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It started outta nowhere a few weeks ago, so suddenly and so violently that it only could have been the product o' Storm's wrath: a cold so bitterly and unseasonably miserable, and so impossibly localised, that weather gurus state-wide were at a loss to describe it as anything more specific than the tragic effects of global warming.
Since then a lot of us have experienced first hand the destructive power o' extreme weather and its very real ability to wreak havoc over one's life, so much so that it was decided unanimously jus' now that something had to be done about it, and —save my own insignificant 'nay' vote— it was unanimous again that this "something" ought'a be done by me.
Not that I saw how, but it was apparently my fault in the first place, after all.
Day after day that woman sat in cross-legged seclusion on 'er balcony, gazing at the clouds an' waxing monosybillic to anyone who chose to sit by her. The numbers of 'er companions were few, however—it was far too depressing to so much as glimpse 'er in her misery; who would risk hearing 'er laments?
When the bells rang she moved slowly to her classes, walking gingerly and with trepidation, as though she were pained by every step she took. Every so often someone would offer her an arm to lean on and she would brush 'em away with confusion. It was not her physical body that was in need of aid, after all.
Ororo's classes were taught, of course —God forbid if they weren't— yet they lacked the usual sort of vibrancy that 'er own special breed of joie de vivre was so apt to instil in them. More and more often her class found themselves driven to distraction, and more and more Ororo found herself at a loss for what to do with them.
I had never seen that woman so affected by anything. Her mocha skin had become sallow in recent weeks, her chocolate eyes too deep set in her hollowed-out face, her pale, cracked lips constantly pursed as if to denote a particularly bad taste that never left 'er... Gone was the jaunty bounce in 'er step, the twinkle in 'er eyes, the smile that so curiously brought comfort to any person, no matter the direness of their situation. I wished that I could smile so beautifully as she did. I wished that I could comfort her.
Today when she left 'er last class she looked as though she might faint, hobbling toward the grand staircase it was necessary for her to ascend in order to reach her room and her favoured balcony. I took this opportunity to wrest 'er hand from her side, and to place it on my arm and hold it there with my own. Ordinarily she would have brushed me aside, yet today she appeared too weary ta do so. I wished she would have—then I would have known there was at least a semblance of my Ororo within that shell. Awkwardly, I clutched it and pulled it along with me. It weighed close to nothing.
"Where we goin', 'Ro?" I asked 'er then, and she replied faintly, "To my room," as I'd expected she would.
Instead, however, I steered her outside. It wasn't difficult, but it was not without resistance either (a small comfort).
"Where are we going, Logan?" she asked, repeating my own question to me, in her own manner.
"Outside," I replied and she was silent.
The news was not welcome, I knew, but she was resigned to it.
"Why?" she asked, and I shrugged.
"Because I think you need to see it."
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By the time I had 'er outside the bitter, depressive rain that had been pouring down since late the night before had calmed to a light drizzle, yet the effects of the weather on the gardens as we entered was still clear. The poor flowers, so used to the fine weather and healthy sprinklings of rain that were characteristic of Storm's goodwill had been simply unable to bear the dire, intolerable extremity of the weather these past few months. Through wind, snow, drought, and downpour, they had clung to their last threads of life, and now in the softly falling rain they drooped in exhaustion and defeat.
As I watched, Ororo knelt briefly to cradle the wilting, yet unopened, bud of a lily—her favourite sort, I knew. I'd thought of giving her them in abundance the night I left for Canada three months ago, supposedly for good, but why ruin her perception of the poor flower by associating it with that night? The sky grew more and more overcast as she wallowed in the despair of the scene.
"This is my fault," she whispered forlornly, but it wasn't really. "I'm sorry."
The self-pitying glance she gave me then spurred me into action. I grabbed her shoulder and she jolted in surprise as I pulled her to her feet, caked in mud and grass.
"'Ro, it's not your fault," I pressed. "It's the fault o' whoever made ya so miserable, and I sure hope to God that wa'n' me."
"Do you?"
"Bloody hell, 'Ro, 'course I do!"
Silence.
"…Tell me you were thinking of me when you left, Logan."
My heart chilled when she said that; chilled right to its little black core. She was right, o' course, yet… "That was months ago, 'Ro. An' I'm back now."
"For how long?" she asked me, and Christ… she was so innocent, so pure, so furious. She wanted me to tell her that I love her and that I'll never leave her side, I know, but I couldn't.
"For 'slong as I can," I told her honestly. "Can' tell you how long that'll be, whether it's a matter o' months, years… days… 'Cause I know the moment I reckon I'm doin' ya a disservice by staying is the moment I'm gonna pack my bags and leave."
"Logan, I've never thought of having you here as anything but a great favour," she told me. "I know how much you like to move about…"
"Nah, 'Ro! Tha's not it. Tha's not it at all!" I shook my head roughly, wondering how to make her understand. "I never left a place simply 'cause I wanted some time away from home… I travelled 'cause I di'n have a home. An' ev'ry time I left I hoped an' prayed that next place I settled would be it, 'cept it never was 'til I came here. Never hurt to leave before I came here either…"
"Do you know what happened when you left, Logan. Do you?"
Ashamed, I bowed my head. I'd never asked. Not once. I'd just been glad to see her again; glad that she was glad to see me… I'd never asked why. "No. I don't," I confessed, meetin' her eyes—it was one o' the hardest things I've ever done.
"Marie ran away."
This was news to me.
"She was gone 3 weeks. When Kitty found her she was delirious from the cold and near dead."
"The cold…? But it's summer, 'Ro, and this messed up weather only started a couple of weeks ago…" I was at a loss for what to say. "Marie…?"
"There was a blizzard the night you left," Ororo explained and it seemed that she was as ashamed of it as I was of not knowing about it. "An innocent man was caught out and died near here. Marie almost met the same fate."
"She never said…"
"Of course she didn't!" I was surprised by the fierceness of this statement in contrast with previous ones. "Logan, that girl is absolutely smitten with you, and she wants nothing more than for you to treat her like a grown woman rather than a child! She could never tell you that the night you left she stormed off and slammed the door behind her—it would humiliate her beyond reason!"
"…I di'n know, 'Ro. I didn't think…"
"She's well now and that's what matters, but that's just it, isn't it, Logan?" She emphasised. "You don't think. You haven't had to think about others for so long that to do so now is impossible for you! And I'm— I'm sorry for you. I'm sorry that that's the case, but… It puts us in danger here, you see?"
I did.
"People like Marie, and— and people like me… we can't allow ourselves to form such deep attachments to you if you're not going to be around for us in the future, Logan! We can't care like this about you if it's not reciprocated! We—!" I saw that she struggled with herself here. "There's something in me, Logan, that wants desperately to love you. But I can't, you understand? I can't allow myself to fall for you if you don't— if you can't—!"
"I understand, 'Ro. I don't expect you to."
I was aware of a small audience of students now. I could smell them nearby, watching, but outside of earshot. I could smell their fear, their hope, and was sick to think it all rested on me now.
"'Cept… it didn't work out that way for me, 'Ro," I said. "I couldn't just decide not to love ya, like you apparently can, or you're telling yourself ya can, I dunno… I tried that— I tried to go back to Canada and leave you better off —'cause I'll always believe I ain't good for you, 'Ro. I'll always firmly believe that— …but it wasn' enough to make me stay in bloody Canada. I couldn't stay there without ya, no matter what I believe."
She was silent then and I di'n know how to go on so I just waited for her response, an' I watched her, an' I noticed for the millionth time how sickly she looked. My 'Ro… it could'a been her near to death a few months ago. …'Cept while far as I knew Marie was back to her ole self, 'Ro was still dying inside. This weather, I realised, was the equivalent o' my running home from Canada despite myself—it was her heart's way o' tellin' her she couldn't be free o' me, she was too much a part of our mysterious bond.
When she looked up I saw all this and more in her eyes and I could help but kiss 'er. I couldn't promise I'd never leave again an' she knew I couldn't, but I'd love 'er as well as I could, an' if that was enough for her then… Well, I'm hoping that the first blue sky I've seen in almost a month is tellin' o' that. As our lips met, I heard juvenile cheering in the background. I smelt faith, joy, relief…
I reckon love is a little like global warming.
No one knows exactly what causes it but they say it's been happening for millions of years and that you can't stop it—slow it maybe, impediment it in some small, insignificant way, but never stop it. Some people believe in it, some people reckon it's a load o' crap. Some people, like me, are lucky enough ta be presented with enough hard evidence to make 'em believe.
Love, like global warming, has unpredictable effects. You can make a sweepin' statement about extreme weather but you can't tell when or where it's gonna hit, just like you can be vaguely aware of the danger of fallin' in love but you can't predict it—you can't pin it down to the exact moment where it's fight or flight and choose to flee.
Love has been around for millions of years an' it'll continue for millions more. With the risin' of the sun in the East and its settin' in the West, dawn after dawn, decade after decade, millennia after millennia, whate'er befalls us here on earth… constant, unpredictable love will remain.
An' I'm so fucking glad o' that.