water jugs with full ones, she felt the density of the air increase. Her mind calmed, easing tension in her shoulders. The sounds around her became clearer and easier to comprehend. Her vision sharpened and skin tingled with recognition of everything it made contact with. There was no need to scan the room, seeking out the source of these changes. Somehow, she knew that he was the third person lined up behind her. She also inexplicably knew that he had also experienced the mental and physiological changes she had in that moment. Their cognition seemed to overlap with one another''s. This was different from the sense of embodiment she had experienced with Jacob. There was no sense of being drawn into his state of mind, leading to a loss of awareness of her own identity. This felt like a shared conscious state; fully connected to the present moment through two vessels.
Although the experience was pleasant, Emelie resented and resisted it shifting uncomfortably as though abrupt movement might shake the connection loose. The notion that he was feeling and experiencing the sensations simultaneously suddenly felt jarring and invasive. In an attempt to drown out any and all ties to this stranger, she repeated to herself a version of “April Come She Will'''' that her grandfather used to play on the piano when she was a child. She recalled the memory in vivid detail; the slowed gentle pace of the keystrokes, his raspy, baritone voice softened, acclimating to the whispered spirit of the original. She sat next to him at the piano, watching his hands glide over the keyboard in the low light of dusk coming from the large picture window to the left of the instrument. He would change the lyrics to reflect the situations of the present-day each time he played it, delighting his granddaughter. Emelie listened attentively, snickering quietly every time he would replace the words with a funny anecdote. As “grandpapa” neared the end of the song, he gradually intensified the pressure of each keystroke, until he was hammering out the last few cords, bellowing out the one consistent lyric alteration, signature to every performance “ - A glove once new has now grown mold!” Emelie smiled at the recollection.
Unfortunately, the memory had only temporarily distracted her from her present situation. She acknowledged a sense of confusion emitting from the man. He seemed to not comprehend her reluctance to explore the phenomenon they were experiencing. At that moment, Emelie decided she still had enough personal hygiene products and water to last her until the next restocking day and made her way to the far left exit of the mess, fighting the urge to look back at the man. Once through the exit doorway, Emelie found herself out of breath once more. It was as though she had been holding it from the moment she sensed him again. What if she was letting all of this “Sensory Field connections” stuff alter her perception, she considered. Did that actually just happen? She hadn’t turned back to confirm visually that he was even there.
While most of the other residents she interacted with, particularly the women from her section, adjusting to the revelations surrounding who and what she was did not come easily to Emelie. She still half expected to wake up in a hospital after being in a coma for 6 months only to discover this had all been a fever dream. How can one so easily adapt to being some sort of super-human after having lived a seemingly ordinary life for 30 years, Emelie felt. Sure, some of the residents had known beforehand that something was different about them. Some had even been able to utilize their abilities. For Emelie however, accepting that it took the near-extinction of humankind to surface such significant traits just didn’t add up. It had weakened her sense of trust in her own perceptiveness, only further reinforcing the state of detachment she felt from reality. She rolled through the motions each day without resistance, numb to most things. Food had no flavour. Conversing was tiresome. She considered that maybe she wasn’t so much resistant to change as aloof to the whole thing.
The encounters with this man were the first time she felt herself at the helm of her own consciousness since everything ended. Was any of it real? Maybe not but it was the closest thing to it Emelie could identify in these uncertain times.
“You can sit down if you’d like. I don’t mind.” Emelie jumped upon hearing the voice. She looked down to see a young girl, no more than 10 or 11 years she thought, seated on a metal bench before her. The child’s eyes were fixated on the book on her lap. “You don’t have to stand,” - she continued. Emelie, still stunned by the fact that a person had been a mere foot or two from her without her realizing for several minutes, decided that maybe it was a good idea to sit for a moment.
“I’m Claire” - the young girl offered, extending her hand over to Emelie now seated next to her. She never lifted her eyes from the page before her. Emelie took the tiny hand into her own noticing the firmness of the grip it had as it shook hers. “Emelie. That’s a strong handshake you’ve got there.”
“My father says confidence is established through a firm handshake,” Claire’s voice was steady as she dropped the tone down an octave, possibly emulating the delivery of her father when he had passed on this wisdom to her, Emelie thought. “Good advice,” - Emelie responded, smiling at the familiar personality seated next to her. A buzzing vibration reverberated through the bench. Claire plunged her left hand into her pocket, pulling from it her phone. “Gotta go to class now. Nice meeting you!” she bellowed as she hopped down from the bench and strutted off down the hall. “Have fun,” Emelie called out after her. Claire lifted one hand in the air, without turning around and gave a quick wave before disappearing around the corner. Emelie exhaled a chuckle and shook her head as she sat and watched the oldest 10 year old to ever live head to class. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
…..
The facility had a few small recreational rooms; one was dedicated to physical activity, the others to various activities such as music, art, and other hobbies. It was late evening when Emelie entered the art and music room. She swung the door opened to find a few residents sitting at a table, playing cards. Immediately, she recognized the sensation she had already felt several times that week. Her breathing slowed, shoulders dropping once more as a rush of shivers washed over her body, scattering goosebumps across her skin. Just as she felt it within herself, she could sense that the same reaction had been felt by the stranger bonded to her perception.
The magnetism of this connection beckoned her to the source, as it had previous times. This time, however, Emelie chose to indulge it. If this was going to be her life she thought, trapped underground with the same people in strictly set routines for God knows how long, she may as well explore what this new world had to offer.
Emelie let her senses guide her to him. She walked to the right of the room, towards the wall that stopped just before connecting to the far right wall, creating a “U” shaped room. On the other side of the wall was the area dedicated to music. Guitars, violins, cellos and various other instruments hung from the walls. The room even had a baby grand piano. Emelie took a moment to look around the room that seemed to house any and all instruments one could ever want. She had heard from some of the facility staff that the music room was well equipped due to the original founder, Rydal James’s personal collection having stocked it. He was said to have been a prolific musician and upon leaving the facility 30 years ago to pursue a life of solitude in the wilderness, he had expressed his desire to donate his collection to the community of Longeavitates he hoped would someday convene there.
A bookcase was placed horizontally from the left wall, creating a division in the space. Someone was seated on the other side of the bookcase. Only black curly hair was visible through the spaces between the items on the fifth shelf. Every ounce of her being knew it was him. A gentle melody came from behind the case, produced from what sounded like an acoustic guitar. As Emelie drew closer the music stopped suddenly. She froze in place, waiting for the stranger’s next move. He sat motionless. Emelie could sense conflict within the other, as though he was considering various courses of action. The sensation then indicated assertive confidence familiar to Emelie as the feeling experienced when a conclusion had been reached.
The stranger shifted in his seat before he resumed playing. The song he now played was one she knew quite well. A shiver ran down her spine as her heart began racing, dropping into her stomach. “April Come She Will” filled the air and with each string pick, Emelie felt blood pulsing to her head, flushing her cheeks in crimson. A pressure formed in her throat rising up to the space behind her eyes. She suppressed the urge to cry. Her body pulled her forward, one careful step at a time, operating independently from her mind, reeling in an overwhelmed state. Could this be a coincidence? Seems frighteningly on the nose to happen by chance, Emelie thought to herself.
“Do you know this one?” the man said nearly causing her to leap from her own skin. As she crashed back down to Earth, she realized that she was now standing parallel to the bookcase, a mere two feet from him.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,-” He said as he rose up from his seat, propping the guitar against the shelf before turning to face her. She felt a sense of regret emit from him which evolved sharply into a baffled state of mind upon making eye contact with one another. They both stood suspended in what felt like the aftermath of an explosion; the air suddenly still, void of sound. As reality trickled back into their consciousness, they identified within themselves an overwhelming sense of familiarity for the other. It was as though a dearly departed loved one had risen from the grave and now stood before them.
Emilie studied his features; black hair, full beard, light brown flawless, youthful skin, dark brown, dough-like eyes. He stood a few inches taller than her with a stocky, solid build. By her assessment, he looked to be in his late twenties, though his eyes told of wisdom only far more years could bring. Her mind searched frantically for some memory of him as she sensed him working through a similar train of thought. Nothing of this man was known to her previous to a few days ago and yet, he was as familiar to her as her own family. A rush of pressure formed behind her eyes again. It took everything she had to not cry. Judging by the flush of red now forming around the man’s eyes and the identical sensation of pressure she could feel in him, he was experiencing it too. He pressed his eyes shut, quickly, and firmly blinking to break eye contact as he extended a hand outward to her.
“Amir,” his voice cracked slightly as the word left his lips.
Emelie looked down at his hand, almost uncertain of whether she wanted to take it at all. She pushed past the doubt, grasping it in hers. Against all rhyme or reason, she undoubtedly felt her hand in his as she could feel his in hers. It was as though they shared one consciousness as well as one body while occupying two spaces in the world.
“Emelie,” she replied, locking eyes once more. All comprehension of what any of this meant evaded her and yet, somehow, understanding the how and why seemed so irrelevant now. As she held Amir’s hand in hers, the only thing that seemed to matter was the sense of wholeness she felt.
Amir grinned warmly at her and gestured for her to take a seat on the small bench against the shelf. He sat back down, picking the guitar up and propping it upon his knee. Emelie sat down beside him. She hadn’t felt this calm and secure in nearly a year, possibly her entire life. Exhaustion overcame her as she sat watching Amir’s left-hand slide up and down the neck of the guitar, moving effortlessly through the chord changes. It was as though an enormous weight shifted off of her. Her eyes felt suddenly heavy; nearly impossible to keep open. Having always been a troubled sleeper, Emelie could not recall a time when she had ever dosed off outside of a bed after tossing a turning for hours and yet, she now found herself barely able to stay awake next to a stranger in a strange place.
Amir leaned back against the shelves, slowing down the cadence of the song and closed his eyes. In her newfound sense of comfort, Emelie leaned back as well and gave in to the fatigue, drifting off to sleep.
Emelie was awoken by someone shaking her shoulder. Through her grogginess, she could make out Amir standing over her, smiling as he spoke.
“Good morning,” he said playfully.
Emelie, now somewhat unsettled as she realized what happened, instinctively apologize to him. “No worries at all. You must have been quite tired,” he reassured her.
“I guess so,” she returned. As Emelie rubbed the sleep from her eyes, a sense of refreshed alertness overcame her. She felt fantastic and stood up meeting Amir’s eye line.
He was still smirking at her which led her to break into a smile. “Do you often fall asleep when meeting new people or was I just that captivating?” Amir poked, as she smoothed down the front of her shirt. She laughed and sensed a rush of endearment in Amir at the sound of it. He was charming through his obvious shyness, she thought.
“I normally have trouble sleeping so this is all quite odd for me,” she confessed. Why she was being so forward she could not tell, as she was normally guarded with strangers. Not just strangers, she considered, but with everyone.
Emelie thought of Adrien; his outgoing, gentleness that often made her feel simultaneously adoring and resentful of him. The recollection led to a surge of guilt within her in light of what had just transpired. Here she was, having just met this man before her, capable of surmounting all of her hang-ups and trust issues that in 10 years of effort and commitment she had never been able to do with Adrian. Amir cocked his head slightly at her. She knew he could feel the conflict and guilt within her. “Hey, really, it’s no big deal,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. His touch sent a reverberation through her body as well as his. She noted that although he could sense her emotions, he could not detect the thoughts associated with them.
“Thanks,” she said looking into the black of his irises. She knew that he was aware that the guilt had not subsided, but he chose to let it go, to her gratefulness.
“Do we know each other from somewhere,” she asked knowing the answer yet looking for any opening to change the subject.
“It feels like it, doesn’t it? Ever been to Boston?” Amir asked although Emelie could sense that he too seemed unconvinced that they had ever crossed paths, given the lack of curiosity within him when asking the question. He was certainly trying to figure out what was the source of their unprecedented level of connectivity, but she could tell he knew it would not be solved by asking such a question, even if they had had a chance encounter at some point.
Emelie shook her head. “You grew up in Boston?” Emelie asked the question although Amir’s overtly Bostonian accent had already given it away. “Yup,” he replied as he stored the guitar in a case on the floor. The conversation at hand felt as though it was a cover for what was happening under the surface. Within each of them, Emelie identified a similar course of action taking place: both were hyper analyzing the other, trying to decode the secret to what was happening between them in an invisible realm. Amir’s fruitless attempt to busy himself by tending to his instrument was an obvious deflection to mask his intrigue. Emelie could tell that the intensity of the situation was overwhelming him and his instincts urged him to retreat. She knew this reaction all too well. Getting close to someone was more terrifying than anything else she could imagine. It was best to tread lightly with others if only to protect both parties from the devastation that would befall them when the relationship inevitably ended.
In that moment, Emelie noticed Amir’s internal demeanour change. He had sensed her relating to his dissociative methods. He stopped loading the guitar into the case, and, still crouching down over it, glided his finger tips across the strings. A plea came from within him, directed at Emelie who stood next to him, watching and feeling the change occur. Amir emitted remorse to her and a renewed sense of interest washed over both of them, overpowering their guarded reactions. Emelie fought off her reclusive instinct and submitted to the new sensation. She realized that an attempt at detachment was not going to be possible, even if they both wanted to.
“Have you ever heard of the country singer tradition where one pays tribute to a fellow musician by giving them their guitar?” Amir asked, eyes still focused on the instrument before him. Emelie, taken off guard by the sudden switch in topic, shook her head. “No, I haven’t,” she confessed.
Amir pulled the lid of the case down over the guitar and fastened the buckles shut.
“The tradition started at a time when people didn’t have multiple instruments. They had only one guitar to play. Some would play it to earn money, some played for pleasure. All of them used it as an escape…-” Amir trailed off for a moment as Emelie felt anxiety brewing within her chest, simulating the sensation within him. There was a certain vulnerability that came with sharing this anecdote. It was meaningful to him, she thought. “It’s beautiful really. To humble oneself before another with such gravity, don’t you think?” Amir turned, facing her once more. She felt fear associated with the exposure of the moment ring out from their shared cores.
The P.A system cracked loudly before announcing the order to return to quarters for the night, startling both of them. Once the initial heart-pounding had subsided, they stood there a moment longer, as conflicting emotions urged them to both stay there with the other and run for the hills. Emelie finally broke the stand-off. “We should probably go before they banish us or something,” Emelie said coyly. Amir chuckled softly and gestured toward the exit with a nod and an extended hand.