Participants:
| Scene Title | Trouble Seems So Far Away |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Abigail's oblivious to the carnage happening at home. |
| Date | July 23, 2009 |
Butte La Rose, Louisiana
Verdant, lush, wet. It's Louisiana.
Abigail's fingers play over the surface of the water, arms akimbo and bobbing along with the current. Not a care for the fish below or the mosquito's that will hover over the banks and wait. There's a lazy smile on her face that even Teo would be proud of. If he could see it from where he was, smothered in his body.
She smiles, an honest and deep smile that is not the byproduct of a pill, or an empath.
She's wearing a blue bikini.
It's like that dream she had so long ago on Staten Island only without the burgeoning dark clouds or the ocean sucking her away. No Brian or hands dragging her under. Victor's somewhere behind her, muttered something about seeing something awesome and he was goen. He'd find her again right quick. Not like he couldn't paddle really fast and catch up with her. She hadn't taken him to the island, the little island in the river with the Kudzu.
So far it seems, all was well. No word from New York at all, and she checked her phone often and in secret. Maybe not so secret. She's sure that Victor knows.
Her feet dangle over the side of the black inner tube, eyes closed so that she can feel the sun on her face. Ariel, she is sure, would approve. She's being selfish, taking the plane ticket and fleeing when told to. She should be facing whatever it is that the others are facing.
But she's not. Somewhere inside her there's fleeting guilt. Very fleeting.
The river burbles and there's the sound of other people enjoying the river and tubing down it as well. Likely involving alcohol and four wheel drive vehicles that do see mud. Unlike most NY vehicles in the city. It's like.. being here 3 years ago. There's some unconscious thought to have roses sent to Richard to thank him for this. To call Ariel and see if she can't keep up appointments over the phone.
To keep her mother from trying to make Baloney Cake for Victor.
almost suntanned lids lift and Abigail's blue eyes look up at the sky, the tree's hanging branches obscuring the view here and there and letting the sun filter down like iridescent fingers. Her freckles have started showing again across the apple of her cheeks and nose from only two days of hanging laundry in the yard, helping chop wood, lazing about in the sun with Victor or Gardening with her mother.
Her reverie is interrupted by her name and a splash of water that prompts a squeal and for her to roll off the inner tube and into the water on purpose. One hand clings to the thick black rubber as the other arm swings around to bring up a spray of water. Later she'll let him run them back up to the rusty old red pickup they're driving while here, and dry off while laying in the sun.
The troubles of New York are miles away. She's here.
At peace.