“Must I really wear such attire?”
Reed nodded, though Avalon could not see it from inside the cabin. He’d instructed her to wear what was neatly folded on his sofa. Despite her questions, she did as told because it was Reed. He wouldn’t bring her harm or put her at risk.
“The cape won’t cut it for where we’re heading,” he said, wanting to keep the mystery alive.
“They fit surprisingly well. We must have a similar stature, save for the curves,” she said, spreading the door open.
Avalon was, in theory, unrecognizable in Reed’s garments. Close fitting trousers, dark taupe in colour, firm cotton duck in fabric. A sky blue blouse, which was mostly covered by a deep brown jacket—he chose his largest, for it to be comfortable and forgiving. And her hair was tucked under a newsboy cap, not a stray strand sticking out. She quickly grasped that Reed wanted her to appear as a man. And she did, if you didn’t stare too meticulously.
“About the shoes you lent me,” she pointed at the only part that remained hers: low-heeled black flats. “They slipped off my feet from the very first step I took. Wouldn’t it be passable to wear my own? I reckon these pants are lengthy enough. Don’t you think?”
“I suppose so,” he replied, satisfied with the disguise. He didn’t think people would indeed notice she wore flats. “It’s fortunate you wore sunglasses; no man in town has eyes quite like yours.”
He’d wanted to ask her about the sunglasses, but he refrained. She’d mentioned once before her disdain for the thing; saying the frame would press too tight on her face. Whilst he assumed she was hiding something, he didn’t go as far as filling the blanks of his assumption.
“Can I take it as a compliment?” she mused, mischievous in the lips.
“It was not a compliment. It was stating the obvious.”
Reed left her muddled. She wasn’t sure if stating the obvious meant her eyes were pleasing to look at, or if he meant her feminine eyes would stand out in a sea of masculine eyes.
“Never mind that. Could you tell me where we are going? Are you taking me to a cigar club? That is certainly not a place I’ll be compelled to frequent overseas.” She swept a hand over the rough fabric of her pants, recoiling.
Though she could move better in these clothes, they were a far cry from her usual comfort. She found herself longing for the lightness and softness of her dress. Her dress, which stayed in the cabin, sprawled on the sofa.
“Close,” he said. “We’ll talk on the way.”
“I trust it won’t take long, whatever it is. Though I’d really like to know now.”
“There’s no point in surprising you now, is there? It’s a tavern. I’m taking you out to have your first drink. I wish it could be your last too, but that’s wishful thinking.” He laughed at the thought.
Avalon’s eyes lit up. This was neither her first nor last guess.
“A drink?”
It was then that she understood why Reed had her dress as a man. It wasn’t illegal for a woman to drink, but in Efil Wol, it was disapproved of. And even if she’d received that drink, not a soul would keep quiet about it. The occurrence would reach her parents in record time, too. Avalon was never meant to have a drop of alcohol. She was meant for tea.
---
Avalon felt as though she stepped into the night. The place was dark despite the hour and the sun. It was rowdy, unlike the night she knew. And though there was no music, silence could be looking for a seat all night and never find one. People were jubilant; all under an influence. She’d never seen anything much like it and seemed more perplexed than horrified. The men had identical flushes, starting below their under eyes, crossing the bridge of their noses, to end below the opposite under eye.
“I’ve only read about taverns in novels.” She followed Reed to his preferred seat. “The descriptions are quite accurate. Even the foul smell of sweat mingling with that of potent alcohol. I believed that alcohol would overpower any scent, and that novelists were wrong about this one. Well, consider them vindicated.”
Reed took advantage of the dark to grin. He settled on a bar stool, the mirth still plastered on.
“Isn’t it too conspicuous to sit at the bar?” she asked, her hand on the stool.
“Trust me on this one. You’re in the farthest corner with only the wall and I on either side. The barkeeper is well acquainted with my quietness and won’t bother us.”
Avalon surrendered anew and sat on the stool. There, she faced shelves of liquor bottles. She could not see them well—or Reed, or her hands. Their corner had also lacked a light, which worked out well for their mission.
She chose to forgo her sunglasses, for she thought the obscurity of the tavern would act as a veil; a shadow whose weight she wouldn’t have to bear upon the bridge of her nose and atop her ears.
“Anything you fancy there?” Reed said, amused she was peering at the bottles.
A little red in the cheeks, she pulled her gaze away. “Please, I’ve never had a drink in my life. I can only recognize the names from my novels. I’ve vicariously lived through them after all.”
“Well, in your books, was there anything that sounded appealing?” he nudged.
“No, not at all. I didn’t think I’d ever get to taste alcohol.” She turned to face him. “Is it strange I don’t feel we’re taking a great risk?”
Despite the emotionally charged day, the weight of this town and its standards had already lightened on her shoulders. She was leaving tonight, and whatever consequences she’d sow today, she wouldn’t reap tomorrow.
“We are,” he said, motioning offhandedly to the barkeeper. “But again, I’d rather you have your first drink with me. See how you handle alcohol and be careful with it elsewhere. Some towns and countries are far more liberated. You might find yourself in taverns and not be scorned at.”
The barkeeper, brought by Reed’s motioning, stopped in front of them. He nodded at both Reed and Avalon, unsuspecting.
“Two beers,” Reed muttered. “Then, I’d like you to be cautious,” he continued after the man dashed away. “Cautious of what people serve you. Decline if you’d like. Don’t pour a drink to a man who asks you to pour him one. And don’t go over your limit. In fact, don’t go near it. Don’t let yourself go. You’ll be alone out there. Don’t place much trust in people.”
She’d never heard him talk as much and stared with awe. He’d always refrained from giving her advice, for fear it’d be unsolicited. Today, the fear she’d be harmed was greater.
“You know I don’t trust people,” she said sheepishly.
He frowned, not because he was upset with her, but because he was upset at this reality. Hers and the world’s.
“It’s not horrible to trust,” he admitted. “The more doubtful you are, the better, but even in a rotten world, there are people who’ve not let the disease get to them. You’ll find people who’ll never harm you or wish you any harm,” he sighed. “I’m sure you will.”
“This isn’t like you, Reed. You are making sense. But it’s chine spilling to hear you being so…” She couldn’t bear to complete her thought.
“I know,” he let out a sigh. “When are the beers getting here? Did he fly to Germany for these beers?” Reed searched for the keeper, eager to divert the topic.
“Speaking of the wolf."
The barkeeper dropped off the pints and left in a hurry, looking winded. Patrons across the bar were knocking on the counter with their empty glasses.
“See, Avalon, this is a beer,” Reed said, holding up the pint.
Avalon had noticed the slight mockery in his tone, but she’d overlook it. She had never seen a beer after all. But that, too, was as described. Amber, bubbly, with a slight layer of foam on top.
“So I’ve been told.”
“It’s bitter. I suggest you try a little first.”
Avalon slipped a hand into the handle and gripped the glass. The glass was cold against her hand, and slippery from condensation. She smiled at the sensation. Reed was afraid of that smile. He was right to be afraid, for she brought the glass to her lips and gulped a quarter of it away. She then clanked the glass down and released a harsh exhale.
“That…was phenomenal,” she exclaimed, a look of relief settling on her face.
“Really?” Reed asked, his brows scrunching. “When I had my first beer, I spat it out.” He then grabbed his pint and drank as well. “It took me a while to find it refreshing.”
“It’s bitter,” she said.
“That’s why I spat it out.”
“And that’s why I like it.”
“You did drink a lot of coffee in the cabin.”
She grinned.
At home, Avalon was told to drink tea, tea which she despised. It was by pure chance that she tasted coffee when it was offered to her by the bookshop keeper. She’d run out of tea and had only coffee in the back. She handed her the cup, apologetic. Avalon rejected her apologies, saying she’d been meaning to try the beverage.
She’d grimaced at the first taste, but continued slowly. The bookshop keeper, Ms. Steele, offered to add milk to it. Then, Avalon was able to drink it without grimacing. Soon, she’d learned to appreciate the depth of coffee and sought its bitterness too.
She’d observe how her mother made coffee for her father and replicate it when both weren’t home. When her cravings for coffee proliferated more than she could get away with, she started pitching into Reed’s coffee fund instead. He’d given her a double of the key, and she dropped by whenever the craving rang. The craving chimed like a crow in distress.
“I think I’ll do just fine out there,” she said smugly.
“Liking the taste of beer and being tolerant to its effects are different beasts. I’d say the latter is most important. For that, I’d rather you drink slowly. I say that for your own sake.”
Reed did not need to elaborate. Among the risks she took today, returning home red in the face and dazed in mind would be the greatest. Her plan would dive off board and life would resume as written by her ancestors.
The condensation on the glass left her hands moist as she brushed her palms against it.
“I suppose I’ll sip it like coffee. Hot coffee,” she replied, feeling bittersweet.
She could not enjoy the beer as she pleased, nor could she see Reed tomorrow.
“Reed,” she paused, gathering her thoughts and the courage to voice them. “I can’t think of anyone who deserves your kindness.” She watched the effervescence of her beer, one bubble at a time. “I’ve never felt I deserved it, and I know you won’t find a deserving person here. Not in Efil Wol, where people are blind to their own suffering. Where they repeat vicious cycles because it’s uncomfortable to question their ways.”
“Are you asking me to come along?”
She doesn’t look up, and neither does he. He stared at the counter, a pained expression grazing his features.
“It’s an option.” She swept her thumb over the glass, drawing half-circles.
“An option I’ll have to pass on,” he said with an exhale. “I’d like to be afraid of change a while longer. I’ve lived through change. I was as young as you, and I’ve had my dose then. The pleasant routine won’t be quite the same after your departure. That, I know. You’ll have brought me change one way or another. Then and now.”
Avalon knew it when she asked him. The sole purpose of her words was to let him know how she felt. That she wasn’t sick of him. That he was the only part of town she was sad to leave behind.
“One more thing, Ava. While the world does need someone like you, don’t take it on. Don’t shoulder all responsibility. You’re not a villain if you give only what you can afford to give.”
“Reed,” she stared him down. “You think too highly of me. I’m in it for the money. My peculiar talent is what I consider a stroke of luck.” She threw her hands in the air, dramatically, and sipped her beer. “I can’t concern myself with much other than myself. One life is enough of a chore.”
“You have foam on your mouth, and your pants are on fire,” he retorted, wondering if there was truth in her words. While she may feel this way, because truly, life had been a chore for her, her thoughts could shift after uncovering the world and its array of people, he thought.
She smacked her lips. “I am not a liar.”
“Says the one who’s been lying to her parents every day.”
He’d gotten her there. She lied, strategically, but it remained that she lied.
“While I’m a little scared of going away, one thing I am looking forward to is cleaning up my image. No more lies. When we meet again, you won’t dare call me a liar,” she said, swirling her beer. Then she chugged another quarter. “I feel not the least buzzed,” she exhaled. “Don’t worry about me, Reed.”
Reed let himself laugh at how prideful she looked. “You’re an odd one.”
He followed suit and brought the pint to his mouth. He stopped short of drinking when a heavy presence settled behind him.
“You?” a masculine voice spoke.
Reed turned on his stool, and Avalon faced the wall.
“Avalon,” he added.
“Don’t say that name aloud,” Avalon jerked. She twisted her neck around and looked at him with a scowl. She recognized the voice after he’d utter her name.
It was Aric. The man she’d be leaving with tonight towered over the both of them, mirth in his eyes. Hers creased, she was peeved that he’d seen through her disguise. He hadn’t known her for long, yet could somehow recognize her features in the gloom.
His blouse was looser than it had been in the morning, and his hair more dishevelled. His appearance fit him like a glove. He was the sea. The ebb and flow. Liberty incarnate. He seemed so appeased and free of concern.
“Reed, I’ll be leaving now.” She slid down from the high stool, one foot at a time. “I… hope to see you again. I hope you won’t find yourself stuck in this town forever. Change could find you even if you do not seek it,” she sluggishly said that last part.
She glared at Aric once more before walking past him. Her vision darkened when the heavy weight of her sunglasses covered her eyes again. All the while his gaze trailed her silhouette, eyes full of interest. He thought her an odd character. The sight he’d just landed on had merely amplified the thought.
“Boy, will this be fun…” he murmured slowly, swiping a hand through his hair.
---
When the night found her, Avalon sat on the ground of her room. The moment her fate would be re-written lurked by the window. She planned to leave from there, in fear that the clatter of doors would give her away. She’d left the window open all evening. Her room was situated low enough that the fall would be harmless. She’s done it before—when work required it.
She peered out the window at the starry sky and the vacant pavement. Were it not for the sea’s gracious lullaby, the town would’ve been veiled by an eerie silence.
After a deep breath, Avalon stood. She’d left to retrieve the hatbox under the bed. Her fingertips trembled from dainty jolts.
“It’s done,” she hushed. “It’s done.”
She gripped it tightly, in hopes it’d also keep her hands still. And that was it. She’d slipped out of her sleep garments a quarter of an hour ago and had been ready to walk out ever since—in her crimson dress.
A gust of wind blew her curtains up to the ceiling, as though nature had conspired to call her out. It was loud and clear.
She first tossed her baggage out to the other side. It landed on the grass without a sound. When came her turn, she sat on the windowsill and swung her legs around, one at a time. Then she leapt like a bat out of hell. Her boots landed taut on the grass with a thump no louder than a fallen apple’s.
Though as she picked up her box by the handle, sirens flared. They rang loudly somewhere in town. Doors began to open. People walked out in robes and bonnets. Out of fright, Avalon dropped the box on her feet. Her boots had been sturdy enough to shield her from pain. Alas, her heart didn’t have a shield and nearly leapt out of her chest. It thrummed louder than the sirens. She snatched the box back and ran, afraid she’d already been caught by one of her parents.
The more people came out, eyes beaming with curiosity, the madder it drove her. Dressed in outdoor clothes in the dead of night, she was odder than them all. Though the sirens hadn’t rung for her, she thought herself a fugitive. And every finger would point to her in due time.
Murmurs spread like wildfire. Red lights showed in the distance like shadows cast over the walls. A distant wail. Hurried steps. Chaos was wrapping the place in controlled measures.
The suddenness of the situation left her scrambling. Avalon felt her breaths turn curt. This was a nightmare come to life.
She ran.
Tripped on her dress.
Stood back up.
The dress was ripped at the bottom.
She ran with the desperation that had lingered in her lungs for years.
People began to look her way. The murmurs became clamour. Her vision blurred. She was close to surrender. To her knees hitting the ground. But she pushed herself, sweat dripping, legs aching.
A crowd started to form nearby, not for her, but she was in the crossfire.
Leave me alone, she thought loudly.
From the crowd, a hand reached for hers. She was about to swat it away, horrified it would all end when she was so close, but when she was pulled in and saw who that was; she let it happen.
“Aric,” she said, her eyes round and her voice cracking.
His breath caught at the sight of her; her hair sticking to a sweat stricken face. He squeezed her hand firmly and let the frenzy in the background blur.
“We’re getting out of here,” he said.