[First Draft Sneak Peak] Outside: Chapter 8
Chapter 8: Sam's Girlfriend
Sam began this long journey sharing a tent with Stanley. He discovered, much to his chagrin, that Stanley didn’t really sleep. At least, he did not sleep in any way that could be typified as human. This great, big man, with his great, big mind, was never really at rest. As evening descended, the two men broke out their tent gear and raised their shelter against the wind, rain, insects and snakes. This activity was too simple for Stanley, who filled the mundane task with philosophical, historical or scientific observations, musings or interrogations. His curiosity about Sam’s life within walls was boundless. He asked questions that were difficult for Sam to answer. Like so many human beings, Sam never really contemplated the meaning of his life until the underlying assumptions that guided his existence were challenged—in his case, shattered. For Sam, his life was just that, living. Nothing more. His existence was not subject to inspection or introspection. Of course, this was not good enough for Stanley, for whom everything was subject to inspection.
In the evening, as he and Sam ducked under the tarpaulin that was their shelter and curled into the blankets and old sleeping bags against the increasingly cold nights, Stanley filled at least two hours summarizing his experiences for the day, reflecting on his many musings and wondering about the discoveries that awaited them in the next day’s adventure. Stanley almost couldn’t help but muse aloud. He had spent much of his time over the years alone with his thoughts, or partnered with people who were not quite as scientifically interesting as was Sam. It was as if he didn’t want to let a single moment slip by without taking advantage of the tremendous opportunity he had to research the Walldweller.
Eventually, as Sam could no longer avoid falling into sleep though he could still hear Stanley’s musings from far away in an increasingly distant reality, Stanley’s speech slowed and slurred. Stanley would close his big, heavy lids and experience some version of uneasy sleep. Sam could not call what Stanley did sleep. At best, the big man closed his eyes, but those eyes never ceased darting to and fro under his lids. His mind was frenetic. Periodically, Stanley blew a great lungful of air from his mouth as if puffing out a faraway candle. Occasionally he even whistled while he did it. After about three or four puffs he bolted upright, the blankets falling from his barrel chest, his right finger waving in the air. Usually he said nothing. He simply sat there, his eyes looking up to the left or to the right, never straight up. A few seconds later he lay back down, turned the covers over him and returned to sleep. Other times, he uttered something out of the blue. To Sam, remembering his days of vista walls, it was as if the power went on in the middle of a dialogue. Stanley would finish his thought, lower his hands, shrug and return to sleep.
Sam never knew what Stanley was talking about during these events. He wished two things in that regard. First, he wished Stanley would stop doing that. It was disconcerting when his tent mate suddenly sat up in the middle of the night. Regardless, Stanley repeated this behavior at least twice every evening, often three or four times. In the beginning of their cohabitation, Sam found it difficult to get back to sleep after being awakened in such a way. Then he found it difficult to sleep at all in anticipation that at some point his friend would suddenly sit up. Either way, Sam, who until this journey had never shared a bed with anyone, was not getting very much sleep. He wondered how it was that families of the Abode actually chose to sleep together. It was no wonder that everyone was crazy. They must be sleep deprived.
Secondly, Sam wished that his friend would wake with a complete thought. He was sure that whatever Stanley said during his nocturnal meanderings was profound, as Stanley was a profound guy. In the morning, as they took down their tent and prepared for hours-worth of walking, Sam would ask Stanley about the evening’s events. Stanley never remembered a single episode. In fact, he was very intrigued when informed of these events. He ended up asking Sam endless questions about them. At one point he assigned Sam the task of writing down whatever was said during what he was calling “alpha spells.” This, of course, made it impossible for Sam to sleep as he now had a responsibility and he could not accept the possibility of letting his friend down.
Unfortunately, this assignment came to nothing that Stanley could use. The statements were too disconnected from context to either stimulate Stanley’s memories or to re-establish his train of thought as he was speaking them.
One evening Sam recorded Stanley saying, “It’s an intrepid case. Intrepid, indeed.” Stanley could not figure out what case he could possibly mean. Another evening Stanley stated, “I got the stuff. I got it right here.” He could not remember what stuff that was. At one point, Stanley actually called out “Eureka!” which Sam wrote down as “Yureeka!” When Stanley read this he smiled and shook his head. “This one is the most unfortunate of all. Eureka is reserved for only the most profound and history shaping discoveries. Most unfortunate, indeed.” He then shrugged and erased the pencil written word, replacing the valuable paper into his stash of scraps.
The days were an interminable walk. It was Sam and Sydney’s job to maintain the portable garden they had constructed. This was a task that became easier once they found a wheel and axle assembly, rusted and rotted, but adaptable half buried in the mossy ground. Sydney remained up the whole night trying to rig the assembly to the garden in such a way that it became a functional pushcart. By sunup he almost had it. True, the rig required quite a bit of pushing, especially when the ground was wet, muddy, or rocky. uphill was an absolute misery that required both partners to exhaust every bit of reserve energy.
Every night, however, Sidney stayed up making adjustments, tweaking and clinking and twisting. He worked with a set of ancient tools the likes of which Sam had only seen in museum programs. They had strange names, the most fitting of which was the wrench. Sidney wrenched and wrenched until his hands bled. And each day the journey got easier and easier until one night Stanley sat in front of the pushcart garden without opening his satchel of rusty tools.
“I think it’s as good as it is going to get.” He nodded. His voice carried fatigue, but not without a certain amount of satisfaction and pride.
Sam put his hand on Sydney’s broad shoulder--he did such strange things without thinking now. “It’s good. It’s very good.”
Sydney looked up at his friend. “It is, isn’t it?” He sighed. “I’m going to sleep, now.” The big man crawled into the tent and fell asleep without bothering to get under the covers.
The nights were getting colder so Sam took it upon himself to cover his friend--he had such strange thoughts now without even thinking. He had to tug on the blankets to free them from the big man’s weight. He then crawled in and curled up under the big man’s arm. Sydney had collapsed spread eagle, taking up the whole space. But for the first time since Sam was sharing a tent with him, that frenetic mind had stopped and Sydney slept through the night.
Sam finished the journey sharing a tent with Philippa. It wasn’t a planned arrangement. Since sharing a kiss, Sam found himself seeking Philippa’s company whenever he could break away from his gardening tasks, which were becoming ever more challenging the colder it got. whenever he could, he broke away from Sydney, usually waiting for his friend to take a breath between thoughts to say, “I think I should go check on Philippa.”
