You never truly know boredom until you're trapped, day and night, in a house the size of a camp cabin, where your roommate is a weird stranger who is almost always gone, sneaking around for food. I slept so much that at night- or what I assumed to be night based off of Noah's comings-and-goings- I lay on my cot and stared above me, listening to Noah's snores-or rather, heavy breathing- and wishing I was anywhere else. The tediousness of life in the House, with the robots, seemed like a trip to Disneyland compared to this. I had studied every surface like a science experiment, including the surfaces in the vast kitchen, and by what seemed to be the third day, I took to running laps around the kitchen island, not stopping until I was sweating, aching, and feeling slightly awake in this tiny little house, this place that made me feel like a prisoner to sleep. Sleep
was my only escape, but I did it so much that it started to feel like a burden just as much as being awake. I always showered after my kitchen laps, and the shower- small and worn as it was- quickly became my favorite place in the little house. The hot water ran out rapidly and the cold water too soon after it, so the shower remained a privilege. I had far too much time to think, and since every thought that really important to me provided too much pain and anger, I started spending a lot of time thinking about Noah. I became preoccupied with the way he walked; long strides despite the small room, and the shape of his mouth, the way it curved up in a smirk as he ate and simultaneously watched me stuff myself with the scraps of food he brought back. His eyes sparkled whenever I told him about "The Outside", and he nodded furiously, his eyes widening at the most inconsequential details. When he slept, he always faced me, and as my nights had become infected with insomnia, I found myself laying on my cot and staring at his sleeping face, taking in the curves of his jawline and watching his eyelashes as they fluttered slightly when something in a dream startled him.
In "The Outside", I had never really had time to date or be in a relationship; having had my hands full with my long hours as a waitress and taking care of Jen. I was only fourteen when Jen was born, and before my parents died and left me alone with her, I had no interest in boys, only schoolwork. I was the definition of a nerd, but my social status didn't matter to me, because I knew that if I did well in middle school and high school, I would get into a good college, and then I would be able to get a good job and move far away from the poor neighborhood I grew up in. But then, of course, Jen was born, my parents died, and school was no longer my top priority. After getting just enough credits to graduate and starting my shifts first Munday's Cafe and then Ruby's and Mimi's, college became a wistful dream, and a relationship was the farthest thing from my mind. Because of all this, spending these countless hours alone in a tiny, enclosed space with a man I barely knew felt...tedious, of course, cruelly and painfully boring, but also, when he was awake, when we were both awake and sitting together, always close to each other even if one of sat on the opposite side of the house...it was exciting. I had never felt anything like the feelings I had now. This heat filled my chest whenever he came near me that burned brighter than the fire in the furnace and kept me warmer. It was as if the sound of his footsteps lit a match inside of me, and by the time he was actually standing near me my whole heart had been engulfed by flames and I couldn't decide if the sensation was more exhilarating or painful. The stare of his cool eyes threw a wave of feeling through my body like water that, instead of putting out the fire, rekindled it. Sometimes I got to the point where I felt that I might burn alive from the inside out, in which case I had to force myself to put what little space was available between us...but this seemed only to make him want to be closer to me, so he moved in my direction, only he ended up even nearer to me than before, and then the fire consumed me until I could think of an excuse to get up. It was tiresome, really, and afterward, when he left the house or went to sleep, I was always grateful that there was nothing to do there but rest, because every part of me felt weighed down with exhaustion.
© 2011
