The Storyteller

By Laura Schiller

“It was a cold wind that blew from the left hand of the moon. A cold wind that woke the one who slept on the mountain. Ancient eyes looked out at the still slumbering sea. With a slow spread of wings, the great bird rose from his eyrie and flew over the water...”

Astrid shivered delightedly as she read, cuddled up on a couch in the basement of her college café. The book was called The Summer King, written by a lady named O. R. Melling, and every time Astrid opened it, she found something new and beautiful to wonder about. What could be better than this, enjoying a break between classes with a soft couch and a long, peaceful read, utterly lost to the world around her? She smiled.

“Um, hi.”

The voice was almost directly above her head. She jumped, snapped the book shut using her finger as a page-marker, and looked up. There was a boy standing in front of her, smiling in an awkward, friendly way and looking familiar, though she couldn’t place his face exactly.

“Hi,” she said shortly, wondering what he wanted. Hopefully she could deal with it quickly and return to her book.

“You’re in my Art History and Radio classes,” he pointed out, “You’re the girl that doesn’t talk. During these past two weeks, you’ve never said a word during class. That’s really rare.”

She had a sudden mental picture of herself behind bars, with a neat little sign next to her: ‘The Girl That Doesn’t Talk’. It should be ‘who doesn’t talk’ anyway, she thought.

“Well, you don’t need to worry,” she said dryly. “I can talk.”

He shifted his weight and scratched the back of his neck. She kept her eyes fixed on him, having learned that it was polite to keep eye contact during conversation, but her attentive stare seemed to be making him nervous. “Well, I just find it really interesting,” he went on. “It’s nice to meet you. My name’s Leo.”

“I’m Astrid.”

He’s got Bambi eyes, she noted, secretly amused. Big, brown and shiny. He also had curly black hair, a slight five o’clock shadow, and a bright, clear voice.

“Nice to meet you,” he repeated.

“And just to make one thing clear,” she continued, standing up from the couch to look his in the eye. “I – I don’t really like being talked to in that way.”

She found to her surprise that they were the same height – also, that expressing her irritation with his comment about her was harder than she thought it would be. It was hard to remain irritated with those chocolate eyes, especially now they were full of rueful embarrassment.

“I know you don’t mean it in a bad way,” she continued, flushing up to the roots of her hair, “But it makes me uncomfortable – like you’re giving me a label. So the next time you notice someone being weird, try not to go up to them and point it out. They might take it personally, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” he said seriously. “I didn’t mean to offend you in any way. You just looked so...thoughtful...sitting there reading. Like if I talked to you, you’d have some really cool things to say. What’s the book about anyway?”

“It’s a fantasy novel.” She sat back down on the couch; he pulled up a chair and sat on it backwards, leaning over the back. “It’s about a girl named Laurel...who’s trying to get over her twin sister dying, only she finds out that Honor, her sister, was supposed to go on this important mission. For the fairies. She and the High King were in love and...”

To her own surprise, Astrid found herself making a longer speech than she had in weeks, explaining the plot of The Summer King in detail, recounting her favorite scenes with just a touch of drama and suspense. Her eyes sparkled; her hands went up to gesture along with the words; she sat up straight and raised her quiet voice to a clear, confident pitch. Leo watched and listened, nodding every now and then, smiling when she described the grouchy little cluricaun and looking very serious when she named the real murderer of the heroine’s sister. Astrid loved the feeling of telling a story; she felt brilliant, witty, entertaining. When she finished, there was a long silence in which the two students watched each other, unsure of what to say next.

“I’m sorry,” Astrid began. “Was I boring you?”

“Oh, no! No way, you were...it’s a cool story. I’m not usually that into fantasy, but you make it sound pretty interesting.”

“I don’t usually talk so much,” she admitted. “Like you said...but there are some people who just make me feel...sparkly. Happy. Then I chatter their ears off and apologize later.”

They both laughed.

“Will you be hanging out here tomorrow too?” he asked.

“Always.”

“So I guess I’ll see you there.”

She nodded cheerfully; he stood up, hauled a heavy backpack over his shoulder, and gave her such a strong high-five that her hand tingled for several seconds afterwards.

She could have danced around the café, singing at the top of her lungs, she was so happy; instead she continued to read, wearing a huge smile behind her book. Next time, Leo, she thought, I’ll tell you one of the stories I wrote myself.