"I am as cold as the riv—" Pierre began, only to interrupt himself.
It was very difficult to control his voice and speak slowly. Whenever he found himself too excited, his voice would not obey him. However, this was nothing new to him. While he was not used to spurting out nonsense if he did not make an effort to control his speech, Pierre used to have similar speech impediments, or rather ticks, when he was younger.
Back then, whenever something interesting caught his attention, Pierre's voice would quickly jump a few octaves higher and let out a squeaky noise, reminiscent of the sound wet rubber makes when being dragged across a polished bathroom floor.
In those cases where his real voice leaked out, Pierre had always thought that he sounded like how a melamine sponge tasted. He thus made an effort to speak in a much more articulate manner whenever he was nervous, as he did not like being made fun of for his squeaky stammering.
However, as he was now struggling to convey his words to Abbot, he was reminded of the first time his voice had failed him:
"I used to be in a children's choir when I was younger. There was this summer camp where my parents would drop me off every year in the hopes that I would become more 'talented' or 'creative' or whatever.
The camp would always span around three months, and we would have to do these stupid bonding exercises, sing songs nobody likes, and question all our life choices when we got to eat lunch, which usually consisted of frozen pudding, grey soup, and a hot salad.It was such a massive waste of time. I lost several summer breaks as a result of this stupid camp. There was so much more productive stuff I could have done instead, like lying in the hot summer sun and falling asleep under the cool breeze of the trees while reading a book."
Pierre chuckled.
"Or I could have just bashed my own skull in with a metal pipe. Now that would have been really productive!"
He stared at the bits of spiky rocks hanging from the ceiling. They seemed to vibrate in uneven rhythms. Pierre was not sure if they were actually growing or if he was just imagining things.
"Nevertheless... If my parents had not dragged me there, I would have never met her.It was the beginning of my 4th camp. Yes, that's right! My 4th camp. I have spent more than a year in a choir. How I did not become a master vocalist is truly a mystery to me.
I really hated the camp. The singing was not even the main problem. Singing in a choir is easy. You just shut your brain off, move your mouth, and let the others do the singing for you.No, the bigger issue was the free time we had in between practice. It was not that we had little to no downtime. The instructors were quickly fed up with us avoiding to sing, and they just let us do whatever we wanted.
Needless to say, I was thrilled; I was going to use our downtime to its full extend. I had just started reading this book series called "The Magical Potter." It was the story of an old man named Harry who would spend the last days of his life making pots in Meadowbrook, rural England. And the magical part was that his pots would speak to him! So, they would usually walk the reader through the entire production process of a pot. It was all very exciting!
Anyways, I expected that I could finish the book, no, the series even, by the end of the camp. And I'm pretty sure I could have done so twice if it hadn't been for that obnoxious little girl who stuck to me like a fly to office tape.
Yeah, right, that's when I met Isabelle. That red-haired devil was somehow even more bothersome back then than she is now.
I don't know why, but for some reason, she approached me on the very first day of camp and asked me if I wanted to play catch or some other silly games. I don't remember what it was exactly. In hindsight, I should have just told her to get lost, but for some reason, I couldn't get myself to do so.
From then on, every day, Isabelle would find me and drag me off to some silly adventure. Well, 'adventure' might be a strong word; we mostly climbed trees, to be honest. But that didn't change the fact that I was incredibly scared of heights.
Getting onto a tree is very simple, especially when there is a girl on top, mocking you and occasionally cheering you on. At that point, climbing a tree stops being just a simple activity. For a stupid young boy like me, it then became a matter of pride.
I mean, if she can do it, then why shouldn't I be able to?
However, getting down from the tree is an entirely different barrel of worms. Climbing down is scary; I was always afraid of slipping and breaking my neck. What made it worse was the fact that whenever I couldn't get off the tree, Isabelle would have to run off, laughing, to fetch an instructor. She would still be laughing by the time she returned.
At some point, I was so fed up. I tried to hide from her; I really did! But it never even mattered how well I covered myself; she would somehow always find me.
One time, I even locked myself into one of the men's showers to read. As I locked the door and sat into these weird, flat bathtubs, which public showers always have, I thought I had finally escaped her. There was no way she would go looking for me there of all places, would she?
Unfortunately, and only a few pages into my story, my theory was proven wrong, as with a loud clanking noise, Isabelle fell through one of the large steam vents in the ceiling and crashed onto the floor in front of me.
"What are you doing here?" I remember screaming at the top of my lungs. I mean, who wouldn't if they had witnessed a girl suddenly falling through the roof?
Isabelle, who was still kneeling on the floor atop a grey grille, only answered by looking straight at me with her doll-like eyes, tilting her head sideways, and smirking in her cute and innocent way:
"Found you!"
At that point, and I don't know why, but I lost my voice. It was the first time anything like that had happened to me. Instead of scolding her, as I intended to, I just squeaked. I squeaked like a rubber duck being drowned in a bathtub.
...
And Isabelle still teases me with it to this day."
"Hello? Ring, ring? Is anyone home?" Abbot's words snapped Pierre back to reality.
That's right; he was still stuck in a cave with this noisy rock man. Pierre was annoyed but he still urged himself to speak:
"Come on! You can do this, just go nice and slow."
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