The Beginner's Guide to Living by Lia Hills

Author:Lia Hills
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781466872004
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)

[1]

To open your eye is to risk getting something in it.

[2]

A dead leaf is still a leaf.

[3]

A bird cannot fly without ruffling a few feathers.

[4]

You’re unlikely to find a person’s heart between their legs.

[5]

The dead belong to the living.

[6]

Bird shit often contains seeds.

Memory.

I’m sitting on Mom’s knee, her arms around my shoulders, my legs reach only halfway to the ground. She’s telling me a story about an old man sowing seeds in his field and I like the way she’s touching my hair. “It’s a story from the Bible,” she says, “it’s called a parable. It’s meant to explain things.” I touch her face, feel the tiny hairs above her lip, see the light coming out of her eyes. As she continues her story about the old man and the seed, I let my cheek fall against her chest.

* * *

On my way to breakfast the next morning, I see Adam in the living room by the wall unit, staring at a photo of Mom. His body is bowed into it; he doesn’t see me.

* * *

Saturday night, Taryn and I go and see Casablanca—she’s into old films. In the café after the movie, I show her the aphorisms I wrote in my notebook. She likes the one about opening your eyes.

“I might have a go at writing some,” she says.

“There’s something I like about them.”

“Me too, except they’re a bit of a cop-out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s a nice idea that you can explain things in the space of a few words. But you can’t, of course.”

She takes my pen and begins doodling a star on her paper napkin. I look at the posters on the walls, a mix of old and new films. A few of the titles read like aphorisms or quotes, one I recognize from Macbeth: The Sound and the Fury. I skim the foam off my hot chocolate. “It would be nice though if you could find the answer to every question in a single line. One truth that you could cling to. Or a piece of it, at least.”

Taryn holds up the napkin. Next to the star and a chocolate stain, she’s written: Run naked through your fears.

* * *

Seb’s composing his favorite sandwich—it has everything in it that could conceivably be found between two slices of bread. He’s invited me over to listen to the CD of The Anatomy of Melancholy he bought last Monday, the day I confessed.

“So what did you do on the weekend?” he asks, swallowing. “I called but your dad said you were out with Taryn.”

“Yeah, we went to see a movie. And I’m not telling you which one.”

“Fair enough.” He offers me a bite of his sandwich. I decline. “Mom said you did a runner last time you were here.”

“Yeah, well, couldn’t stand the sympathy.”

“She does that sometimes. She’s just worried about you, that’s all. Thinks you should be seeing someone.”

“I am.” I smile. “I’m seeing Taryn.”

“You know what I mean.” He goes to the pantry and gets a handful of Coco Pops and crunches them into his sandwich.

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