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Sometimes, Julia can't help but wonder what would have happened if they'd stayed at home. It would be pretty impossible not to, or so she believes. The moment she and Donny both came from would have prevented that. She tries not to think about that too much, knowing that nothing good will come of it, but it's there in the back of her head even so. No matter how steady things may be here, how much better than she would have expected them to be when she first arrived, alone and adrift, she's tired of always having unanswered questions to grapple with, of losing things all at once with no warning. She has Donny, and she's even more grateful for that than she would know how to say, but she still misses her home, her mother, her friends, the trappings of a life she understood better than she does this one. Living in the future may have its perks, but she's not sure she'll ever entirely get used to it.
She can try, though, as she's been doing for months now, and at least not everything feels like a totally different world. A movie is a movie, for example, even though ticket prices still seem completely absurd to her. Some of them are even half-decent, such as the one they've just walked out of, her arm in Donny's as they step out to the sidewalk and a smile on her face. This, too, feels normal and right, despite being something they've only had in this place. "That wasn't bad," she assesses cheerfully. "Better than a lot of what seems to get popular around here."
She can try, though, as she's been doing for months now, and at least not everything feels like a totally different world. A movie is a movie, for example, even though ticket prices still seem completely absurd to her. Some of them are even half-decent, such as the one they've just walked out of, her arm in Donny's as they step out to the sidewalk and a smile on her face. This, too, feels normal and right, despite being something they've only had in this place. "That wasn't bad," she assesses cheerfully. "Better than a lot of what seems to get popular around here."
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The weather changes so quickly that it's almost as if the past two weeks haven't happened at all, as bizarrely disconcerting as the snow was in the first place. Julia has spent most of that time shut away inside, going out only when absolutely necessary during the brief windows of daylight they've had. Work has been canceled since the snow started, the store closed, and she hasn't had a chance to wonder what that's going to mean for her paycheck. There have been bigger concerns. Now that those have suddenly evaporated, apparently, it's hard to know what to do or where to start. At first, foolish though she would feel admitting it, she just sits by her window, opening a crack, unsure if she should trust this abrupt return to actual, seasonal weather.
Gradually, though, she sees and hears people start heading outside, and eventually, it starts to seem a little silly, staying cooped up indoors. She's long since gotten tired of staring at the walls of her apartment, and a little fresh air without freezing cold temperatures frankly sounds amazing, even if she doesn't entirely trust it yet. After two weeks of both the harshest and most unseasonable winter she's ever experienced, that much seems pretty well called for.
Without really thinking about it, she winds up heading towards the park. It's as good a destination as any, especially when she doesn't really feel ready to start doing anything yet. There are too many pieces to pick back up and it's too hard to know where to start. Here, too, it seems like everyone's had the same idea, and Julia is doing nothing but minding her own business (and contemplating if she should call her boyfriend) when a kid on a bike goes speeding down the path, nearly knocking her over. She steps — stumbles — back just in time, but winds up running into someone else in the process.
"Sorry," she says, wincing through a smile. "I guess some people are... very enthusiastic about getting outside."
Gradually, though, she sees and hears people start heading outside, and eventually, it starts to seem a little silly, staying cooped up indoors. She's long since gotten tired of staring at the walls of her apartment, and a little fresh air without freezing cold temperatures frankly sounds amazing, even if she doesn't entirely trust it yet. After two weeks of both the harshest and most unseasonable winter she's ever experienced, that much seems pretty well called for.
Without really thinking about it, she winds up heading towards the park. It's as good a destination as any, especially when she doesn't really feel ready to start doing anything yet. There are too many pieces to pick back up and it's too hard to know where to start. Here, too, it seems like everyone's had the same idea, and Julia is doing nothing but minding her own business (and contemplating if she should call her boyfriend) when a kid on a bike goes speeding down the path, nearly knocking her over. She steps — stumbles — back just in time, but winds up running into someone else in the process.
"Sorry," she says, wincing through a smile. "I guess some people are... very enthusiastic about getting outside."
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It's finally started to feel a bit like spring, and Julia appreciates it more than she expected to. She's accustomed enough to cold winters that she doesn't mind them much, and Darrow's was fairly mild this year, for the most part, but there's still something nice about the air starting to warm and trees sprouting green. If there's one downside, though, it's the clothes. It was easier to adjust, or tell herself that she was adjusting, when the weather was cold and layers could disguise the fact that she's missed out on more than seventy years' worth of changes in fashion. Even in an upscale store like Bardolf's, she doesn't understand half of what she sees on the display mannequins, and other places seem even stranger.
There just isn't much to do but go along with it. She may not love what she does for a living, but having an employee discount helps her deal with such things, and a couple of the salesgirls in the clothes department have offered some good advice. Today, though the morning's rain has passed and the afternoon has become a pleasant one, she still has her raincoat over her dress as she heads through the park, where people are busy setting up for tomorrow's big Founder's Day celebration. Like so much else in Darrow, that's still something she doesn't quite understand, any attempted explanations only making it seem more confusing.
Separate from all of that, though, is someone busking on a bench, a few other people having stopped to watch the guitar player, whose case is open for onlookers to leave money if they wish. Julia doesn't have to stop to consider it for very long before taking a five dollar bill from her wallet and leaning over to drop it into the guitar case. The player is quite good, and she knows how much it can mean to be able to do something with a skill like that, even if she was singing in clubs rather than in a park. Sometimes she still catches herself wishing she could do so again, but it feels more sensible, if less fulfilling, to stick with her job in the department store.
Stepping back again and towards the path, she nearly cuts right in front of someone else passing by, and winces a little. "Sorry," she says. "I didn't see you there."
There just isn't much to do but go along with it. She may not love what she does for a living, but having an employee discount helps her deal with such things, and a couple of the salesgirls in the clothes department have offered some good advice. Today, though the morning's rain has passed and the afternoon has become a pleasant one, she still has her raincoat over her dress as she heads through the park, where people are busy setting up for tomorrow's big Founder's Day celebration. Like so much else in Darrow, that's still something she doesn't quite understand, any attempted explanations only making it seem more confusing.
Separate from all of that, though, is someone busking on a bench, a few other people having stopped to watch the guitar player, whose case is open for onlookers to leave money if they wish. Julia doesn't have to stop to consider it for very long before taking a five dollar bill from her wallet and leaning over to drop it into the guitar case. The player is quite good, and she knows how much it can mean to be able to do something with a skill like that, even if she was singing in clubs rather than in a park. Sometimes she still catches herself wishing she could do so again, but it feels more sensible, if less fulfilling, to stick with her job in the department store.
Stepping back again and towards the path, she nearly cuts right in front of someone else passing by, and winces a little. "Sorry," she says. "I didn't see you there."
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One of the first things Julia did upon arriving in Darrow was settle into a routine. At the time, it seemed like the only way she could possibly keep going in the face of so much loss. That grief doesn't feel quite so overwhelming anymore, which she's sure is due in no small part to Donny's presence, no matter how many people they're still without, but she's stuck by that all the same. What she's noticed, though, is that there's a sort of pattern within that, a going back and forth where music is concerned. She bought herself that ukulele in her first few days here, then didn't touch it for weeks. Since then, she's steadily fluctuated between knowing that music is what she loves, the thing that makes her happiest, and a belief that it's better not to let herself go there. For a little while, back home, she lived in a fairy tale, but that glimmer of a career is gone now, and she ought to be sensible and keep her head on straight.
So she plays for a while, if only in the privacy of her own apartment, and then stops for a while, unable to decide on a happy medium. On Valentine's Day, she promised Donny one gig, even suggested it herself; now, that seems practically unfathomable, something she can't begin to justify. And if her feelings about him tend to be similar — oscillating between thinking she ought to just say something and being certain that it's safer not to — it doesn't seem worth leaning too hard on that comparison.
All the while, though, she writes. The lyrics or poems or whatever they are wind up being about him, mostly, which means she can never show them to him, but at least she has an outlet for the mess of feelings in her head. It isn't like she ever started doing that with the intention of turning them into songs, after all, and Donny is the one of them who's a composer.
She can't really explain why, then, she takes out her ukulele for the first time in weeks and sits on the couch with her notebook, strumming a few chords as she looks at her own words. There isn't much of a melody there and she doesn't really intend for there to be, but it's the closest she can get to imagining what it would sound like if she did let these poems become songs, which seems in turn like the likeliest way she could ever admit to her feelings. It's nice to try to envision, even if she knows it's a fantasy. Maybe this is just the best middle ground she can get — something she can acknowledge on her own, something she doesn't just put away and ignore, but nothing for which she would shatter the safety she has.
So she plays for a while, if only in the privacy of her own apartment, and then stops for a while, unable to decide on a happy medium. On Valentine's Day, she promised Donny one gig, even suggested it herself; now, that seems practically unfathomable, something she can't begin to justify. And if her feelings about him tend to be similar — oscillating between thinking she ought to just say something and being certain that it's safer not to — it doesn't seem worth leaning too hard on that comparison.
All the while, though, she writes. The lyrics or poems or whatever they are wind up being about him, mostly, which means she can never show them to him, but at least she has an outlet for the mess of feelings in her head. It isn't like she ever started doing that with the intention of turning them into songs, after all, and Donny is the one of them who's a composer.
She can't really explain why, then, she takes out her ukulele for the first time in weeks and sits on the couch with her notebook, strumming a few chords as she looks at her own words. There isn't much of a melody there and she doesn't really intend for there to be, but it's the closest she can get to imagining what it would sound like if she did let these poems become songs, which seems in turn like the likeliest way she could ever admit to her feelings. It's nice to try to envision, even if she knows it's a fantasy. Maybe this is just the best middle ground she can get — something she can acknowledge on her own, something she doesn't just put away and ignore, but nothing for which she would shatter the safety she has.
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She's walked by it more than a dozen times now. The figure seems odd to consider when she's been in Darrow such a short time, but Julia didn't hesitate to go out looking for work, which came about rather easily. With the holidays approaching, every store possible seems to be hiring seasonal workers, and it seems like as good a place to start as any. She has plenty of experience as a shopgirl, and though that may have been some seventy years ago, she doesn't think things could have changed so much as all that. The registers are different, the computers that operate them even more so and entirely baffling, but most of what she finds herself doing is the same as it ever was. The routine of it holds no inconsiderable amount of comfort. It's hardly fulfilling, but neither was it before. She doesn't need fulfilling; she just needs to be doing something, even if that's only just going through the motions of a life like she did after Michael died.
There could be more for her, if she wanted that. Something in her woke up when Donny first dragged her up to sing with him, and the past few weeks, before this place, she felt more alive than she had in well over a year, or maybe more than that. Despite knowing that she couldn't have had any say in showing up here, though, it feels a little like maybe it's time to give up on that dream. She can still scribble her poems in a notebook, still consider that they might make good lyrics. She can go back to singing in a church choir. But losing the band and the chance to compete has been a considerable blow, and in the absence of that, it's easy to chide herself and call it foolish, say that she ought to put the whole thing to bed.
It would be easier if she didn't pass by the music store on her way to and from work each day. Every time, she's tempted to go in and look at the instruments, and every time, it hurts a little to make herself keep walking instead. In the end, she wears down easily. It can't hurt to look, to have something to occupy herself with. Growing up, they always had at least a piano in the house. Her apartment now is empty and inhabited only by her. A hobby wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
When she finally does walk in one afternoon, it's almost surprising how much there seems to be. At least her own choices of instruments are few. She doesn't know where in here or even if she might be able to find a ukulele, but she's in no hurry, instead wandering around slowly, the sight of everything bittersweet as she takes it all in.
There could be more for her, if she wanted that. Something in her woke up when Donny first dragged her up to sing with him, and the past few weeks, before this place, she felt more alive than she had in well over a year, or maybe more than that. Despite knowing that she couldn't have had any say in showing up here, though, it feels a little like maybe it's time to give up on that dream. She can still scribble her poems in a notebook, still consider that they might make good lyrics. She can go back to singing in a church choir. But losing the band and the chance to compete has been a considerable blow, and in the absence of that, it's easy to chide herself and call it foolish, say that she ought to put the whole thing to bed.
It would be easier if she didn't pass by the music store on her way to and from work each day. Every time, she's tempted to go in and look at the instruments, and every time, it hurts a little to make herself keep walking instead. In the end, she wears down easily. It can't hurt to look, to have something to occupy herself with. Growing up, they always had at least a piano in the house. Her apartment now is empty and inhabited only by her. A hobby wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.
When she finally does walk in one afternoon, it's almost surprising how much there seems to be. At least her own choices of instruments are few. She doesn't know where in here or even if she might be able to find a ukulele, but she's in no hurry, instead wandering around slowly, the sight of everything bittersweet as she takes it all in.
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It feels a little like someone's died. No, more specifically, she feels like someone's died, a thought that Julia can't quite manage to shake, no matter how awful she feels for it. After she lost Michael, her whole world changed, her center of gravity shifted. She only just managed to find her footing again before she found herself here. Now, once again, the world has changed, and once again, she's the one lagging behind, unable to bounce back to the way things used to be. Regardless of how resilient she may be — which she thinks must be both out of necessity and just her mother's influence — it's not the sort of thing that can just be shrugged off or put aside. She doesn't know that she would want that, anyway. As much as she once might have longed to go back to the person she was, she's not sure anymore that that's the right idea. That person never would have had the life she got for a few too-brief weeks before she showed up here. Owning it made all the difference.
It's just that, here, she's all the more untethered, lacking in all the trappings of her old life and any sort of familiarity. If a part of her, too, is grieving a different sort of loss, she tells herself it doesn't matter. She misses all the guys, and the chance that that contest represented, and that all makes sense. There isn't any sense in mourning what amounted only to potential. Sometimes, though, she thoughtlessly finds herself wishing that Donny were here with her, and that isn't something with which she has the first idea what to do.
At least there's enough in this strange place to keep her busy and her mind occupied. She's a shopgirl again, simply because it makes sense and it's easy. Although she keeps remembering what Michael told her when they were kids who'd just met about singing because she needs to, fairly certain now that that's the case, it's strange and complicated just to start over. Stranger still is the sort of music that's so popular here, nothing she thinks she could sing even if she wanted to. The city itself is busy enough to keep a girl focused on other things, anyway. Maybe it's no New York, which she's still sorry she never quite got to see, but it's fast-paced and crowded, the sidewalks packed with people as she walks back to her apartment building after work, falling into step with those around her and feeling a million miles away from them at the same time.
She's jolted somewhat into the present by a loud sound like a firework or a gunshot, her head snapping up instinctively, a few others' as well. Across the street, a car parked against the curb has smoke emanating up from its hood, which Julia supposes is the culprit. Most everyone carries on, then. She nearly does, too, until she sees a woman nearby who looks nothing short of panicked. She knows that expression. Donny and the other guys used to wear ones just like it sometimes.
Carefully weaving her way around the other passersby, she stops at the woman's side, reaching out but not quite touching her shoulder, not wanting to startle her any more than she must have been already. "Hey," she says, gentle but not so soft that she'll get drowned out by chatter and traffic. "Hey, it's alright."
It's just that, here, she's all the more untethered, lacking in all the trappings of her old life and any sort of familiarity. If a part of her, too, is grieving a different sort of loss, she tells herself it doesn't matter. She misses all the guys, and the chance that that contest represented, and that all makes sense. There isn't any sense in mourning what amounted only to potential. Sometimes, though, she thoughtlessly finds herself wishing that Donny were here with her, and that isn't something with which she has the first idea what to do.
At least there's enough in this strange place to keep her busy and her mind occupied. She's a shopgirl again, simply because it makes sense and it's easy. Although she keeps remembering what Michael told her when they were kids who'd just met about singing because she needs to, fairly certain now that that's the case, it's strange and complicated just to start over. Stranger still is the sort of music that's so popular here, nothing she thinks she could sing even if she wanted to. The city itself is busy enough to keep a girl focused on other things, anyway. Maybe it's no New York, which she's still sorry she never quite got to see, but it's fast-paced and crowded, the sidewalks packed with people as she walks back to her apartment building after work, falling into step with those around her and feeling a million miles away from them at the same time.
She's jolted somewhat into the present by a loud sound like a firework or a gunshot, her head snapping up instinctively, a few others' as well. Across the street, a car parked against the curb has smoke emanating up from its hood, which Julia supposes is the culprit. Most everyone carries on, then. She nearly does, too, until she sees a woman nearby who looks nothing short of panicked. She knows that expression. Donny and the other guys used to wear ones just like it sometimes.
Carefully weaving her way around the other passersby, she stops at the woman's side, reaching out but not quite touching her shoulder, not wanting to startle her any more than she must have been already. "Hey," she says, gentle but not so soft that she'll get drowned out by chatter and traffic. "Hey, it's alright."