Part 7

     The walk back home that day was a very, very long one. I ached all over, and to top it off, it started pouring rain out of nowhere. The creek hadn't had time to rise before I reached it, but obviously the mud situation was pretty heinous. Between slipping on everything and being sore to begin with, it was exhausting, and I barely had the strength left to kick off my muddy boots when I got back to the apartment. I reached a hand inside my bag to make sure the contents had kept dry (I'd tucked the sketchbook away as soon as I began the walk home) – they seemed to be fine, but with the outside of the bag being so wet, I took everything out anyway and left them on the kitchen table. I flopped down on the couch to rest my legs, and thought about cleaning off my cuts and bruises... but was asleep before I managed to do a thing. I woke back up around two in the morning, stiff as hell, and stumbled up to the bathroom to clean off the scrapes and make sure nothing looked too serious. Honestly, it's a minor miracle I didn't break anything. Then back to sleep.
     I woke up late, and had to hurry to get ready for work. That, too, was a very, very long day. I still ached all over, and... well, I could give my coworkers a partial explanation (tripped and fell on some rocks in the woods, then slept on my wimpy little WalMart couch like an idiot), but I couldn't exactly tell them just how badly I was injured. I fell from a third story room when I traveled back through time? Really? That's what I did on my day off, all you did was go to a party and get drunk like a sane person. C'est la vie.
     It's after dark by the time I'm home, and make myself something to eat – even standing in front of the fridge and microwave is tiring. One knee is almost completely black and blue, there are some pretty scary looking bruises elsewhere on my legs and hips and butt, and I still shudder when I think of the jolt that went through my tailbone when I hit ground. (Luckily for me, the only high-ceilinged room was the one whose floor I was sitting on!) I was able to fake my way through it most of the day at work, but now... ugh. I'm just going to move really, really slow.
     Eventually, I let myself sit, and give myself time to stop and finally begin to think about what happened yesterday. Such a long visit, but, so little accomplished! I can't help but laugh, thinking back on it, Evelyn and I just stuck behind that freaking screen, unable to say a word, me unable to see a thing.
     Thanks goodness for me and my obsessive sketchbook tendencies. But--- I suddenly panic, and hurry over to the kitchen table. The rain didn't get at any of the pages, did it? The pencil lead didn't get so soft that the letters rubbed themselves away when the book got jostled around so much? The words didn't just...disappear, when they were pulled through whatever the hell it is that happens when I move from one time to the next? I'm terrified to turn on the camera, I've barely let myself even think about that – even apart from the whole time-travel thing, between the fall and the rain and the jostling, I'd be worried.
     Hurriedly, I open the sketchbook, flipping through its pages in search of words written yesterday, a hundred years ago...
     There. There they are. Oh thank God! I spend a long moment just staring at the delicate script, fighting to keep myself from letting my fingers trace tenderly over the words – it's pencil, peeeencil, it will smudge and go away! Actually, come to think of it, I should take some precautions about that. I tear myself away from the precious sketchbook, and bounce around the apartment, scrounging up some tracing paper and a bit of masking tape. Thankfully, Evelyn kept pretty large margins, so I'm able to lightly tape the tissue paper down, onto the top of each page, so that it hangs over the words. It's never a perfect solution, but it will be better than letting the pages rub together. In fact, I'll take these pages out before I take the book anywhere again. Or maybe I'll just start a new book, and leave this one as it is. This is not a decision I need to make now, I have reading to do!
     I grin again as I skim over her critique of my handwriting – hers really is lovely. I should practice script a little more often, it's so pretty, and I'd love to be able to write it so fluidly. And Meres... Meh-raze, with the accent on the second part, and it sounded so smooth and graceful when Mr. Mason said it. I wonder what the origin of the name is? I've never heard or seen it... Back in high school, my friends and I went through a phase where we kept lists of “cool names”. We pilfered our parents' books of baby names, and looked for strange names (mainly ones that were nearly-all-vowels or nearly-all-consonants) and ones with meanings we liked. We did occasionally use the names in stories we wrote, but... really, I'm not sure what our actual motivation was. We just thought it was an interesting thing to do. I guess this whole random-research geekiness has always been with me.
     Here it is now, the first of the sections I didn't read when she wrote them – I adjust a bit in my chair, and lean closer to the page, my eyes trailing eagerly over the graceful curves of the letters.
     “I've never even seen a letter from him, only heard his name a couple of times.”
     “His wife – do you know her name?”
     “I've only heard it once that I remember, but I think--- oh! I do remember it. It was only a few weeks ago that I heard it, for Mother was bragging about “her” lovely gardens to company, and Father overheard. He's always correcting her on things like that, even in front of guests. Someone had said how pretty some little tabeleaue...” I have to grin at her attempt at spelling the word, like she knew it was an unusual combination of vowels, but she wasn't sure which, so she just threw them all down. “...was, and she thanked them, and said she was quite proud of her gardens, and Father said, quite sharply, that the gardens had all been designed by his brother, before Mother had ever seen the place. Mother was very put out and said of course, but Meres and Celestine had been gone for ever so long, so clearly she ought to be entitled to some credit at least, for keeping the gardens so nice and planting some new things too.”
     Celestine! Oh that's so pretty. I close my eyes a moment, remembering the only glimpse I've had of the two lovers – Meres holding Celestine close, his gaze so devoted and protective, and her eyes so--- well, like stars. I'm so happy she has such a lovely name, that suits her so well. Though I only saw her for maybe a minute or two, I know that her gaze would have often been up toward the stars, and the skies, and the sunlight which brings colors to all things...
     “Those photographs can't possibly come out. And I don't believe that's a camera anyway.”
     I giggle again at this. And then stop abruptly – did they come out? While I'm dying to read whatever it was that she wrote about her family, maybe I should just bite the bullet and pull out my camera now. At least if I find nothing on it – which, really, is all I've let myself believe there's going to be – I'll have the sketchbook to come back to as consolation, to get my mind back off of it. Would it have taken out any other photos I had on the memory card too? ...no, it shouldn't have, my camera's been in my bag every other time I've gone back, and there's never been a problem. But I'd never turned it on while away – would that make a difference?
     I grimace as I hit the power button, holding my breath. Maybe I really should have taken a physics class or two, I wouldn't be so damn panicky right now. The camera turns on! There's that, at least, I didn't kill the poor thing when I fell so far. I turn the knob to slideshow mode, and bite my lip anxiously. Oh, no, there is not a low battery warning! My cardiovascular system is never going to let me survive this crap. But I beg the gods of photography, and the first image on the card comes up. Unfortunately, this is one from about a week ago. I'll have to go through--- no I won't, I wonder if it will loop around, and pressing the left arrow will go to the last image on the card, and flip through backwards? Oh, it does! But--- the image is slow to load, and a line of color flickers across the top of the screen, and then:
     Text. Scary little white system-font text. “Unable to display image.” No! But, there was that little bit of color! I wonder if the file's just acting up. I try the next photo – and get the same message. But there's a flicker of a different color in a different part of the screen. There's got to be some information in there still, heck, even the fact that the camera recognizes that there's an image file on the card, that's a good sign in and of itself, far better than I'd been hoping for. (Alright, not really, I was hoping I'd have the most beautiful photos I'd ever taken, and I'd be famous for them, and have to decide if I wanted to reveal the true origin of them, and whether the publicity from being seen as insane would be worth it to get my name that well known, and...)