Elegiac Stanzas (Open)

[Helen Jausse]

At last all of Helen’s unpacking was done. It had taken longer since she had to designate where everything was going without being able to look at it all. It had taken a while, and in light of that she thought the movers had been good sports about her picky behavior. She had tried to repay them with lemonade from a powder mix and store bought cookies a plenty, which only went over so well. She really didn’t mean to be a bother, but she was only going to move in once and she wanted to get it right. She didn’t want to end up trying to move things around by herself later, especially the larger pieces of furniture. That could end badly.

After all was said and done and she had most everything set. Still she was going to need some more shelving. Maybe she should have gotten rid of some of the books. No, she couldn’t, she had already left a good chunk at NYU. She was keeping the rest, whether or not it meant she had to use them as a bed n order to keep them all in the house.

After spending a day or two at home, getting herself used to it Helen decided to venture out into the town. She had loved Pilot Ridge when she had been exploring Vermont, looking for a new place to live. In addition she could really go for a latte.

Helen stopped by the first Café she found downtown. It seemed like there were a good deal of people out and about today. It was a Saturday and it had been uncharacteristically warm out for Vermont this week. Helen took her latte outside and settled herself on a bench. She pulled out a paperback copy of Wordsworth and found her bookmark, alternating between watching those on the main street and reading a few stanzas.

[Stephen Gage]

Stephen loved the solid earth. As a recruiter, the amount of travelling required of him was enormous. Especially these last few months, where there had scarcely been a solid twenty-four hours between one airport and the next. His lungs had been subjected to more sterilized and recycled air than the man would care to admit, and turbulence certainly became old the fourth time he'd seen his life flash before his eyes. Now, not only was he on firm, unmoving earth, but he was home. Pilot Ridge, land of Hammel, of people like him, of Riley. Of course, he'd already been to see his man. Hell, Stephen had cheerfully flipped several speed limit signs the bird as he drove from the airport back to Pilot Ridge. His suitcase hadn't even made it to his own home. He'd driven straight to Riley's, dragged his suitcase out of the back of his car, knocked on Mr. Adams's door and promptly sucked the other man's face off. Such was life.

The clothes that he wore today came from that very same suitcase, saved from hobo-dom by the good graces of Riley and his iron. Since most of his time was spent recruiting, flying, or sleeping, Stephen's choice of wardrobe was limited to business casual or pajamas. The latter being rather improper for his first day back on the town in ages, the recruiter was bedecked in khakis and a light blue collared shirt, as comfortable as he could get without suffering through the odious task of moving his suitcase once more back home. It was a warm day, surprisingly so for Vermont, and that only heightened the man's already wonderful mood. The cold and grey of winter was gone, replaced by the warm colors of spring and Stephen was elated at the opportunity to go outside and not wrap himself up in a coat.

But now that he was back in town, his work temporarily behind him, Stephen found himself faced with a very difficult question: What was he going to actually do with his free time? He'd fully intended in spending the entire day in bed. But Riley had gone to work, and Stephen grew restless not long after. Sure, he could lug his things back home, unpack, and clean. But really, that was such work. He wanted to relax, to tell the world and all its troubles to ever so happily shove it.

And so he did. The day was warm and Stephen walked down one of the streets of Pilot Ridge with his cheerful smile firmly on his face. Sunglasses shaded his eyes from the sun, but that didn't stop him from instinctively attempting to make eye contact and greet nearly everybody he passed. Only when he'd neared a café did the most horrid knowledge seek into the forefront of his mind and send a flickering frown through his grin: he hadn't had his tea yet today.

Well, that certainly wasn't acceptable. Stephen immediately ducked into the little shop, waited somewhat impatiently in the line, and left moments later with his beloved brewed beverage in a nice little big cup. Tempted to drink yet far more keen on avoiding burning off his lips, Stephen scanned the area for a place to simply sit and wait. And hopefully not do so alone. Travel was a curiously lonely endeavour, even when one is literally surrounded by others. Silence had never been one of Stephen's favorites, and the awkward quiet of airplanes had turned him off the stuff even more.

A bench, just there. A woman was sitting at one end, looking down at her book and up again in what the recruiter could only imagine was a polite curiosity in other people. The best sort, really. The natural smile still on, Stephen approached the bench, gesturing to the open spot out of politeness. "Sorry to disturb you. Might I sit there? Tea's still a bit hot; got a little to go before it's drinkable."

[Helen Jausse]

Within a few minutes Helen was thoroughly convinced that she had selected the right book for her day. Wordsworth’s work was varied, to say the least and she could find just what she needed in there. She was now in the novel situation of having moved to a new place where she honestly and truly knew no one. She would have to introduce herself to someone at some point, and that was hovering over her head. Helen was not a shy or a timid person, that was not the problem. The problem lay in the fact that she was over thinking it all. The more she dwelled on it the more intimidating the concept became. It was simply one of those moments where she wondered if she had made far too dramatic a leap from New York City to Vermont.

It seemed absurdly simply and terribly difficult at the same time. Maybe she should take up teaching that course at UVM sooner than she had intended to. At least then she was guarantees some effortless connections. Then again it could be worse, it wasn’t like she was Wordsworth in the French Revolution. Nothing had served to disillusion her that much. After all, how hard could it be to get acquainted?

Helen took a sip from her latte. At least she was somewhat under the radar. She was a woman of a certain age after all, she couldn’t be the only one. Ok, that’s it, she was thinking about this way too much. She had just moved there, but the thing was she had become acutely aware of just how isolated Vermont was. It was so quiet here, too quiet in a sense. She had laid awake the night before for at least an hour, waiting for the sound of cars, city sounds. None came, that was a bit of a shock to her system, total and utter quiet.

Helen adjusted her scarf, trying to keep her latte in hand and balance her book on her knee. Then someone spoke to her. Helen looked up at the man. ”By all means, please sit down.” Her eyes scanned back to her book but then it hit her, this was a perfect opportunity. She looked back to him, turning a little bit. Helen offered a hand. ”I’m Helen Jausse. I just moved here from New York.”

[Stephen Gage]

Spring brought out the most wonderful sights in the world. The wintry months meant empty streets and the entirety of outdoors rendered desolate. There were simply no people to talk to in the cold, and admittedly little desire within Stephen to brave any chill in search of some. Spring brought hope, chances for new encounters that seemed to multiply with the same rapidity of the buds on the trees. Of course, he'd spent the last few weeks meeting new people almost every time he took a breath. But doing so in Pilot Ridge was a different matter. This was his home, a place where he was comfortable. And, frankly, new faces were rare. Students came and went, of course, but Stephen rarely interacted with them outside of keeping tabs on his own personal recruits. New adults, however, were somewhat rarer.

And yet, he seemed to have found one. Whoever the woman was, her face was unfamiliar. There was always the possibility that she was a shapeshifter, and thus quite potentially not actually a "she" at all. But to go through life with such suspicions was a terribly exhausting endeavour. And it wasn't very likely, anyway. He accepted her kindness with a smile, nodding his thanks as he turned and sat. His right ankle rested atop his left knee, and Stephen placed his cup of tea gingerly on the bench beside him. The woman's eyes went back to the book, and Stephen chided himself for not availing of the opportunity to speak with her. She probably didn't want to be bothered. Shite.

He turned his eyes to the street, rather uncertain of what to say without seeming intrusive. Then, in the corner of his eye, the woman moved, and Stephen's lips turned upwards in a smile out of hope. Justified hope! He turned his head to meet her gaze, a pleasant grin on his face. "Well, Helen Jausse, pleased to meet you. I'm Stephen. Stephen Gage. The recruiter took her hand in his, giving it a friendly shake before releasing. His eyebrows arched slightly as she mentioned New York. "Oh did you? I just flew in to, and out of, JFK the other day. What brings you to Pilot Ridge?"