Picking Stones Chapter 31 (Final Chapter)

"Queens"

This is the final chapter of Picking Stones. If you missed Chapter 30, you can read it here:

Picking Stones Chapter 30

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3 & 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6 & 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11; Chapter 12 & 13; Chapter 14, 15, & 16; Chapter 17 & 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22; Chapter 23 & 24; Chapter 25 & 26; Chapter 27; Chapter 28; Chapter 29; Chapter 30; Chapter 31 (Final Chapter)

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Queens

It was warm for January, even with a cloudy sky. Hardly any ice on the ground and cold enough to stand out on the piers without the dire need to seek out warmth. I was in Hunter’s Point, looking out at the river running beneath me with skyscrapers jutting out into the heavens across. There were people laughing, having fun on one of those rare Saturday afternoons in the winter when everyone wakes up with a desire to get outside. Something I desperately needed. It had been a long week at work, and the short story I was trying to write had taken up most of my week. About time to stop, smell the roses, get some fresh air.

I hadn’t stood out by the water since Acadia. That was a shame. This part of the city was so beautiful, and I could be there at the drop of a hat whenever I wanted. There was no reason to take any of it for granted anymore. Once I stopped lying to myself about the source of my problems, the city stopped being so bad. You need to fix inside before you can worry about what’s outside. There was no need for me to take anything for granted anymore.

Leaving work stress at work was getting easier. I had priorities now. Short stories, a blog, dreams. I even had four complete strangers subscribed to my blog’s mailing list. I was doing what I was supposed to do: the thing that made me happy. Stresses of the day (or week) dissolved into nothing but a far off and distant memory when I did the things I actually wanted to do. Turns out that I like letting things go. It’s easier. But there was still one thing to let go.

“Not yet.”

I needed closure from Ramona. I knew I could have been happy up there with her. But I knew I would be happy here, too. My phone vibrated in my pocket, but I was having a moment. Whatever it was would have to wait.

Across the river, cars cruised on the FDR drive. A ferry silently pushed through the waves to Manhattan and a barge was getting tugged up toward Astoria. My boots, stained from salt and sleet, stood on the wooden planks. From my vantage point you couldn’t hear the city that never slept.

I sent Ramona a message last night. When I was lying in bed, unable to sleep, I thought of her and got sad. I wanted her to forgive me; to end things the right way so I could move on. So, I sent her well wishes from my mind, and my heart. Hopefully she received them.

Were spirits real? A world within our world, unseen from our eyes? Since I got home, I tried to be good. Eradicating the bad energy, making room for the better. The feeling of being watched—followed—was all but gone. I wasn’t scared of things in the dark or shadows moving behind me on an empty street. I knew that if I believed in the good, that would be what I saw. I was almost there, out of the dark and into the light. Getting closer.

There was just one thing still holding me back.

I took a deep breath and listened to the crashing waves meeting the shore beneath the pier. I swallowed pain again. Words escaped my throat.

“This is over.”

Was that a tear that fell? Another breath, deeper and so so long. It held for a second before I finally made up my mind. A gust of wind rushed out from the river and swirled around me. I stood alone on the empty pier. Sounds of laughter and crying out from the park had gone away, it was only silence. Me and him were the only things occupying the entire world.

I called out to him and screamed into the cold wind, “This is my final move.”

The card was in my hand then, bone white against red skin. I felt its beaten and torn body between my frozen fingers. Blood red letters stared up at me. I read the word, NIM. A surge of energy, like a bolt of electricity shooting up my arm. Resistance. It was time to take my life into my own hands.

I lifted my arm and heaved the card as far out into space as I possibly could.

An explosion of relief, of freedom.

The little card flailed in the air, catching a gust of wind. It hung there, suspended high above me as time froze for a moment, before fluttering down to the river. The three letter word printed in blood was nothing but a blur.

It landed with a silent tap as deafening as the wails of the children in the other universe. A rush of oxygen had swarmed and filled my lungs. My eyes were dry.

I watched the little white card slowly float on top of the dark water. The word, Nim, had disappeared. In a second the river’s current took the card, dragging it under the pier and out of sight. As quickly as it had appeared before me, it disappeared without a goodbye. I didn’t mourn its loss.

The game was over. I won.

Behind me the laughter and screams in the park resumed. I heard the motor of a jet ski running across the river. Clouds parted and the sun shone its warmth on me. I laughed. As crazy as it seemed, I’d miss Nim and our little game. But I knew he’d still be out there, somewhere. Maybe we’d meet again someday.

I wiped my cheeks. Ramona would have been proud had she been there. I’m glad she wasn’t. It was something I needed to do on my own.

Hands let go of the cold aluminum railing bolted to the pier. I began my walk to the subway. Phone buzzed again, another message. I pulled it out of my pocket and froze. It was a text. From her.

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Time really did fly. If you don’t stop to smell the roses, you might miss a few years. Halloween was right around the corner, again. I was sitting at my desk in the new apartment. The other day I had gotten an idea for a first novel. She urged me to start it. I wasn’t sure how it would pan out, but there was no sense in not trying.

My short story about the shoemaker and his mogwai ended up winning a creative writing contest. She had been the one who urged me to submit it.

I ended up getting a new job, opting for less hours and less money. Money wasn’t everything, something she constantly reminded me of. It didn’t matter, we were both happy. It was almost like I was living in a dream. I had everything I wanted, including a real relationship with my parents, even if it was mostly over the phone.

It was remarkable to see how my life changed compared to the year before. Never in a million years would I have imagined being in the position I was in, in the place I was in, in the relationship I was in. All it took was acting.

Everything happened for a reason. Finding the card, finding Nim, had completely changed the course of my life. Thinking of it gave me chills. It didn’t matter whether the whole thing was real or not. I’d never know for sure. But when I think about it, everything I did, everyone I met, was real. Therefore, Nim was real, too. I stopped looking for answers; it was a waste of time. There aren’t any answers in black and white.

Fingers typed the keyboard and held the delete button. I couldn’t figure out how to start the book. I took a deep breath and held it. Two taps on my shoulder.

I turned around and saw Whitney smiling at me.

“I love you.”

“Me too.”

We’d been living together for six months. It felt like forever, like we knew each other our whole lives. I was honest from the beginning—the first time someone really got to know me for who I was. We were both learning it together. I didn’t make the same mistakes with Whitney. I didn’t pretend to be someone I wasn’t or hold back information that I was afraid she’d reject. It had all been perfect.

Ramona and I spoke that day by the piers. I apologized. So did she. Our time together was fun. We wished each other the best.

“I’m going to the bookstore. See you for dinner?” Whitney said.

“Yep, I’ll meet you there at seven.”

She left the apartment and me alone. I turned back to the laptop but got nowhere. I didn’t know how to start the book. Standing up, I looked around the apartment for inspiration. In the kitchen, the fridge was a bad place to start. Coffee machine turned on, started hissing. Mug set down and liquid started spurting out.

Nothing.

I walked back over to my desk. To its left was a little window with black bars that faced the quiet block our apartment stood on. Above the desk hung a painting, one of Ramona’s. She had sent it a week or two after our phone call. I tried paying for it, but she insisted it was a gift. When I opened the box after it got delivered, I remember feeling happiness. In it I found that painting and a little white card: I remember you liked this one. Best, Ramona.

My eyes stared at the painting for a long time. That’s when it hit me. There was the inspiration, hanging right over my head. I sat down at the desk again and began typing whatever words came out. A few hours later it was time to go meet Whitney for dinner. I closed the laptop and looked up at the painting one last time. I might as well describe it to you.

It was of a man with his back to the observer, standing on a rocky shore looking out to the deep blue ocean. The sky above was dark and cloudy. Off the shore was a lighthouse on an island of its own, in the far corner of the frame. They were both alone, the man and the lighthouse. As I looked at the painting, I couldn’t help but admire it. The beauty and power of her work, the peace it invoked. It was brilliant. When I first saw it hanging in her coffee shop, I couldn’t get over how lonely the two of them must have been. Now I could see it clearly. No matter how alone the man and the lighthouse were, they couldn’t possibly be lonely. Certainly not the man, who had the infinite possibilities of the world right there in front of him.

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I want to thank each and every one of you who’ve stuck with this book from start to finish. Will’s story may have ended, but this is just the beginning of my own journey. Getting Picking Stones out and on Substack has completely changed my life. Those of you who have read, enjoyed, and commented along the way have truly touched my heart. I hope for nothing but the best for all of you. As always, I couldn’t have done this without Melissa, who has stood by my side throughout this entire process. Without her, none of this would have ever happened. Love you, Melissa.

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