11

Ella squatted down. A perfect squat with flat heels. She ran her hand through the tall grass surrounding the tree. There were all manner of wildflowers. She slowly touched them, felt the texture of each petal and stem with her index finger. Then she stood up slightly, crossed her legs and sat flat. Conor thought how peaceful she looked then. Her calm quiet stirred in him a rage. An anger at how he was longing to forget exactly what had just happened to their father. His father. He forced the image back up in his mind. He had to keep central exactly who he was here with, since it was not his Ella.

"I meant what I said in the river, Con, I am so bloody happy you are here. Go ahead, tell me what it’s like where you go - in your deep - I mean. I've sat and watched you go there so many times. Tell me about it."

"I don't want to, Ella."

He did - desperately. But not under these circumstances. No, that wasn't it exactly; he just wanted to tell her, but he had no idea who it was exactly that he was now speaking with. She certainly looked like Ella; most of the time, she felt like her. Looking at her now, he saw something in her, at once new and very old. New to him, but far older than anything he’d encountered before. He thought of the fossils in the shoebox of rocks he kept above his wardrobe.

"Come on, Con, I’ll explain all this. Come, let me take you somewhere to explain it. I brought you to my deep - don’t you see how amazing that is?”

“Look, I have nothing to say to you. I don’t know who the fuck you are. Either you killed my Dad, and I’m in some psychotic break, or Dad’s fine and the psychotic break just, just happened earlier. Either way, I’m not talking to you.” He didn’t sound convinced by any of this. Ella knew what Conor already did. The deep feels realer than the rest of life. She didn’t care for his attitude.

“Conor, I want this to be a good experience.” She hopped into her squat again, no longer resting, some predator inhabiting once more - “but do not fucking speak to me like that again.”

Looking into her eyes, he recalibrated. Didn’t speak.

“I asked you to tell me what it’s like where you go. So, tell me, now. Do you remember the first time you went?”

He looked closer, looking for his Ella, failing to find her, he gave half-truths.

“I think I must have started going in dreams? I don’t remember much. But then I became able to go in quiet moments in the day. I don’t do much there, honestly. I just catch a bus and sit for a while. Then, when I’m ready to get off, another passenger gets on. He always pays my fare.”

Ella laughed - “He doesn’t always pay, Con.”