Glass Walls & Cardigans
By Soul Shatter Dakota Koda
Telling a story from the beginning seems like something a conformist would do. Starting in the middle has been overdone as well. I guess that only realistically leaves the ending, right? It ended with the kiss. Pushing without restraint toward the terrifying no-man's land that falls between friendship and… and lovers? Ugh. That was the most ungoth thing I've ever said. In the end I think I had to know how she felt, even if it meant losing my best friend. All in, blind bid.
"I'm not saying Skinny Puppy should commit suicide on stage at the show, Henrietta. I'm just saying that man's life is like ripples in a pond. No matter how big the ripples are, or how long they last, eventually they disappear. No matter what anyone accomplishes, big or small, eventually we all turn to dust and are forgotten. That's the human condition. So every time you insist on arguing that great music is a lasting accomplishment, you aren't fighting me, you're fighting the ebb and flow of time. You're losing by the way, since you're clearly aging at this very moment."
Deathly silence filled the room after Ethan's emotional speech. Not like your ordinary conformist Justin wannabe bullshit emotional. More like apathetic acceptance of an impending doom emotional. I really looked up to him when he did that. It's easy to talk about how you aren't afraid of the aftermath of your demise, but Ethan was on another level. When he spoke it felt like he transgressed life itself. Like he existed in some secret space between living and dead, untouchable by the problems or consequences of this world. So goth.
The Cure was blasting away. The sound waves almost visibly cutting through the thick screen of smoke hanging above us. Her bed was pushed into the corner on the far left as soon as you went through the door; at the foot of it was a rolling chair and desk with her laptop, finished off with a large wooden dresser in the opposite corner of the room. Now that I think about it, we pretty much always fell in the same spots when we hung out in Henrietta's room. Georgie and I always sat on the floor leaning against the bed, Ethan lay across the bed, and Henrietta in the rolling chair. It had always been this way, I think. I rubbed my temples, willing myself to recall 4th grade and almost laughed out loud. Coughing to hide the goth faux pas drew the attention of everyone in the room. I took the time to really look at each of my friends. They changed so much. Henrietta had lost a lot of weight and now stood 5'6". She was the constant victim of jockish flirting, but to the dismay of all her would-be suitors, they were shot down with glares and the occasional insult. Ethan was pretty much the same, but his growth spurt left him towering at 6'2". If he had ever put on any weight he might have been mistaken for some asshole jock. How could I forget little Georgie? Still little, but growing. Slowly. His hair was a wild black mane now, veiling him from the rest of the world when he didn't feel like dealing with the conformist posers. In a year or two, he might be as tall as Henri.
I yawned, stretching comfortably under the scrutiny of the goth trio. How had I changed? Longer hair? Sure. Taller? Yeah I'd grown to a decent 5'10". Ugh that's just the aesthetics. I had changed a lot under that unapproachable goth exterior. I had had to overcome too many problems to stay the same. Eventually realizing I was ignoring the intense eye contact, Georgie was the first to speak up.
"Did you forget how to breathe, Dylan?"
Ah, I loved this game. He meant "Are you okay, Dylan?", but showing concern wasn't goth. That just showed how deep it went. This wasn't a fad or a phase we would grow out of. It was a part of who we were. Even without clothes or eyeliner or music, we were goth. I wouldn't have it any other way. Damn. I should probably reply now.
"It was nothing, just wondering if I should be buried in my cardigan."
This seemed to lessen the focus on me, but Georgie clearly wasn't finished talking.
"What else would you be buried in?"
Hmm… admittedly, I hadn't considered it yet, but self confidence seemed more goth than being unsure.
"Unlike all of you, maybe I'll be buried naked. Sure. Wear your fancy Britney/Justin clothes when they put you in the ground like any other conformist corpse, while I'm going in all natural. My maggots won't fill up on cloth before getting the main course."
This seemed to appease Georgie and he blew a formless cloud of smoke my way in quiet agreement. So goth.
It isn't a secret that I struggle with the concept of time. I have a half stress, half coffee induced case of insomnia, so I'm constantly battling the flow. Days all tend to run to together, so I have to be reminded when we're doing something eventful. Tonight was one of those nights. I reached up to grab the source of an unholy noise, looked at the display and swiped a finger across the screen to answer.
"Hello, Henrietta. I know, I know. Eraser Head. I know. Shit."
I'm glad she called, not that I would ever let her know. Perfect. An excuse to leave the house. Hanging up my phone and throwing on my cardigan with the precision and fluidness only someone with too much experience hastily escaping can manage, I proceeded through the house quietly, to not draw attention to myself. Not that I had to try hard, anyway. If the government hadn't made Tonya take me back, I would still be sleeping at the park. It's a long story.
See, Tonya is my mother and she has a terrible taste in men. My father was some hipster band asshole who didn't stick around. After that she got with Daniel, also an asshole. He was a big man. Not tall, but wide and strong. He never wanted kids, so he used to beat my ass a lot. I thought it was something I did for a long time. Tried to impress him. Make him accept me. No luck. Eventually I got bigger and gave up. We only had one fight and he beat the hell out of me. The whole time I was recovering, I thought about that night. The flashes of pain in my face and body. Hot anger at him. At myself for not being able to do anything to stop it. Bam! An epiphany hit me like the fist of a well built abusive step father, pardon the expression. There are some people you just can't fight. I went home and found him sleeping on the couch. I went outside and snapped the thick leg off of a wooden barstool. Approached him slowly and without hesitation, I swung down hard across the tender bridge of his nose. The rest is harder to remember. Like a movie being played too fast. Strike. Strike. Strike. Red. He's crying now. No longer even trying to protect himself. Strike. Strike. No more pleading now. Just limp acceptance. Strike. I walked around South Park for hours before returning home. He left Tonya. Packed his things and was gone. Even changed his phone number. She still blames me, I think. She should, though. It was my fault. Guess it wasn't a long story after all.
"Going to Henri's, mom."
As expected, she doesn't acknowledge me as I rush out the door.
Ah. Back to Eraser Head. Every month we watch a cult classing at Ethan's house. Well, apartment really. I knock on the door and Georgie quickly opens it. It really is an amazing apartment. Pretty generic goth, but comfortable. Black curtains, pulled closed for the movie, black throw rug, hardwood floor, and a huge gray wrap around couch that we all ended up huddled together on anyway. This was my favorite place in the world to be. Henrietta slide over, motioning for me to sit next to her. Odd, but I let it slide.
He apathetically obliges as we settle in, Henrietta, me, Ethan and Georgie on the end. Ethan refuses to use a DVD remote because, how did he explain it; he doesn't want to force his DVD player to conform to the standards of other DVD players. We all thought he was joking, but he's refused to use one since, so no one can tell.
Movie night isn't actually about re-watching movies we've seen hundreds of times. It's more like a thinly veiled excuse to remind us that we can always count on each other. No one outside of our group is allowed to come. Even when Georgie was dating some goth girl from North Park last month. He didn't even ask. This was our safe place. The only hangout that couldn't be taken away unless Ethan lapsed in his rent or something caught on fire. We could be less goth here without judgment, so it came as no surprise when Henrietta reached over and took my hand in hers.
I didn't quite know how I felt about her to be honest. I would protect her, no doubt, but I couldn't quite put a label on my emotions involving her. She used to like Craig believe it or not. She wrote him a note telling him her feelings and he called her a freak. That was the first time Ethan and I had ever seen Henrietta cry. Big jockey Craig was the first guy she ever admitted to having feelings for. I knew first hand what it was like to want acceptance from someone who just refused to give it, so I made it my mission to make Craig cry just like Henri did. Ethan and I waited by his too-big rednecky truck and when he told us to fuck off we kicked the shit out of him. Everyone knew about the situation with Henrietta, so no one stepped in. The fight was mild, not enough to make him cry on its own merit. What really pushed him over the edge was seeing his "friends" staring with that pity look that only conformists can pull off. Ethan didn't want to be there. He said Henri would get over it in a week, but I couldn't let it go. I couldn't understand why she picked him and it ate at me. Anyway, back to the movie.
She played with my fingers at her favorite parts, silently mouthing the words we had all committed to memory long ago. Damn. How long was I staring at Henrietta? I shook my head, hoping it would somehow clear my mind. It didn't. It probably isn't a good time to mention that I don't have much dating experience. Or any, really. You can't be happily in love and goth. It's a pick one kind of deal. In moments like this though, I feel like I would give it a shot. Unless Ethan liked her too, or something. A girlfriend would be nice, but never at the cost of a childhood friendship. I needed to talk to him about this. Did he like Henrietta? Whoa. When did I start liking Henrietta? Ugh. Not goth. I pinched the bridge of my nose with my free hand.
After the movie, I pulled a very sleepy Ethan into his room to talk privately.
"Do you like Henrietta?"
A long pause and a quizzical look.
"Well?"
Finally he flashes what I could have sworn was a smile, but it couldn't have been. Totally not goth.
"Dylan, I only like Henrietta as a friend."
I sighed, I think. Why was I so relieved? I don't understand myself lately. With my new information, I plop down on the many blankets laid across the floor and watch the ceiling.
"I think I like you Henrietta, in the most goth way possible."
There. I confessed to a sleeping girl.
Did I ever mention we were in a band? Not like a conformist Fall Out Boy Esq. garage band. More like a darker A Perfect Circle. Very goth. Anyway, we try to practice once a week in Henrietta's garage. We've come a long way since the 4th grade talent show, that's for sure. Eventually I hoped to play music so dark that when a wannabe Justin conformist poser heard it, he broke down emotionally and his life would just fall apart. That would be so goth.
What a four piece. With Ethan singing, me on guitar, Georgie hidden behind a drum kit, and Henrietta working her keyboard, we were ready to introduce the hick town of South Park to decent music. Realistically we had only played a few parties though; usually to the inebriated people we went to high school with. I remember Stan asking us to play a party for him once. Henrietta and Georgie thought we should, since we don't exactly have the notoriety to be turning down venues, but Ethan wasn't having it. He never forgave Stan for turning his back on us, I think. Stan was the only person outside of our group he ever really tried to reach out to and help, and the little poser left and insulted us. Very bad blood.
I snapped to full alertness at the end of the song, suddenly realizing I hadn't even turned my amp on. Damn. I think I'm losing my mind. Silence filled the room and I could feel Ethan's analytical eyes studying me. Shit. I needed to get my shit together.
"Benny's?"
Almost before the word left my lips, we were heading to Henrietta's car.
We had been hanging out at Benny's since I can remember. Staying up all night drinking black coffee. The waitress was a wrinkled old conformist, too busy conforming to realize she had probably died years ago. Same as we've always had.
"Old age is no excuse for poor service."
That got her attention and she finally brought our coffee. I touched the bridge of my nose again. Ugh fucking pock marks. Some of us weren't destined to have perfect skin. Ethan's was fine. No acne or pock marks, Henrietta's was fine too. Except that bruise behind her ear partially hidden by her hair. My stomach lurched forward and I immediately felt sick.
"So Henrietta…" I began. "What's that?"
I pointed as casually as I could manage to the purple mark on the side of her head. She didn't even budge. Like she knew I would ask and had been rehearsing an answer.
"Bradley left his shit in the hallway. I tripped and fell."
Bullshit. I've seen Sherlock Holmes too many times to fall for that. Her palms are unscathed. If she had broken a fall there should have been a mark on them too, right? In my putrid guts I knew someone had hit her. I tried to force an apathetic look to hide the anger. I knew we all had problems at home but I wasn't used to seeing the physical evidence. I mean Georgie practically lived with Ethan when his dad started drinking, and before Ethan left home his mom would pass out and leave him locked out of the house several days a week. I just let him keep a change of clothes at my house at all times. Was Henri dealing with the same thing I had just years earlier?
"Hang back with me for a minute, Georgie. I think that faggy vampire kid Mike is selling a decent drum kit."
I was lying, but he shrugged noncommittally and stayed with me in the booth as the other half of our goth quartet went outside to smoke. Hmm, now how to approach the subject gracefully. As I carefully chose my words, he cut me off.
"I think someone hit Henrietta."
Shit.
"So do I."
He looked especially sullen tonight, but continued on anyway.
"What should we do about it, Dylan?"
Shit again. I didn't have an answer for him and I heard the bell ringing, obnoxiously alerting us that someone had opened the door. I quickly put a finger to my lips to silence Georgie and continued.
"Yeah, I agree. Hipsters are slightly below emos and above faggy vampire kids."
They nodded uninterestedly.
As we rode home I felt my pocket vibrating. A message from Georgie. Confront her. I should.
"So Henrietta. Couldn't help but notice-"but she abruptly cut me off by blasting the radio without warning.
"Sorry Dylan. I can't hear you."
She knew I knew and was clearly avoiding the talk. I was the person best suited to help; I had ousted an abusive stepdad built like a brick shit house. Her dad was built more like a lemonade stand, complete with the backwards letters on the sign. Ethan shot me a glare, so I didn't try to yell over the music, but I wasn't going to let this go.
Sigh. When Ethan first started to have problems with his mom's drug abuse, he showed up to school in the same clothes too often to play off as laziness. I don't think anyone outside our group would have noticed. Black is black to those Britney/Justin wannabes. He refused to admit something was up. Making excuses every time I confronted him about it. So instead of trying to make him admit there was a problem, I went out and bought him a new shirt and when he showed up to school the next day in dire need of a shower, we skipped together. He showered and changed at my house.
"You don't have to ask for help. I'm okay with you keeping a change of clothes here. Just in case, you know."
We chain smoked until our throats were sore that day, and I felt things were alright.
I was the first to be dropped off, lucky to survive the incident with only minimal hearing damage. As quietly as I could manage, I went upstairs and threw myself across my bed. I felt like my emotions had evaporated, leaving only a numb feeling in my soul. Hmm, I should write that down, but before I got the chance, sleep came easily for the first time in days.
My new found peace was short lived, though. My phone shook like a rat was trying desperately to claw his way out of the battery. A text from Ethan. Call me. So call I did.
"Hey Ethan. Got your message. What do you mean I shouldn't get involved in her situation?"
Is he fucking losing it?
"I can help because I understand her situation. I was there before!"
I forced myself to lower my voice to a near whisper.
"You know I can do this for her."
Why is he trying to stop me?
"I'm unstable? Are you even listening to yourself?"
Fuck. I hung up and tossed the offending device onto my bed. Unwilling to look at it anymore. How am I unstable? I've been the group's protector since freshman year, and now I'm not allowed to fix things? Ridiculous.
Breathing heavily, I headed down the sidewalk to Ethan's house. It was easy to tell me I was losing it over the phone, but maybe if we spoke face to face, he could tell that I'm fine. As I walked, I noticed a few more ginger kids than usual. Ugh, conformists. I let myself in and plopped down unceremoniously on the couch. I've been so tired lately and I don't know why.
"Ethan, I'm here so don't walk out naked or anything."
To my surprise, Georgie and Henri rounded the corner first. Ugh, I couldn't move.
"What are you two doing here?"
Georgie spoke up first.
"Ethan told us to come."
They left me out? I was a little hurt about the situation but I forced it out of my head.
"Dylan when was the last time you ate? You look like shit."
Was that Henrietta? Room was much too dark to tell. Getting darker somehow. Too early for the sun to be going down. Isn't it? When did I eat?
"Last time we went to Benny's?"
This apparently wasn't the right answer because Georgie's apathetic mask shattered. He was afraid. Why was he so afraid?
I shook my head violently and things were back to normal. Sort of. I was standing in the front of South Park High wondering how I had gotten there, when I see Ethan approaching me, wearing a half grin. Things felt fine and I closed my eyes, allowing myself to breathe deeply.
"Ethan how am I unstable? I don't understand."
"You already know the answer to that. Look within yourself."
Do I? I tried to think. How am I unstable. All I could see was a red puddle. A broken barstool leg. I shivered. Did that break me, Ethan?
"No Dylan. Think harder."
The red pool shifted. It was in a sink now. A razor half submerged like a submarine. Was it rising or diving? Did it matter?
"Deeper Dylan."
There was a white room. Smells sterile. A monitor beeps in the corner. Beep. Beep. Was it this, Ethan? The white room?
"So close."
The monitor was loud now. No more constant beeps. Just one. Long and drawn out like a straight line. Flat line? Yeah that feels right. Flat line.
I opened my eyes and Ethan was there again, standing by me on the sidewalk.
"You left us Dylan."
I did? I wanted him to be closer but I couldn't move.
"I just wanted to protect everyone, Ethan. You guys are all I have."
"Had."
That was his reply? Had? Was he leaving?
I could see a doctor leaning over a table. Nurses attending him. Who was that? Red and black hair. Mike? That faggy vampire kid? No. He stepped back and I could finally see the body. It was me, but I never looked that skinny before. My cheeks were sunken and I could clearly count my ribs. There was blood everywhere. It completely covered my wrists and hands like crimson latex gloves. I killed myself.
Then I was back with Ethan. Still too far away. "Why did I do it."
"You were unhappy."
I shook myself awake. Ethan was carrying me to his Cambri. I could feel his breath. With all the strength I could muster I pressed my lips to his. In reality it was more of a smashing motion than a delicate first kiss. My first kiss. To my surprise he didn't pull away or drop me. Henri drove us to Hell's Pass while I floated in and out of consciousness. Damn. It was Ethan all along.
"Dylan. We haven't been to Benny's in a week."
They were clearly messing with me. I remember going just yesterday. Or maybe the day before. I guess I was in worse shape than I thought. I had to fix this somehow, so I pulled Ethan close.
"Is it goth to be sorry?"
"Yeah Dylan. Regret is way goth.
I made a quick recovery. Ethan stays around more to remind me to eat and Georgie texts at least once a day. You really can't fight time. Even if you pretend it doesn't affect you. Lucky I'm not afraid of it anymore. Not that I was afraid of aging or anything ridiculous like that. I was afraid of moving forward, of living. I didn't want to go it alone. I was an idiot. I never was alone. I have great friends and Ethan. Together we crossed that uncertain gap between friends and lovers, and we came out happier on the other side. Does that make us less goth? Admitting that we're happy? Maybe. Or maybe we just refuse to conform to the Goth stereotype.
The End