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Already, I was wondering how I would manage to wait patiently until the appointed time arrived. Anya finished what she had to do and came down after a while. She was now fully dressed and it appeared that the naked part of naked Sunday was now over. She had also reverted to her neutral demeanor once again and it was clear that she was not going to give away any further hints of what was to come until she was ready. Her first task for me was to go to the basement and fetch an appropriate bottle of wine. ‘I’m going to make veal scallops later,’ she announced. “I need some rice, though… can you run out and get me a bag?’ Naturally I had to get dressed again and by the time I returned from the store it was very nearly 5pm. Anya busied herself in the kitchen right away and I poured us each a glass of wine to drink while she cooked. She made a saffron risotto to go along with the veal scallops and we enjoyed a lovely meal at the kitchen table as watched the sun go down. Afterwards, Anya. And up. I’ve become so familiar with the smooth fabric over my head, shielding me from those tears that fall down, full of pity for what I’ve become. The slick, cool feeling as my hand brushes against it…the canvas is turquoise. It loves to look down at me, almost as if asking if I can remember the sky. I often wonder if I do remember the sky. I can’t help but feel like the sky was something that existed before this world. It was something to be enjoyed, like the warm waves of summertime sun, running through the dew-stained grass, laughing to yourself and looking left and right and back and forth. And up. The turquoise canvas is the closest thing I know that looks like blue skies. It’s soft, almost reflexive it its kindness. Blue skies mean no harm, they are protectors. I almost not dare to think reach back into my memories, because with blue skies comes Sawyer, and… Sawyer. I promised myself that Sawyer would stay gone. He’s the reason I’m trapped in this fucking tent, staring up.
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