It’s my day off. I’m alone in my room, biding my time.
People suspect that Corina and I have something special happening. Paul and Damon both make jokes about it, sometimes when Richard’s barely out of earshot. What sucks the most, though, is that even though we’re together we can’t really be alone. It really can’t be much of a partnership when we can’t even talk, and there are only so many special secret looks we can share across a room without seeming like weirdos.
Since that afternoon when Corina and I kissed, I keep going back to my first time in the Jungle when I nearly fell into Corina’s strand. That time, I freaked out and ran away, but ever since I broke the drain cover I haven’t needed to sneak into the glide rooms to go to the Jungle, so I’ve been exploring. I think it may be a way for me and Corina to get some time together.
I get up and check the door, and then return to the bed. I don’t know what’s going to happen when we connect, so I’m nervous, but whatever happens, it won’t be worse than having no contact at all.
I look at the clock on the wall. It’s time. I dive.
Corina’s taking my scheduled place with Paul. I’ve watched people witness before and I know that even if they don’t hear the Jungle, they come down here when they go under. I can tell from their music.
I watch Paul’s music while he and Corina are in the chamber. Paul is easy for me to identify, because his music sounds so much like him. His rhythm is fast like Maddie’s, but unlike hers, Paul’s is consistent too—he never seems to get agitated or upset.
Paul sounds like the young country guitar players he likes so much.
There’s a flash of color as he crosses down onto his path and travels through the Jungle. When he gets to his target, his music shrinks down until it’s thin like fishing line. I can barely see it. Paul is witnessing.
I wait. Paul’s thread expands again. For a brief moment between the witnessing and when he surfaces, Paul becomes huge and bright to me.
Everybody has their own theme—a recurring refrain that comes from just them. Paul’s is twangy and warm. Someday I want to write down his melody and give him the sheet music to his own song. I think he’d really like that.
When he shrinks back down to normal human music I know he’s woken up.
I prepare myself, wait for Corina.
Her music is the most beautiful I’ve heard in the Jungle. Sometimes she’s like an orchestra, with music that scatters across clefs with shifting time signatures that reminds me of the free jazz stuff our teacher played us in music appreciation. Other times she’s nearly silent, flashes of sound like distant thunder.
But just like everybody, there’s always a part of her personal refrain playing somewhere, too. A single snatch of notes that cycles in every thread, each unique and identifiable.
Another thing I’m going to have to write down someday.
Minutes later, Corina’s thread blows up as she descends into the Jungle on the way to her target. I dive into her.
Her gravity takes me, pulls me in. She grows immense as I close in, but somehow I feel like I’ve grown, too, like we’re going to envelop each other equally.
A part of my presence bridges the gap between us, then more of me follows. Then all of me.
When we meet it’s like I’ve landed on her breath.
I can feel her all around me. It’s not like witnessing—I’m not looking through her eyes and sensing through her. It’s both more than that and less than that—there’s no facts or anything, it’s just like I suddenly have all her possibilities in my heart.
When I witness, I’m still me and I can think about other things when I’m perched. I’ve still got a sense of what I want and who I am, but when I’m wrapped in Corina’s music, it’s like I am her. I understand everything. I feel her fears and I feel her hopes. It’s not like knowledge—it’s bigger than that.
It is deeper than knowledge. It feels like total and complete . . .
Love.
And we are together.
New music. New sounds. A mix of us, a mash-up.
A new song.
I leave myself open and feel her. She is exploring me and I am exploring her. She is knowing me in the same way that I am knowing her.
Harmony.
We disentangle. She has to witness now. I feel her go, but I still feel her with me and I know that I’m still with her, too.
It’s what I hoped. More, even.
I have to float up and be me again. When I surface, I’m ready to feel like I’ve been cut in half, but it doesn’t happen.
I can still feel her. Even out in the real world. We are connected. Partnered.
It’s nearly dinnertime when I see Corina. She lowers herself slowly onto the chair next to mine on the patio. “What the hell?” she whispers. I can feel her fear and excitement. They make it hard for me to breathe.
Suddenly entangling without telling her ahead of time seems like a really stupid idea. “I’m sorry,” I tell her, but she waves me off.
“I don’t want an apology, Plugzer, I want an explanation.”
An explanation is the one thing I don’t have. “I found you in the Jungle.”
She holds her hand up to stop me. “I know you,” she whispers. “I went under and then there you were and I know you.”
Fear slips back. She’s blown away. I know because I can feel it.
I feel relief. She smiles, nods. “Not mad, just a little . . .” She doesn’t finish.
I love you. I don’t say it. I don’t think it. I just feel it because it’s true and it’s more powerful than any other feeling I have.
She feels me feel it and I feel her feel it. I reach for her. She comes to me and we hold each other for only a short moment. Perfection.