Young Writers Society

Elegy of Flight

Chapter Two: Elegie

Anne was poised at the head of the room, standing up proper and staunch. It was logical that she wasn't here for the lesson since the professor had come in and spoken to her briefly before handing her a small black book. As soon as he had left she had addressed the seated spectators.

"The teacher is busy with issues surrounding...the accident" Started her speech. The tone was sorrowful but seemed to contain a trace of sarcasm. "Since I studied this last year he has asked me to read this out to you while he is absent."

She straightened her shoulders and produced the book, breathing deeply out before starting to recite an elegy.

“The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me....”

She read with such a smooth voice, her eyes not even fixated on the page, instead they prowled the room, connecting with the gaze of every class member. After a while her reading of the poem finished and she closed the book with a snap, her face still and watchful, her eyes sad.

Carina saw that her own desk had been lined with a sheet of paper; it must have been handed out while Anne had been reading. She had not noticed; was the voice so captivating? Carina flipped over the paper. The elegy was printed in soft sans lettering, beneath it written several questions on its content and context. Poetry.

Poetry was Carina's worse aspect in her worse subject.It was something that she had always indisputably failed at in both reading and writing. She couldn’t even begin to comprehend it, let alone make the effort to read it all over again, yet when Anne had recited it, it had seemed so easy.

Alistair stood up beside her. He still had not said another word, nor did he now. Instead he walked to the front of the room to where Anne was sitting. She had retreated to a chair on the side, and was idly flicking through the poetry book as she waited for people to ponder the questions. She looked up brightly at Alistair's arrival and they began to speak softly. Carina could not hear the words, but the fact that Alistair’s mouth was moving was a phenomenon in its own right. His lips formed words. Names.

One name. Naomi.

Anne suddenly stood up and spoke loudly to the class.

"I forgot to mention, you may use your textbooks, you may find page 46 useful." She returned to her seated position and Alistair headed back to his table.

"Could I read over your shoulder?" Carina asked as he passed their set of desks. "I took mine home."

He remained wordless but proceeded to the cupboard at the back where most of the student stored their textbooks. At his return a second textbook slapped down in front of her on the surface of the cold top of the desk. She looked to Alistair with a questioning glance, but he was already engorged in the text. Carina opened it book; the issue slip read Naomi Mackintosh.

He had a point... she wouldn't be needing the textbook now. Even so, it felt strange touching it despite the fact she had touched it many times before. When someone was gone forever, it was different.

Carina leafed through the pages, letting the old and delicate paper fan out among themselves. The book fell open on a marked page with a leaf of folded tissue paper wedged between it.

Carina took it out delicately. Was this Naomi's? She unfolded, the paper came easily, leaving four clean creases. It's surface was riddled with birds, soft sketches drawn onto the thin paper with a scratchy pencil. The birds worked their way up from a clustered lower centre as the stretched their wings and spanned across the page. Naomi had always had a hand at drawing, she had always decorated her books with doodles of birds and cages and feathers. It seemed so strange since she always liked to be perfectly neat. With her belongings, with her writing, with everything. Except with her sketches. They flew wild.

"Have you written a poem yet?" Anne stood above Carina, looking curiously at the drawing crumpled in her hands. Her lips turned down at the edges. "I'm disappointed. You should have tried harder."

"What is it to you? Who cares." Carina grumbled, folding the paper back into its square.

"Do you even know what an elegie is?" Anne sounded frustrated and her frown was augmented.

"You have reason to write one." She nodded her head toward the empty triplet of desks where Carina and Naomi had sat. "You have more than enough inspiration."

Carina scowled. She didn't feel like answering. In fact she was angry, and frustrated. Who was Anne to tell her how she should feel, or what she should do. Carina shut the book with a slam and glanced over at Alistair. His poem trailed on for a page and a half. He raised his head and look up at the commotion. His eyes agreed with Anne. We all have something to write about.

~

It was after class that Carina next saw Anne, waiting outside the door like a hunter, ready with her snare.

"The therapist asked to see you." she stated to Carina as she exited the room. Carina just nodded blankly, and with no questions asked they both headed toward the old wooden building on the other side of the grounds. Walking beside a girl who she had only discovered today, yet feeling like she housed a lifetime of tension inside her for, made Carina uncomfortable. A girl whose existence had only appeared into her life after the death of another friend, it felt scary. It wasn't clear if the feeling was driven by the contempt she felt or the surprising fact that she felt it at all. Looking up at Anne felt like watching someone else gorge themselves with chocolate that oneself could not have.

"Do you hate me?" Carina asked bluntly, keeping her gaze firmly on the horizon of bushes rather than Anne’s own jawline.

"That's not a very good question to ask." She didn't sound pleased but her tone was formal and steady. She hates me, echoed through Carina’s head.

Anne reached the door to the old wooden offices first, and naturally held it open. Carina entered cautiously into a shadowy but warm and fire lit building, checking behind her as she watched Anne follow her in.

"Carina?" A woman who looked although she was in her late forties, dressed in a plain long skirt and a brown jacket, called her forth from a doorway. Behind her stood an older man. Anne moved and stood politely to the side by the wall, hands tucked in front of her. Carina nodded and the woman nodded back.

"This is Mr. Mackintosh, Naomi’s father.” She said quickly, her lips patting fast as she spoke. Carina nodded again, confused at the confrontation.

“He wishes to speak with you.” No sooner had she spoken, she slunk away, back into the doorway, and the man moved forward.

“You were the girl... the one who watched birds with Naomi.” He stuttered, his voice quivering. He had a thick greying moustache which almost covered his lips that was styled into slight curls at the end. His build and stance was robust, not that of a nervous man, but his voice was one riddled with loss. He pulled out a dark red folio that had been tucked tightly under his warm.

“I think Naomi would have liked you to have this,” he continued. “She liked to keep it private, didn’t want her family studying it... of course now that she is gone we could not help ourselves.”

Carina nodded, slightly confused about why she was receiving such a folio, although it did seem familiar.

“Don’t worry.” He said in response to her puzzled face. “There is nothing crude within.” The man caught back a gasp, his face tight and unable to hold its composure. He excused himself quickly and with a flick of his hat, left hastily from the building.

“Thanks...” Carina stuttered, even though he was no longer present. She lifted the folio that was present in her hands, its cover was completely plain and undecorated. A very generic colour. It could have been anything, blended into anything, been anyone’s. Carina was about to open its bound cover when a hand came down, preventing hers.

“Not here” Anne said, “It’s personal.”

Carina contemplated barking a reply, but decided against it, instead clinging it to her chest in a comfortable position, giving Anne a stubborn half-smile.

“Oh and if you don’t mind,” Anne continued. “May I view it with you?”