Chatterbox: Inkwell

Story/Part of story

This is part of my novel for NaNo. I wanted to post it on here, because I think it is my favorite chapter so far!

That next morning, Concetta woke up with the sun. Or rather, she got out of bed when the sun came up. She was wide awake all night, for one reason or another. She made her way to the kitchen to see what she could do to help her mother. She tried to remember what her mother had told her they were making today, but she didn't need to, because when she got to the kitchen her mother was there. Edna didn't even seem surprised when she saw her daughter. She simply admitted, "I was up all night too. Worrying. About you." "Thank you, but please don't worry, Mother." Concetta said as she pulled on an apron and started toward the flour bag in the corner. "Connie." Her mother turned to face her, her face serious. But not sharp, as it usually was. Concetta could see the lines of worry, mixed with love, and something else she couldn't quite translate, and she turned around to give her mother her full attention. "No one can do this on their own." Concetta would have shot right back with some reason, some, some excuse, but something about the way her mother said that told her she should listen. "You can't pretend like nothing is happening. You can't pretend like nothing's wrong. I know that you will have trouble following this advice, but sometimes you need to follow your instincts, follow your heart. I know that this is very deep and very sudden, but you've just seemed... distant, since Grandma died. Lately, especially. But you need to remember not to dwell in the past, and not to dwell in.. logic. Yes, logic. It can't always be trusted. Sometimes you just need to live life. Sometimes you just need to let go of everything except the present." The words shot an arrow into Concetta's heart, and she realized the shell she'd built around it. The way her mother had told her all of that, like she had kept it bottled up for a very long time. Fast. All in a rush. All of the sudden. Concetta could tell something like that would rarely happen again. "Go." Her mother ordered. "Go, go to the river. Go to a place you've never seen before. Run your fingers through the sand. Climb a tree. Run, run anywhere, run until your legs ache. Don't come home until the sun is back where it is now." They both looked out the window, where the  final rays of sun were coming up behind the hills. It wasn't even foggy. It wasn't even cloudy. Concetta looked, one more time at her mother, and she could tell how similar they both were. Two people trying to make their way through life without love, without curiosity, without kindness, without joy. Without any true emotion. And she knew, right then, the enormity of her mother's advice. She could tell how much more she was going to have to go through before she, too, was old and wise. And she could tell how much her mother wished that someone, anyone, had told her this when she was young. So Concetta ripped off her apron, and ran. 

She knew, without looking back, what her mother's face looked like. She knew, without coming back, how that day in her house would untwine. But she didn't look back at all. And she didn't dwell on the past, either. She thought of the regret on her mother's face, and she forgave her. Concetta thought of the great, big, bubbling joy, and the great, big, bubbling pride on her fathers face, and she forgave him. As for the rest, as for Prince Harry, she let if blow off her with the wind, at least for the day. She ran, as her mother suggested, ran until she could no longer, and found herself panting next to a great big tree. She took off her shoes and dug her feet into the sand, she looked around to make sure no one was watching before climbing up to the highest branch and swaying with the wind. And oddly enough, she found herself thinking about flying. But she didn't silence it, as she did before. She jumped off the tree and into the river, and in those few seconds of flight before she hit the water, she decided that she was, indeed, going to help Rudyard. And in the few more seconds in the water, with that horrible yet wonderful feeling of the cold biting into her and her lungs seeming to expand without the air, she felt truly grateful to be alive, and she decided that she wasn't going to overthink her decision for days on end. And lying on the bank, shivering yet joyous, she decided that she could care less if someone saw her in a wet dress. At least she hadn't jumped right next to the docks or something. And when her dress had sufficiently dried, she skipped through the village, yes, skipped, skipped like a 5 year old on Christmas. She skipped all the way to the Watts and knocked on the door. She said all the formalities to Mr. Watts with a  smile on her face. And when she was told to go to the back shed to find Rudyard, she knew she might never be forgiven, might never be accepted by him. But she had a chance to fly, and she might as well use it. So she opened the door and announced, "I'm sorry, I'm truly sorry, about all the things I said to you. I hope you'll understand one day. Can I help you with your machine?"