“It was to say thank you for the elephant.” I look down at my hand, though this time I’m holding the note and not the elephant.
“You could have written that down instead of coming over in person,” he says.
“I did.” I hold up the paper.
“No, I mean before. You could have just written a note and slid it under the door. Why’d you come in person before?” He leans against the wall and crosses his right foot in front of his left.
“I...” Again, I don’t have much to say, because I did want to come in. I wanted to be here. He raises his eyebrows in question, almost pleadingly. “I wanted to see you,” I say finally.
We don’t break eye contact. It’s this high-octane, pulsing eye contact that makes me want to say fuck it. Fuck this case, fuck Margot, fuck everything. I just want to stare at him awhile longer, let that searing stare of his melt my sharp edges.
A noise in the hallway breaks our stare. We both lean toward the door as we hear George’s billowy laugh and then muffled speech. I glance at the alarm clock beside Damon’s bed. Nine p.m. George’s transition with Raphael, the nine p.m. to six a.m. bailiff.
I swallow, feeling the force of it down my throat. Damon jerks his head toward the room, and I take his cue to move away from the door.I sit on the edge of the bed, and Damon sits in the chair in the corner, though the room is so small our legs are practically intertwined.
While George tends to stay in his seat around the corner at the elevators, Raphael is a walker. He prefers to pace the hallway, highlighted by the clang of his metal key chain against his belt buckle, that noise falling and rising as he paces farther away and back.
And with his shift now on, I’m bound to Damon’s room indefinitely.
36.
Cabin Fever (n., phrase)
a state of mind that can develop when a person is confined and unable to have social interaction
a mounting need
Damon and I stare at each other, the walls of his already compact room seeming to shrink with every moment that passes. We spend so much time together every day, sitting beside each other in court, during meals. But rarely have we had the opportunity to really talk. And rarely have we been completely alone. Each time wehavefound ourselves alone, I’ve thrown myself at him.
Damon reaches over and grabs something off the dresser. “Vending machine mystery pastry?” he offers, the cellophane crackling beneath his grip.
I shake my head as I tuck some loose hair behind my ear. We continue to stare in some sort of weighted standoff. I’m not sure why it’s so muggy in here. “Why do you make me the origami animals?” I ask. It seems a silly question once I’ve asked it.
He leans forward in the chair, rests his forearms on his thighs, and clasps his hands in front of him, his fingers slowly interlacing. I can’t look at those hands without imagining the feel of them on me. “Elephants are symbols of strength, remembrance. Cranes are good fortune. Owls are my favorite. They’re guardians. It’s meant as a protector. To protect.”
“Protect me from what?”
He leans back. “I don’t know, this case? From getting too swept up in it all? From drunk guys at Outback Steakhouse?”
I hate that I think it, but I wonder if my heart also requires protection fromhim. “Thank you,” I say, though it comes out weak.
“You already said thank you.”
I reflect on all I’ve learned about him, mostly through our notes. I know a lot, thanks to those notes. But I want to know so much more. “Tell me more about what you’re like outside of here.”
He leans forward again, takes on his previous position. “What do you mean?”
“What’s your life like? This isn’t normal, living in a hotel room on lockdown, listening to a murder case day in and day out. What’s your normal?”
“I told you, I go to work, ride motocross on the weekends. Meet up with friends. Pretty basic.”
Basicis the last word I would use to describe Damon. He is so much more than basic. “No, I don’t buy it. What’s something most people don’t know about you?” I say “most people,” but I mean me. Because I relish the idea that I already know much more than most.
He smirks.
“There’s totally something! What is it?”
He rubs at his chin with the tips of the fingers of his right hand. “No, I’m reacting to you. Why do you assume everyone except you has these crazy, extravagant lives?”
