Yet I listened to Bastian. I wanted to watch him paint a picture I would never see.
“Yeah. A few times. I went on a tour of NYU when I was looking at colleges.”
I gave him a blank look.
He frowned. “NYU. New York University? The college in Manhattan?” I didn’t respond. “Shit, you really have been living in a bubble.”
“You’re being a jerk again,” I reminded him sharply.
Bastian gave me a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Yeah that was jerky. I just forget that you haven’t—anyway, yes I’ve been to New York.”
I swallowed. My throat felt scratchy and dry. I knew I had to get back for breakfast. But I couldn’t make myself hurry anymore.
Not right now…
“What’s it like?”
Bastian blew out a breath and looked beyond the cliff again. “Nothing like here.” His eyes were far away. Somewhere else. “It’s loud. There’s always something going on. It’s chaotic and you can easily get lost in the streets and shops.”
“Sounds…overwhelming.” It was the only word I could think of. His words scared me. The idea of that kind of frenzy seemed terrifying. I was glad I was here. In my safe, quiet world.
“It is. But it’s amazing too. You can eat any type of food in the world. Go to world famous museums. See plays about life and death and every other thing in between. You can get the best burrito you’ve ever tasted at two in the morning. Or walk through Central Park and watch a guy playing Here Comes the Sun by the Beatles on his guitar. You can be surrounded by people or you can be all alone. It’s the best of everything. It’s full of interesting people from everywhere. It’s crazy and yes, overwhelming. But it’s exhilarating too.” He looked back at me. “It’s what living should feel like.”
My chest felt tight. I could picture New York from his description. I could almost taste the food. Hear the noise…
“I need to get back. We both do.” I pushed it all away. Every unwanted feeling. Every invasive thought. It had no place in my heart.
Bastian remained seated for a few more seconds but then stood up. He didn’t talk about New York anymore.
I was grateful for that.
I was horribly disappointed.
I hurried back through the woods. Bastian’s long strides easily kept up with me. He didn’t question why I was all but running. Which was good. I didn’t want to explain the conflicted fear in my belly.
Fear of getting in trouble.
Fear of his stories that I hated myself for wanting to hear.
He followed me to the kitchen hall. Our brothers and sisters were already seated but nothing had been served yet. I rushed to my spot by the kitchen door, ready to serve the dishes of hot food.
Bastian made his way to his brother, who was sitting at the center table with Pastor Carter, my mother, and the other elders. Our eyes met briefly as he sat down and I quickly looked away.
Anne handed me a pair of oven mitts, which I put on before taking a cast iron pot filled with warm oatmeal out of the oven. I opened the top, the steam hitting me in the face.
“Where have you been?” Anne whispered, leaning over me to stir the oatmeal.
I wiped sweat from my face with the back of my hand. It was warm from the open ovens. I tucked my hair behind my ears, wishing—perhaps for the first time in a long time—that I had smoother hair. Prettier hair. I felt a stirring of embarrassment over my appearance.
“There was some trash up on the outcrop. I stayed behind to make sure the area is was clean,” I lied.
Oh, how I lied.
And to my best friend.
I glanced out towards the central table. Everyone bowed their head for Pastor Carter’s prayer. Everyone but Bastian. He felt me staring. He smiled. Then bowed his head too.
My cheeks felt too warm. As if they were on fire.
