Page 14 of Only the Small Bones
I got back to my letter.I was the one who did something wrong.I paused, taking a deep breath before writing the last part.I shouldn’t have left you.
I wasn’t sure if he’d be able to read any of this, but I took a chance. Whatever he didn’t understand, I hoped he’d allow me to help him with.
I slipped the pad and pencil under his door, careful to be quiet about it in case he was asleep. Returning to my room again, I spent a couple more peaceful hours on the balcony, enjoying the late summer breeze. It was after midnight when I began to feel tired. A good tired, not a brain-in-overdrive tired. I looked forward to getting the best sleep I’d had all week.
Halfway to the bed I heard a rustling sound at the door. Ryan was on the other side of it shoving the note pad underneath. Shock overtook my body, locking me in place. Deep down I hadn’t believed I’d get a response, and definitely not this late. For all I knew I still hadn’t received a reply. Maybe he’d seen my note on the way to the bathroom and decided to return it unanswered.
Keeping quiet, I waited until he’d gotten it all the way through, and until I heard the faint click of his door closing, before crossing the room to scoop it up. A good chunk of the pad was missing, as though he’d torn out several pages after trying over and over again to get his reply right. Had he spent the last two hours on this?
My brows dipped at the single word on the paper.
Chikin.
“Chikin,” I whispered in confusion, my frown disappearing when the misspelled word sounded exactly as it would havespelled correctly.Chicken.But I tried to relate that back to what I’d written to him and couldn’t. Had he misread what I wrote?
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I turned the word over in my head, searching for some hidden meaning.Chikin.I perked up, remembering when I’d spoken to him through his door earlier, trying to lure him out. I’d babbled about my mother’s impending visit, asking if there was any food he liked in particular—as if he’d answer me. He hadn’t.
I read the word again and smiled.Chikin.Retrieving the pencil he’d returned, I began writing.
Chicken is the best.I spelt it properly.What else do you like? She can cook just about anything.
I snuck it under his door, feeling like a kid as I slid under the covers and turned my lamp off. The anticipation of hearing from him again made it impossible to fall asleep, so I’d still been wide awake when the rustling sound returned over an hour later.
There was only one sheet of paper attached to the backboard of the notepad now. I’d need to order a bulk supply, stat. With dizzying excitement, I read the short list he’d scribbled and could almost picture him doing so with the utmost focus and concentration.
There were a couple of things I noticed right away. He’d written within the lines this time, his words no longer bleeding above or below them. He’d also spelled chicken correctly. He learned fast.
Chicken.
Beens.
Ryss.
Potayto.
I hurried to my satchel again, praying I had another pad of paper in there. I carried them around constantly, as workinspiration tended to strike me at the most inconvenient times. I struck gold.
Too impatient to go back into the room, I wrote on top of my chest of drawers.
I like beans and rice too. Not a huge fan of potatoes, though. What’s your absolute favorite meal?
Sliding it under his door, I decided to give sleep a real try this time. It helped knowing I’d hopefully have something good to wake up to. I couldn’t blame the smile making my cheeks ache on the white pill I’d taken earlier that night. It was almost two in the morning. The effects of it would’ve worn off by now.
William
Sunny days made owning a high-rise apartment worth the hefty price tag. The yang to that yin was that dreary days felt all the more depressing from this high up.
We were on our fifth consecutive day of rain, and any respite we’d had since Ryan arrived didn’t come with a break in the clouds. Still, I moved about the kitchen whistling a cheerful tune while Ryan showered after having slept in that morning.
I hadn’t woken up to another note from him, even though I’d taken my odd dreams filled with ancient quills and rolls of parchment as a sign that there would be. I’d opened my eyes with a start, sitting straight up in bed, my gaze going to the floor. It was a wonder I’d gotten any sleep at all. I’d been highly conscious of our exchange even within my dreamscape.
I placed an order for more writing materials and groceries before climbing out of bed to get my day started with an at-home workout. Two hours later, I met the delivery guy at the door, and with nothing left to do but wait for Ryan to emerge from his room, I got started on breakfast.
He liked to observe, but I’d gotten some chicken tenders and fries I wanted to surprise him with. If we could eat bagels for dinner, then why not chicken for breakfast? Not burning the place down in the process would be the trick. I didn’t have a good track record with stoves.
Slipping the package of precooked tenders and fries into the preheated oven, I set about putting the rest of the groceries away and tidying up.
Twenty minutes later, the timer dinged. I grabbed the mittens, hoping I’d followed the directions correctly.
