Page 8 of Mayflower

Two days ago, I was happy. I could touch him, kiss him, hear his voice.

I flick the light switch on and look around his bungalow.

Every place has a character. Raven’s bungalow is almost void of personal objects, but that’s character, too. Stoic? Maybe, ascetic? That’s him. Like I said before, Raven feels like a gothic castle. And every castle has secrets. If I dig deep enough, I’ll get to know his. He probably wouldn’t like it. But then the cruel thought creeps back into my mind—he might never come back. The dread returns with another kick, even more powerful than before.

The first thing I notice is the flowerpot by the balcony doors. My flower.

I hold back a sob as I walk up and run my fingers along its leaves. I check the soil. It needs water. Holding back tears, I walk to the kitchen, fill up a coffee mug with water from the tap, and water the plant.

Raven’s bedroom is simple and neat, too. Besides his clothes in the closet—a few and almost all black—there are barely any personal belongings here. His entire life could fit into one suitcase.

I open the nightstand drawer and frown in surprise. The only thing there is a bracelet.

Right away, I recognize it, the golden chain and flower made out of gems. It’s mine. But I haven’t had it in a while. I thought I lost it at Archer’s birthday party.

But here it is.

I want to pick it up and put it on, but that’s the only thing of mine in this house, and I close the drawer without touching the bracelet—I want something of mine here, by Raven’s bed.

I walk back to the living room. A couch, two armchairs, a coffee table—the standard Ayana style. There’s a wicker chair by the balcony. A tall bookcase full of books is at the back wall, a desk next to it. I step closer. One small book sits on the desk. It’s full of little torn papers as bookmarks. Raven must’ve been reading it recently.

Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

He just told me about it the other night. I pick it up and open one of the pages.

A sentence is carefully underlined with a pencil.

“Help me,” he said very quietly, speaking in the way that the dying speak. “I want to fly more than anything else in the world…”

The phrase gives me a flashback to the last time I saw him. I bite my lip, suppressing an urge to cry, and open a page with another bookmark.

“He was strong and light and quick in the air, but far and away more important, he had a blazing drive to learn to fly.”

That’s Raven. I smile at the words and open another page.

“Well, sure, O. K., they’re Outcasts. But hey, man, where did they learn to fly like that?”

I take a deep breath and hold it, trying to suppress the emotions that clench my heart.

A desk drawer catches my attention. I pull it open slowly, uneasy at prying but wanting to understand what Raven was like when he was alone, when his cold mask was off.

There are dozens of sheets of paper in the drawer, all with handwriting on them. On top of them is a notebook that I pick up and open.

“Lost people sometimes develop into greater human beings than those who have never been lost in their whole lives.”—A Walk on the Wild Side by Nelson Algren.

It’s a quote.

The next name I see is Hemingway, and it’s a quote from The Old Man and The Sea.

“A man can be destroyed but not defeated.”

Page after page after page, there are quotes from books I know and great historical figures I recognize. As if Raven was trying to find answers to his past. That’s why we like quotes—we find ourselves through others’ experiences.

They are all written in a perfect handwriting. His. I stroke the words with my fingertips, feeling closer to Raven, a lone man with an extraordinary mind that I didn’t have enough time to get to know.

The last page with the quotes also has a folded white sheet of paper. I unfold it and read the text.

“My mind is my best friend. But my heart is a beast that doesn’t understand words or logic. Only kindness. Yours.

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