Johnny Come Lately
by Jilly-chan
(Disclaimer: The GW boys and Dorothy don't belong to
me. But, tossing them into alternate reality
situations really makes writing about them
interesting. Catatonia wrote and sings Johnny Come
Lately. They're definitely an Indy-pop band that
channels Dorothy-inspired moments-even romance?)
/I'm sorry you couldn't make it
The dark veil that I'm wearing can only block so much
of his paled face and does nothing to cease the
wailing of the woman next to me. Her tears come out
dry and wretched. I know she thinks that she cared
for Trowa Barton, but where was she those two years
that I knew him?
The minister is speaking about veils. The two sides
of the veil. I wonder about the two sides of my own
veil. I'm torn between wanting Trowa back and the
secret dark joy that he's gone. I feel my carefree
smirk threatening to cross my own pale features. But
my countenance is typically fair. Trowa's used to be
so ruddy and often smudged with dirt from when he
tended his garden in the fields near our home.
Catherine sobs again, her throat catches in such a
rush of emotion that the minister almost pauses. Her
grief makes this service dreadful. I casually hand
her my unused handkerchief which she takes with a
greedy rush and hides her face with it.
*Oh well.* I think to myself, I had originally
intended to lend my handkerchief to Quatre who would
have stubbornly insisted that he didn't need one and
who would gratefully accept my offer when he realized
that I knew him better than he did. But, Quatre had
surprised me. He wasn't here.
I glance down at the empty seat next to me, one in
the front rows reserved for family. I think I might
manage to feel somewhat better if only Quatre had
come.
/You could have seen him, so weathered and dated
Some of Trowa's co-workers from the office had
managed to close the business for a few hours to
attend the funeral. Heero Yuy and Duo Maxwell are
sitting behind me. Both dressed in the same suits
they wore to work that morning and would probably
wear for the remainder of the day.
We were the only people to see Trowa come out of his
suit. And we're burying him in that suit now, aren't
we? What are we pretending about Trowa? We should
have left him in his old white t-shirt and cut off
shorts that he loved to work in. With the smudges of
earth fresh on his knees, just as we found him. Just
as he was.
But-would Heero and Duo recognize Trowa like that?
No, only us.
For two years he reordered our understanding of
ourselves and the need we had for nature. And here
Trowa's returning to his beloved earth, and where are
you, Quatre?
I'm sure that Quatre didn't come because, quite
simply, he was never going to be ready to let Trowa
free again. Losing his childhood friend the first
time almost tore Quatre's spirit from his delicate
body. Funny, but it doesn't really bother me anymore
to think that I was merely a filling fling while he
waited for Trowa to return. But now that Trowa's
gone forever?
Quatre should have come, and reality might have
awaken him to the fact that, somehow, he's the only
person that I have ever cared for.
/He was a Johnny Come Lately
I had met Quatre at a company party one New Year's
Eve. He was the only one who could wear a white suit
to a hedonistic occasion such as this was turning out
to be, and when I met him I instantly knew why.
He was an angel.
I knew as soon as the thought crossed my mind how
ridiculous and simple I was putting it. Quatre was
honest in his cheerful smile and earnest in his
thoughtful listening. When I was introduced to him,
he gracefully took my hand, fulfilling his
gentlemanly duties, and gave me my first kiss. For
the evening. And after that, I never wanted anyone
else to kiss me again.
And I wanted to be the only one to ever kiss him.
I'd flirted my way around my grandfather's business
dating the executives and cruising around the elite
parties with the vice-presidents. But this copy boy
on his way up in the world was the person I wanted to
experience life with. And I'd avoided real life for
too long.
"Dorothy, is it?" He dropped my hand and studied my
features with his attentive crystal eyes. Blue, like
mine. "I'm not too comfortable coming to these
parties, and it seems like I'm the only one wearing
white . . ." His ears started to turn pink where
they weren't covered by blond curls. Blond, like
mine.
I chuckled politely but honestly. "Mr. Winner, you
are the only person here who could wear that suit so
well."
"Oh." He hesitated and recognized my interest. We
became almost perfect mirrors of each other in looks
as well as desires. Or close enough that I knew I
was going to achieve exactly what I wanted, and I
asked him to marry me six successful months later.
/And I know that you would hate him
My grandfather's money and my preferences were able
create the cathedral and the organ music that echoed
up into the floral decorated rafters. Quatre was
from a family with a small fortune, but he had
refused to accept his inheritance due to some
conflict with his father.
I had never guessed what that conflict was over, but
on what was supposed to be the happiest day of my
life the answer showed itself.
During the service, Quatre's face had transformed
from intense joy to overwhelming sadness back to
glowing cheer. I'd seen all of those expressions
cross his golden features at one time or another, but
never in such a thoughtful pattern in such a short
amount of time. I dully repeated what the priest
asked of me and watched Quatre's face with
inquisitive and somewhat nervous glances.
"What is it, love?" I asked him as we stood in front
of the cathedral and in the garden where we were
going to receive our family and friends. All of
Quatre's sisters had filled a good section of the
guests with a sea of yellow hair. I took his hand
and imagined creating blond nieces and nephews for
them.
"Eh?" Quatre turned to look at me, his thoughts were
drifting directly as his eyes swept across the rising
sea of faces that poured out of the massive wooden
doors to greet us. "Someone came who I had never
expected to see again."
"How wonderful," I hooked myself through the arm that
I claimed. The surprise that Quatre was feeling was
a simple explanation to his behavior, but I had never
expected the initiator of it all.
Quatre was still scanning the faces when we had
relocated at the reception party. And his secrets
worried me only until my grandfather took me through
the first dance of the evening.
/If you'd seen his botanical leanings
/First prize exhibit and all down to good spirit
We're lowering his coffin into the ground. It's a
quiet country graveyard with a few trees sheltering
the borders. A grey day with a humid breeze as if
all the world is mourning our loss and touching us
with faint comforting kisses. Tear drops of rain
caress the ground where we're leaving him.
Trowa belonged here as much as he belonged with us.
I slide a finger over my nose, the veil rubbing
across my skin like tears never would. No one's
death has made me cry. And Trowa's death would be
least of all, he belonged in the dirt. His touch
shaped the earth, and the earth had molded him. He
had sprung up from the ground the day of our wedding,
and now he returns to it on the eve of our divorce.
I'm surprised how easily I can think that word. But
if Quatre ever whispered its actuality out loud? I
might as well join Trowa.
/He was a Johnny Come Lately
/And I know that you would hate me
As Quatre twirled me with an exuberant dance of his
tangled feet, I laugh. The guests moved around us in
a blur of colors, but the two of us were the only
ones wearing white today. The color that suited
Quatre best. And now I could wear it as well.
And as suddenly as he stole my heart, Quatre caught
me up short and held me by my shoulders pressed up
against him. But it wasn't so much an embrace as it
was his power to pick me up and move me where he
wanted to put me. And only Quatre could have such
control over my body.
He took a step back and held me at arms length
studying me face as intently as he had when we first
met. "I love you, Dorothy." He said, then,
instantly letting me go, he stepped around me to meet
someone beyond where I was standing.
I turned with the sense that dread was to enter our
new life on that very first day. Quatre had quickly
walked over to the edge of the dance floor and had
embraced someone else. Someone who held my husband by
the shoulders as surely as he had a hold of me.
My world froze and I hated someone. I was sure of
it. This stranger was tall and slender-which was
accentuated by the dark brown suit he wore. From top
to bottom, this man was the human embodiment of
general creation.
I took a step toward them, when the picture changed.
Quatre was in control again and pulling this newcomer
by one hand toward me. The cosmos of my world began
to crash in on itself as this new life re-ordered
what was natural for us.
"Dorothy-love," he called me, "Come meet my dear
friend, Trowa Barton."
"Trowa." I nodded then tilted my head to one side.
My universe recovered her strength after the initial
shock and I coyly extended my arm in greeting. I had
spent most of my time as a predator, before I had met
Quatre. I knew the rules of this game and I could
play them before this Trowa Barton, because I had
already won the challenge.
His grass colored eyes narrowed slightly, and he
accepted my handshake. But he didn't release my hand
either.
"Do you mind if we dance?" Trowa turned his head to
ask Quatre. The solemn voice that passed through his
lips suggested that every word he spoke was weighted
with the utmost importance.
"Of course," Quatre's eyes crinkled in an unconcerned
smile. "I'm so glad you could come. I truly am.
And I'd love for you to meet my Dorothy."
*my Dorothy* I was instantly relieved and instantly
infuriated as my old personality had been revived to
confront this newcomer.
Trowa's browned hand settled dark against the white
folds of my dress and we moved away from our common
interest and toward the center of the ocean of
dancers. If I was space and he was terrestrial, then
Quatre's ocean was our only compromise from a
completely clashing war of the spheres.
"Do you love him, Dorothy?" He asked leading the
dance with a subtle shift in his shoulders.
"Most naturally." I smiled. The darker-side of my
personality leaking out at every moment. Quatre was
the only patch to keep the violence of my emptiness
filled.
"To love Quatre is natural." Trowa stated and my
subtle resistance to his direction unwillingly bent
with his guiding movements.
"You have?" I cruelly tease.
"I do." He answered.
Unsurprised, I continue to poke into his heart for
information. "So where have you been then, Trowa,
darling?"
"Gardening."
/If I envied the things that he spoke of
/How I envied the things that he thought of
Against my wishes, our honeymoon was postponed
because of Trowa's unexpected and special visit.
Quatre respected me, but somehow he managed to make
me understand how important staying would be. And,
somehow, I would do anything for Quatre. Even if it
meant that inside me--my darkness was destroying all
the bright stars that Quatre had fostered.
And the postponed honeymoon turned into a new
gardener. Because he was in-between jobs and homes,
Trowa now lived above the garage in a pleasant
apartment that Quatre had furnished for him. But I
grew restless.
"Quatre, love," I would whisper in bed. "When will
we be alone? Simply to enjoy each other? What do
you owe Trowa for him to stay here all of the time?"
But my angel was sleeping when I asked these things
and, if he ever heard, he never answered.
Often, Trowa would be up early and in the kitchen.
Cooking. The smell of sweetened toast and strong
coffee would drift into the common dining area where
Quatre would read his paper and drink tea. I sat at
the opposite end of our table and felt horribly
disconnected from my lover as Trowa's simple presence
wafted in and out and around us.
And I had no knowledge of their past. Had they been
lovers or only friends? Had Trowa simply leached
off of Quatre's revitalizing spirit? Had this been
connected to Quatre's disinheritance? And why? Why
now had Trowa returned? Why now that I had finally
found someone to make my spirit sparkle brightly did
someone antagonize my sinister secrets?
/He was a Johnny Come Lately
And when I submitted to let my ominous intentions
loose, I directed all of my hateful asteroids loose
as far away from Quatre as I could.
Trowa was only in the house for breakfast, and he
spent his mornings overseeing the mechanics in
Quatre's branch of my grandfather's business. Not
only did this free loafer need a place to stay near
Quatre, he wanted to work with Quatre as well.
But in the afternoon, Trowa was always in the far
corner of our spacious back lawn where he had begun a
modest garden. It was lined with flowers at one end
and, as one walked along the long edge, it blossomed
into a fruitful variety of greens and other
vegetables.
"Are you finally going to leave once these are ready
to harvest?" I asked the kneeling form who was
weeding the radishes. I wore a drooping straw hat to
prevent the sun from touching my white skin. As a
result I had to keep my head tilted back with an
arrogant air to see the object of my abhorrence.
"Perhaps, I will." Trowa didn't look up at me. He
continued, "I should stay until everything is well
rooted."
"How long will that take?" I asked the venom
dripping strongly with each word. "Look at me!" I
hissed through tight lips. "Why are you here? Where
were you before, eh? Why now?"
Trowa leaned back still sitting on his knees in the
dirt. He wiped a dirty arm against a sweaty
forehead. The movement didn't change his appearance,
what had been a white t-shirt was irreversibly
stained many times over.
"Quatre and I have been friends since childhood."
Trowa began. And then stopped as if he didn't want
to begin there. "He's different around you than with
anyone else, Dorothy. But, don't imagine that he's
the solid angel that he appears to be. He needs you
to be strong for him, but he's spending all of his
time trying to repair your soul."
"What?!?" I shout, but the word comes out harshly
soft. "And you think that you're here to patch
Quatre up?" I threw my head back and laughed, but
the broad brim of my hat didn't let the sun
illuminate me. I was still coolly covered over with
shadows. "I can care for Quatre alone. You haven't
let us have a moment's peace since our wedding day!
Pack up and leave, Trowa Barton. You aren't wanted
here."
/And I know that you would hate me
They lowered him down and buried him. Trowa's going
to fertilize this small corner of lonely flowerbeds
for the dead. Without his constant approval of our
small family, will our relationship wither?
I look around the grievers. Trowa had no family
besides Catherine, and she has crumbled under the
tender words of the minister. I'm distanced and
beyond them. Heero and Duo have left flowers and
drove off in the company car. The household staff
from our home is standing still and somber with grey
faces to match the atmosphere. Somehow, they all
came to love the quiet gardener.
Even I had come. And I had little reason to love
him.
Where are you, Quatre?
/If I told you that I made some time and stayed
/behind
/To find out how to make a garden grow
Trowa didn't leave after I confronted him. In fact,
he continued to act as if nothing had been said
between us. He always pretended that we didn't have
hostile conversations. Not that we displayed any
false pretenses to enjoy each other's company.
But what was mine was mine, and Trowa never stepped
out of the breakfast kitchen to claim Quatre beyond
letting his soiled smells permeate our mansion.
For that, my irritation bore a small amount of
gratitude.
And I couldn't help but notice that I almost spoke
more to Trowa than with my own Quatre. He would sit
reading in the library. Lounged in a crimson
recliner that he pulled closer to the warming flames
in the fireplace.
At first, I would follow him there and kneel by his
side, nervously glancing at the pages of the book
which I was unable to see clearly enough to read
myself. He never said anything then, but let one of
his hands rest over top of mine until he needed it to
turn the next page. Then I decided that this time
was when I'd let Quatre sit alone. Not even Trowa's
earthy aromas trailed Quatre there.
I simply walked past the open door and saw the lights
of the fire flash over his reading glasses as if
Quatre's spirit blazed inside his motionless form with
the same intense speed and heat.
Quatre's smiles were everywhere but in this one room.
The room where he escaped me. The room where I
realized that Trowa might just be right. Quatre
wasn't indefatigable.
/Where the sun no longer shines
I tried to think only of our happy moments, and there
were many. But when Quatre left to quietly read in
the library, I could hardly remember our candle lit
dinners, our joking games in the swimming pool, and
our quiet conversations watching the stars from the
front porch.
I knew I loved him. I had asked him to marry me.
But I suddenly doubted my angel.
/If I asked too many questions and stayed behind
/To find out how to make a garden grow
/But he never ever gave away the secret of this
/godforsaken soil
"Trowa?" I called up the staircase of the garage,
knowing that the interloper was in his apartment and
afraid that he wouldn't answer me.
"Yes, Dorothy?" He opened the door and the glow from
the room made him a dark imposing figure. I hated
admitting that I was scared and the only person I
thought I could talk to was my rival.
"He doesn't love me, does he?" I ask, every
vulnerable bit that Quatre created in me exposed from
under the aggressive shell.
"I don't know." Trowa didn't move from the doorway
and I didn't move from the bottom of the stairs.
Whatever I had expected him to say, I didn't want to
hear this. My memories of happiness were lost and
all I had was this aching sensation that I had been
missing the real Quatre all along.
"How can I make him love me, Trowa?" My weaknesses
falling across the floor like limp begging dolls
asking for Trowa to pick them up and set them
properly.
"I don't know." Trowa stepped back into his
apartment and began to close the door. "Go back to
him."
/He didn't need us, just tempted and teased us
/You could've been here, wishing you were here
I'm driving home. I always loved to drive in the
country and often I surrendered the pilot's seat to
Quatre just so that the two of us could roam through
the deserted roads with the windows rolled down and
the fresh air revitalizing our laughter.
The gravel would kick up waves of dust if we drove
fast enough and the choking sensation made us cough
until we had to stop and with tears running down our
faces he would entwine his fingers with mine and
smile. Stopping was the best part, but it only came
after a painful breakneck pace forced us to stop for
a minute.
I forced my car to travel faster than it should with
any safety. The windows firmly up and my knuckles
whitening even more with my frustration increasing in
accordance with the car's acceleration.
Nothing was better. Nothing had changed. Except,
now, Trowa was gone. Finally gone. And my life was
going to be the next fatality if Quatre was gone
forever as well.
/This was a Johnny Come Lately
/And I know that you would hate me
As I left Trowa's apartment, I was sure, as my eyes
were sore with dry tears than never came, that Trowa
was simply trying to outlast me. He came for the
wedding to see who had moved in on Quatre during some
sort of forced separation. He nuzzled in on our life
first by his reunion spoiling our never-happened
honeymoon and by inhabiting our garage. No wonder
Quatre was growing ever distant from me. My mirror
reflection, my perfect match, was being slowly eroded
away by Trowa's endurance.
/He was a Johnny Come Lately
/And I know that you would hate me
As I left Trowa's graveside, I was sure, as I sped
along the roads to my home, that Trowa was simply
trying to see us get a healthy start. But we had
resisted. I had hated him. And then Quatre had
hated me. And somehow, whatever Quatre had loved
about Trowa hadn't been what came between us. And
whatever Quatre loved about Trowa had surely been
buried in that tomb. Never to come back.
/If I told you that I made some time and stayed
/behind
/To find out how to make a garden grow
/Where the sun no longer shines
And I had never learned how Trowa could help us,
because as quickly as he had died I had only realized
his hope for us. Not just his hope for you. He just
didn't understand me as well to say more.
The mansion is abandoned. The servants and staff are
gone for the day, mourning someone I never took the
time to appreciate. I know they liked his small
smile and quick wit. But I'd only seen it as a
dangerous threat to losing my angel.
I had hated Trowa, and now I would simply never have
the chance to change that. Except, instead of hating
him now when I've lost Quatre, I wish he'd come back.
I wish I could ask him where he thought Quatre might
have gone. Where Quatre would go if he had lost
someone that he loved.
Would Quatre come back? And how long would he morn
for Trowa? I wonder as a week passes. I've begun to
sit in his crimson chair by the fire while curled
into a small ball. I thumb through the books he had
set out to read, but I'm uninterested in them. What
they could tell me about Quatre, I'd rather learn
from my angel himself.
The garden was slowly over growing. When one of the
groundskeepers pointed that out, I immediately rushed
out to it and began pulling at the invading, useless
plants that hoped to choke out what Trowa had
planted. I worked mindlessly for hours when I
collapsed in the surrounding grass and the sun's
harsh touch burned my bare skin.
It accused me of Trowa's death and Quatre's absence.
/He assured me that the seeds you sold were sound
/But I must have cast them all on stony ground
/And now the sun won't shine
Quatre's affections were the prize that I was hoping
to collect since I first met him at the New Year's
Eve party. We had stood on the veranda and Quatre
had talked about the stars and space and how he loved
to watch them. And I listened, sure that he was
talking about me.
It always seemed that way. As if everything Quatre
said or did was focused around me and the happiness
he sought out in my company.
And now he was gone. And I hadn't pulled through for
him. And now Trowa was gone, and the one person who
was more concerned for Quatre than himself had left
me to tend the garden. Completely unprepared for the
sorrow.
/I must have asked too many questions
He must not have wanted to leave me without some sort
of answer other that "I don't know." Because, Trowa
sought me out the next morning. He held his coffee
between two sturdy hands that would nurse the garden
later as he nursed his caffeine now.
"I was alone for a long time." Trowa began. "I was
a quiet boy who had a lot of difficult circumstances
to live with." Somehow, his tone alone made me
listen quietly even though I had been furious with
him the night before. "I met Quatre when I was
eleven. My foster parents were relieved that I had
finally found a nice friend and actually encouraged
me spending most of the daylight hours over at his
house. He was my best friend and the affection that
grew between us was unlike anything anyone had shared
with me before.
"Quatre himself needed some attention, his sisters
were all grown and moved away. His father kept tight
reins on all of his children, but he was never around
to make them loving restrictions.
"We so desperately needed each other that we became
exclusive playmates and spent most of our time hiding
from anyone else. This went on for years. We would
play music or games, read to each other, and stay up
late having conversation about how to sort out our
troubled lives. We were closer than brothers."
Trowa sighed, the past distanced enough from him that
he could almost accept it. "But while my family was
glad to have an obedient out-of-the-way son, Mr.
Winner was disgusted with our outward signs of
affection. We were only teenagers. Mr. Winner
called separating us preventative."
Trowa was staring intently into his cup as if he
could see a reflection of their younger selves.
"Worse that the prevention was the misconception of
our friendship that it forged. Who knows what might
have developed between Quatre and I, but he was sent
away.
"And I felt the deepest loss of all."
/And stayed behind to find out how to make a garden
/grow
"And I knew what it meant to love someone and
completely lose them."
I waited for him to continue. I had nothing to say
to him. What could I say to something like that
anyway?
"In the process," Trowa continued, "I learned how to
live again. How to start over, to begin again, and
my love of gardens reminded me of Quatre's sweet
friendship. He had taken what was dark in me and
taught it how to grow light. Quatre had taught me
what it meant to learn from tragedy and to continue.
Sometimes it takes a disaster to appreciate love for
ourselves."
"Don't wait for a tragedy to repair your soul."
"Don't wait for a tragedy to learn how to love him."
"He's wanting to love you."
/But he never ever gave away the secret of this
/godforsaken soil
Then Trowa started back to his apartment. And died.
It was a complete accident. Unexpected.
I didn't know how to tell Quatre given how intimate
they had been in their youth. He would hate me. He
would hate Trowa for dying. I had finally realized
exactly how fragile Quatre could be. He would blame
himself for not having the apartment construction
investigated. He could never have predicted the
leaking gas.
It seemed completely meaningless to me.
And I was left. Alone. My bed was empty at night and
I crept into the library to sleep in that red chair.
It was the only place left in the house where I could
sense Quatre anymore.
"You're still here?" I imagine I hear him say to me.
"I thought you would leave."
"How can I? I miss you. I miss Trowa, darn him. He
reminded me of you. He won't let me forget."
I'm sure I'm dreaming when I hear him say, "I think I
miss you, Dorothy. I can't lose anyone again."
"I think the garden is dying."
He chuckles softly. The echoed sound of heavenly
bells. "We may learn how to mend it. Together."
***
Johnny Come Lately
***
I'm sorry you couldn't make it
You could have seen him, so weathered and dated
He was a Johnny Come Lately
And I know that you would hate him
If you'd seen his botanical leanings
First prize exhibit and all down to good spirit
He was a Johnny Come Lately
And I know that you would hate me
If I envied the things that he spoke of
How I envied the things that he thought of
He was a Johnny Come Lately
And I know that you would hate me
If I told you that I made some time and stayed behind
To find out how to make a garden grow
Where the sun no longer shines
If I asked too many questions and stayed behind
To find out how to make a garden grow
But he never ever gave away the secret of this
godforsaken soil
He didn't need us, just tempted and teased us
You could've been here, wishing you were here
This was a Johnny Come Lately
And I know that you would hate me
He was a Johnny Come Lately
And I know that you would hate me
If I told you that I made some time and stayed behind
To find out how to make a garden grow
Where the sun no longer shines
He assured me that the seeds you sold were sound
But I must have cast them all on stony ground
And now the sun won't shine
I must have asked too many questions
And stayed behind to find out how to make a garden
grow
But he never ever gave away the secret of this
godforsaken soil
The end.
(Well, I haven't tried to romantically tie anyone up
this much before. Any comments? Suggestions? Want
to ask why I'm in a Dorothy-phase? You can find me
at either stormy812@hotmail.com or I like to post at
Lt. Noin's Guide to Gundam Wing where I hide all my
fanfics: http://www.ltnoinsguidetogw.mainpage.net)
by Jilly-chan
(Disclaimer: The GW boys and Dorothy don't belong to
me. But, tossing them into alternate reality
situations really makes writing about them
interesting. Catatonia wrote and sings Johnny Come
Lately. They're definitely an Indy-pop band that
channels Dorothy-inspired moments-even romance?)
/I'm sorry you couldn't make it
The dark veil that I'm wearing can only block so much
of his paled face and does nothing to cease the
wailing of the woman next to me. Her tears come out
dry and wretched. I know she thinks that she cared
for Trowa Barton, but where was she those two years
that I knew him?
The minister is speaking about veils. The two sides
of the veil. I wonder about the two sides of my own
veil. I'm torn between wanting Trowa back and the
secret dark joy that he's gone. I feel my carefree
smirk threatening to cross my own pale features. But
my countenance is typically fair. Trowa's used to be
so ruddy and often smudged with dirt from when he
tended his garden in the fields near our home.
Catherine sobs again, her throat catches in such a
rush of emotion that the minister almost pauses. Her
grief makes this service dreadful. I casually hand
her my unused handkerchief which she takes with a
greedy rush and hides her face with it.
*Oh well.* I think to myself, I had originally
intended to lend my handkerchief to Quatre who would
have stubbornly insisted that he didn't need one and
who would gratefully accept my offer when he realized
that I knew him better than he did. But, Quatre had
surprised me. He wasn't here.
I glance down at the empty seat next to me, one in
the front rows reserved for family. I think I might
manage to feel somewhat better if only Quatre had
come.
/You could have seen him, so weathered and dated
Some of Trowa's co-workers from the office had
managed to close the business for a few hours to
attend the funeral. Heero Yuy and Duo Maxwell are
sitting behind me. Both dressed in the same suits
they wore to work that morning and would probably
wear for the remainder of the day.
We were the only people to see Trowa come out of his
suit. And we're burying him in that suit now, aren't
we? What are we pretending about Trowa? We should
have left him in his old white t-shirt and cut off
shorts that he loved to work in. With the smudges of
earth fresh on his knees, just as we found him. Just
as he was.
But-would Heero and Duo recognize Trowa like that?
No, only us.
For two years he reordered our understanding of
ourselves and the need we had for nature. And here
Trowa's returning to his beloved earth, and where are
you, Quatre?
I'm sure that Quatre didn't come because, quite
simply, he was never going to be ready to let Trowa
free again. Losing his childhood friend the first
time almost tore Quatre's spirit from his delicate
body. Funny, but it doesn't really bother me anymore
to think that I was merely a filling fling while he
waited for Trowa to return. But now that Trowa's
gone forever?
Quatre should have come, and reality might have
awaken him to the fact that, somehow, he's the only
person that I have ever cared for.
/He was a Johnny Come Lately
I had met Quatre at a company party one New Year's
Eve. He was the only one who could wear a white suit
to a hedonistic occasion such as this was turning out
to be, and when I met him I instantly knew why.
He was an angel.
I knew as soon as the thought crossed my mind how
ridiculous and simple I was putting it. Quatre was
honest in his cheerful smile and earnest in his
thoughtful listening. When I was introduced to him,
he gracefully took my hand, fulfilling his
gentlemanly duties, and gave me my first kiss. For
the evening. And after that, I never wanted anyone
else to kiss me again.
And I wanted to be the only one to ever kiss him.
I'd flirted my way around my grandfather's business
dating the executives and cruising around the elite
parties with the vice-presidents. But this copy boy
on his way up in the world was the person I wanted to
experience life with. And I'd avoided real life for
too long.
"Dorothy, is it?" He dropped my hand and studied my
features with his attentive crystal eyes. Blue, like
mine. "I'm not too comfortable coming to these
parties, and it seems like I'm the only one wearing
white . . ." His ears started to turn pink where
they weren't covered by blond curls. Blond, like
mine.
I chuckled politely but honestly. "Mr. Winner, you
are the only person here who could wear that suit so
well."
"Oh." He hesitated and recognized my interest. We
became almost perfect mirrors of each other in looks
as well as desires. Or close enough that I knew I
was going to achieve exactly what I wanted, and I
asked him to marry me six successful months later.
/And I know that you would hate him
My grandfather's money and my preferences were able
create the cathedral and the organ music that echoed
up into the floral decorated rafters. Quatre was
from a family with a small fortune, but he had
refused to accept his inheritance due to some
conflict with his father.
I had never guessed what that conflict was over, but
on what was supposed to be the happiest day of my
life the answer showed itself.
During the service, Quatre's face had transformed
from intense joy to overwhelming sadness back to
glowing cheer. I'd seen all of those expressions
cross his golden features at one time or another, but
never in such a thoughtful pattern in such a short
amount of time. I dully repeated what the priest
asked of me and watched Quatre's face with
inquisitive and somewhat nervous glances.
"What is it, love?" I asked him as we stood in front
of the cathedral and in the garden where we were
going to receive our family and friends. All of
Quatre's sisters had filled a good section of the
guests with a sea of yellow hair. I took his hand
and imagined creating blond nieces and nephews for
them.
"Eh?" Quatre turned to look at me, his thoughts were
drifting directly as his eyes swept across the rising
sea of faces that poured out of the massive wooden
doors to greet us. "Someone came who I had never
expected to see again."
"How wonderful," I hooked myself through the arm that
I claimed. The surprise that Quatre was feeling was
a simple explanation to his behavior, but I had never
expected the initiator of it all.
Quatre was still scanning the faces when we had
relocated at the reception party. And his secrets
worried me only until my grandfather took me through
the first dance of the evening.
/If you'd seen his botanical leanings
/First prize exhibit and all down to good spirit
We're lowering his coffin into the ground. It's a
quiet country graveyard with a few trees sheltering
the borders. A grey day with a humid breeze as if
all the world is mourning our loss and touching us
with faint comforting kisses. Tear drops of rain
caress the ground where we're leaving him.
Trowa belonged here as much as he belonged with us.
I slide a finger over my nose, the veil rubbing
across my skin like tears never would. No one's
death has made me cry. And Trowa's death would be
least of all, he belonged in the dirt. His touch
shaped the earth, and the earth had molded him. He
had sprung up from the ground the day of our wedding,
and now he returns to it on the eve of our divorce.
I'm surprised how easily I can think that word. But
if Quatre ever whispered its actuality out loud? I
might as well join Trowa.
/He was a Johnny Come Lately
/And I know that you would hate me
As Quatre twirled me with an exuberant dance of his
tangled feet, I laugh. The guests moved around us in
a blur of colors, but the two of us were the only
ones wearing white today. The color that suited
Quatre best. And now I could wear it as well.
And as suddenly as he stole my heart, Quatre caught
me up short and held me by my shoulders pressed up
against him. But it wasn't so much an embrace as it
was his power to pick me up and move me where he
wanted to put me. And only Quatre could have such
control over my body.
He took a step back and held me at arms length
studying me face as intently as he had when we first
met. "I love you, Dorothy." He said, then,
instantly letting me go, he stepped around me to meet
someone beyond where I was standing.
I turned with the sense that dread was to enter our
new life on that very first day. Quatre had quickly
walked over to the edge of the dance floor and had
embraced someone else. Someone who held my husband by
the shoulders as surely as he had a hold of me.
My world froze and I hated someone. I was sure of
it. This stranger was tall and slender-which was
accentuated by the dark brown suit he wore. From top
to bottom, this man was the human embodiment of
general creation.
I took a step toward them, when the picture changed.
Quatre was in control again and pulling this newcomer
by one hand toward me. The cosmos of my world began
to crash in on itself as this new life re-ordered
what was natural for us.
"Dorothy-love," he called me, "Come meet my dear
friend, Trowa Barton."
"Trowa." I nodded then tilted my head to one side.
My universe recovered her strength after the initial
shock and I coyly extended my arm in greeting. I had
spent most of my time as a predator, before I had met
Quatre. I knew the rules of this game and I could
play them before this Trowa Barton, because I had
already won the challenge.
His grass colored eyes narrowed slightly, and he
accepted my handshake. But he didn't release my hand
either.
"Do you mind if we dance?" Trowa turned his head to
ask Quatre. The solemn voice that passed through his
lips suggested that every word he spoke was weighted
with the utmost importance.
"Of course," Quatre's eyes crinkled in an unconcerned
smile. "I'm so glad you could come. I truly am.
And I'd love for you to meet my Dorothy."
*my Dorothy* I was instantly relieved and instantly
infuriated as my old personality had been revived to
confront this newcomer.
Trowa's browned hand settled dark against the white
folds of my dress and we moved away from our common
interest and toward the center of the ocean of
dancers. If I was space and he was terrestrial, then
Quatre's ocean was our only compromise from a
completely clashing war of the spheres.
"Do you love him, Dorothy?" He asked leading the
dance with a subtle shift in his shoulders.
"Most naturally." I smiled. The darker-side of my
personality leaking out at every moment. Quatre was
the only patch to keep the violence of my emptiness
filled.
"To love Quatre is natural." Trowa stated and my
subtle resistance to his direction unwillingly bent
with his guiding movements.
"You have?" I cruelly tease.
"I do." He answered.
Unsurprised, I continue to poke into his heart for
information. "So where have you been then, Trowa,
darling?"
"Gardening."
/If I envied the things that he spoke of
/How I envied the things that he thought of
Against my wishes, our honeymoon was postponed
because of Trowa's unexpected and special visit.
Quatre respected me, but somehow he managed to make
me understand how important staying would be. And,
somehow, I would do anything for Quatre. Even if it
meant that inside me--my darkness was destroying all
the bright stars that Quatre had fostered.
And the postponed honeymoon turned into a new
gardener. Because he was in-between jobs and homes,
Trowa now lived above the garage in a pleasant
apartment that Quatre had furnished for him. But I
grew restless.
"Quatre, love," I would whisper in bed. "When will
we be alone? Simply to enjoy each other? What do
you owe Trowa for him to stay here all of the time?"
But my angel was sleeping when I asked these things
and, if he ever heard, he never answered.
Often, Trowa would be up early and in the kitchen.
Cooking. The smell of sweetened toast and strong
coffee would drift into the common dining area where
Quatre would read his paper and drink tea. I sat at
the opposite end of our table and felt horribly
disconnected from my lover as Trowa's simple presence
wafted in and out and around us.
And I had no knowledge of their past. Had they been
lovers or only friends? Had Trowa simply leached
off of Quatre's revitalizing spirit? Had this been
connected to Quatre's disinheritance? And why? Why
now had Trowa returned? Why now that I had finally
found someone to make my spirit sparkle brightly did
someone antagonize my sinister secrets?
/He was a Johnny Come Lately
And when I submitted to let my ominous intentions
loose, I directed all of my hateful asteroids loose
as far away from Quatre as I could.
Trowa was only in the house for breakfast, and he
spent his mornings overseeing the mechanics in
Quatre's branch of my grandfather's business. Not
only did this free loafer need a place to stay near
Quatre, he wanted to work with Quatre as well.
But in the afternoon, Trowa was always in the far
corner of our spacious back lawn where he had begun a
modest garden. It was lined with flowers at one end
and, as one walked along the long edge, it blossomed
into a fruitful variety of greens and other
vegetables.
"Are you finally going to leave once these are ready
to harvest?" I asked the kneeling form who was
weeding the radishes. I wore a drooping straw hat to
prevent the sun from touching my white skin. As a
result I had to keep my head tilted back with an
arrogant air to see the object of my abhorrence.
"Perhaps, I will." Trowa didn't look up at me. He
continued, "I should stay until everything is well
rooted."
"How long will that take?" I asked the venom
dripping strongly with each word. "Look at me!" I
hissed through tight lips. "Why are you here? Where
were you before, eh? Why now?"
Trowa leaned back still sitting on his knees in the
dirt. He wiped a dirty arm against a sweaty
forehead. The movement didn't change his appearance,
what had been a white t-shirt was irreversibly
stained many times over.
"Quatre and I have been friends since childhood."
Trowa began. And then stopped as if he didn't want
to begin there. "He's different around you than with
anyone else, Dorothy. But, don't imagine that he's
the solid angel that he appears to be. He needs you
to be strong for him, but he's spending all of his
time trying to repair your soul."
"What?!?" I shout, but the word comes out harshly
soft. "And you think that you're here to patch
Quatre up?" I threw my head back and laughed, but
the broad brim of my hat didn't let the sun
illuminate me. I was still coolly covered over with
shadows. "I can care for Quatre alone. You haven't
let us have a moment's peace since our wedding day!
Pack up and leave, Trowa Barton. You aren't wanted
here."
/And I know that you would hate me
They lowered him down and buried him. Trowa's going
to fertilize this small corner of lonely flowerbeds
for the dead. Without his constant approval of our
small family, will our relationship wither?
I look around the grievers. Trowa had no family
besides Catherine, and she has crumbled under the
tender words of the minister. I'm distanced and
beyond them. Heero and Duo have left flowers and
drove off in the company car. The household staff
from our home is standing still and somber with grey
faces to match the atmosphere. Somehow, they all
came to love the quiet gardener.
Even I had come. And I had little reason to love
him.
Where are you, Quatre?
/If I told you that I made some time and stayed
/behind
/To find out how to make a garden grow
Trowa didn't leave after I confronted him. In fact,
he continued to act as if nothing had been said
between us. He always pretended that we didn't have
hostile conversations. Not that we displayed any
false pretenses to enjoy each other's company.
But what was mine was mine, and Trowa never stepped
out of the breakfast kitchen to claim Quatre beyond
letting his soiled smells permeate our mansion.
For that, my irritation bore a small amount of
gratitude.
And I couldn't help but notice that I almost spoke
more to Trowa than with my own Quatre. He would sit
reading in the library. Lounged in a crimson
recliner that he pulled closer to the warming flames
in the fireplace.
At first, I would follow him there and kneel by his
side, nervously glancing at the pages of the book
which I was unable to see clearly enough to read
myself. He never said anything then, but let one of
his hands rest over top of mine until he needed it to
turn the next page. Then I decided that this time
was when I'd let Quatre sit alone. Not even Trowa's
earthy aromas trailed Quatre there.
I simply walked past the open door and saw the lights
of the fire flash over his reading glasses as if
Quatre's spirit blazed inside his motionless form with
the same intense speed and heat.
Quatre's smiles were everywhere but in this one room.
The room where he escaped me. The room where I
realized that Trowa might just be right. Quatre
wasn't indefatigable.
/Where the sun no longer shines
I tried to think only of our happy moments, and there
were many. But when Quatre left to quietly read in
the library, I could hardly remember our candle lit
dinners, our joking games in the swimming pool, and
our quiet conversations watching the stars from the
front porch.
I knew I loved him. I had asked him to marry me.
But I suddenly doubted my angel.
/If I asked too many questions and stayed behind
/To find out how to make a garden grow
/But he never ever gave away the secret of this
/godforsaken soil
"Trowa?" I called up the staircase of the garage,
knowing that the interloper was in his apartment and
afraid that he wouldn't answer me.
"Yes, Dorothy?" He opened the door and the glow from
the room made him a dark imposing figure. I hated
admitting that I was scared and the only person I
thought I could talk to was my rival.
"He doesn't love me, does he?" I ask, every
vulnerable bit that Quatre created in me exposed from
under the aggressive shell.
"I don't know." Trowa didn't move from the doorway
and I didn't move from the bottom of the stairs.
Whatever I had expected him to say, I didn't want to
hear this. My memories of happiness were lost and
all I had was this aching sensation that I had been
missing the real Quatre all along.
"How can I make him love me, Trowa?" My weaknesses
falling across the floor like limp begging dolls
asking for Trowa to pick them up and set them
properly.
"I don't know." Trowa stepped back into his
apartment and began to close the door. "Go back to
him."
/He didn't need us, just tempted and teased us
/You could've been here, wishing you were here
I'm driving home. I always loved to drive in the
country and often I surrendered the pilot's seat to
Quatre just so that the two of us could roam through
the deserted roads with the windows rolled down and
the fresh air revitalizing our laughter.
The gravel would kick up waves of dust if we drove
fast enough and the choking sensation made us cough
until we had to stop and with tears running down our
faces he would entwine his fingers with mine and
smile. Stopping was the best part, but it only came
after a painful breakneck pace forced us to stop for
a minute.
I forced my car to travel faster than it should with
any safety. The windows firmly up and my knuckles
whitening even more with my frustration increasing in
accordance with the car's acceleration.
Nothing was better. Nothing had changed. Except,
now, Trowa was gone. Finally gone. And my life was
going to be the next fatality if Quatre was gone
forever as well.
/This was a Johnny Come Lately
/And I know that you would hate me
As I left Trowa's apartment, I was sure, as my eyes
were sore with dry tears than never came, that Trowa
was simply trying to outlast me. He came for the
wedding to see who had moved in on Quatre during some
sort of forced separation. He nuzzled in on our life
first by his reunion spoiling our never-happened
honeymoon and by inhabiting our garage. No wonder
Quatre was growing ever distant from me. My mirror
reflection, my perfect match, was being slowly eroded
away by Trowa's endurance.
/He was a Johnny Come Lately
/And I know that you would hate me
As I left Trowa's graveside, I was sure, as I sped
along the roads to my home, that Trowa was simply
trying to see us get a healthy start. But we had
resisted. I had hated him. And then Quatre had
hated me. And somehow, whatever Quatre had loved
about Trowa hadn't been what came between us. And
whatever Quatre loved about Trowa had surely been
buried in that tomb. Never to come back.
/If I told you that I made some time and stayed
/behind
/To find out how to make a garden grow
/Where the sun no longer shines
And I had never learned how Trowa could help us,
because as quickly as he had died I had only realized
his hope for us. Not just his hope for you. He just
didn't understand me as well to say more.
The mansion is abandoned. The servants and staff are
gone for the day, mourning someone I never took the
time to appreciate. I know they liked his small
smile and quick wit. But I'd only seen it as a
dangerous threat to losing my angel.
I had hated Trowa, and now I would simply never have
the chance to change that. Except, instead of hating
him now when I've lost Quatre, I wish he'd come back.
I wish I could ask him where he thought Quatre might
have gone. Where Quatre would go if he had lost
someone that he loved.
Would Quatre come back? And how long would he morn
for Trowa? I wonder as a week passes. I've begun to
sit in his crimson chair by the fire while curled
into a small ball. I thumb through the books he had
set out to read, but I'm uninterested in them. What
they could tell me about Quatre, I'd rather learn
from my angel himself.
The garden was slowly over growing. When one of the
groundskeepers pointed that out, I immediately rushed
out to it and began pulling at the invading, useless
plants that hoped to choke out what Trowa had
planted. I worked mindlessly for hours when I
collapsed in the surrounding grass and the sun's
harsh touch burned my bare skin.
It accused me of Trowa's death and Quatre's absence.
/He assured me that the seeds you sold were sound
/But I must have cast them all on stony ground
/And now the sun won't shine
Quatre's affections were the prize that I was hoping
to collect since I first met him at the New Year's
Eve party. We had stood on the veranda and Quatre
had talked about the stars and space and how he loved
to watch them. And I listened, sure that he was
talking about me.
It always seemed that way. As if everything Quatre
said or did was focused around me and the happiness
he sought out in my company.
And now he was gone. And I hadn't pulled through for
him. And now Trowa was gone, and the one person who
was more concerned for Quatre than himself had left
me to tend the garden. Completely unprepared for the
sorrow.
/I must have asked too many questions
He must not have wanted to leave me without some sort
of answer other that "I don't know." Because, Trowa
sought me out the next morning. He held his coffee
between two sturdy hands that would nurse the garden
later as he nursed his caffeine now.
"I was alone for a long time." Trowa began. "I was
a quiet boy who had a lot of difficult circumstances
to live with." Somehow, his tone alone made me
listen quietly even though I had been furious with
him the night before. "I met Quatre when I was
eleven. My foster parents were relieved that I had
finally found a nice friend and actually encouraged
me spending most of the daylight hours over at his
house. He was my best friend and the affection that
grew between us was unlike anything anyone had shared
with me before.
"Quatre himself needed some attention, his sisters
were all grown and moved away. His father kept tight
reins on all of his children, but he was never around
to make them loving restrictions.
"We so desperately needed each other that we became
exclusive playmates and spent most of our time hiding
from anyone else. This went on for years. We would
play music or games, read to each other, and stay up
late having conversation about how to sort out our
troubled lives. We were closer than brothers."
Trowa sighed, the past distanced enough from him that
he could almost accept it. "But while my family was
glad to have an obedient out-of-the-way son, Mr.
Winner was disgusted with our outward signs of
affection. We were only teenagers. Mr. Winner
called separating us preventative."
Trowa was staring intently into his cup as if he
could see a reflection of their younger selves.
"Worse that the prevention was the misconception of
our friendship that it forged. Who knows what might
have developed between Quatre and I, but he was sent
away.
"And I felt the deepest loss of all."
/And stayed behind to find out how to make a garden
/grow
"And I knew what it meant to love someone and
completely lose them."
I waited for him to continue. I had nothing to say
to him. What could I say to something like that
anyway?
"In the process," Trowa continued, "I learned how to
live again. How to start over, to begin again, and
my love of gardens reminded me of Quatre's sweet
friendship. He had taken what was dark in me and
taught it how to grow light. Quatre had taught me
what it meant to learn from tragedy and to continue.
Sometimes it takes a disaster to appreciate love for
ourselves."
"Don't wait for a tragedy to repair your soul."
"Don't wait for a tragedy to learn how to love him."
"He's wanting to love you."
/But he never ever gave away the secret of this
/godforsaken soil
Then Trowa started back to his apartment. And died.
It was a complete accident. Unexpected.
I didn't know how to tell Quatre given how intimate
they had been in their youth. He would hate me. He
would hate Trowa for dying. I had finally realized
exactly how fragile Quatre could be. He would blame
himself for not having the apartment construction
investigated. He could never have predicted the
leaking gas.
It seemed completely meaningless to me.
And I was left. Alone. My bed was empty at night and
I crept into the library to sleep in that red chair.
It was the only place left in the house where I could
sense Quatre anymore.
"You're still here?" I imagine I hear him say to me.
"I thought you would leave."
"How can I? I miss you. I miss Trowa, darn him. He
reminded me of you. He won't let me forget."
I'm sure I'm dreaming when I hear him say, "I think I
miss you, Dorothy. I can't lose anyone again."
"I think the garden is dying."
He chuckles softly. The echoed sound of heavenly
bells. "We may learn how to mend it. Together."
***
Johnny Come Lately
***
I'm sorry you couldn't make it
You could have seen him, so weathered and dated
He was a Johnny Come Lately
And I know that you would hate him
If you'd seen his botanical leanings
First prize exhibit and all down to good spirit
He was a Johnny Come Lately
And I know that you would hate me
If I envied the things that he spoke of
How I envied the things that he thought of
He was a Johnny Come Lately
And I know that you would hate me
If I told you that I made some time and stayed behind
To find out how to make a garden grow
Where the sun no longer shines
If I asked too many questions and stayed behind
To find out how to make a garden grow
But he never ever gave away the secret of this
godforsaken soil
He didn't need us, just tempted and teased us
You could've been here, wishing you were here
This was a Johnny Come Lately
And I know that you would hate me
He was a Johnny Come Lately
And I know that you would hate me
If I told you that I made some time and stayed behind
To find out how to make a garden grow
Where the sun no longer shines
He assured me that the seeds you sold were sound
But I must have cast them all on stony ground
And now the sun won't shine
I must have asked too many questions
And stayed behind to find out how to make a garden
grow
But he never ever gave away the secret of this
godforsaken soil
The end.
(Well, I haven't tried to romantically tie anyone up
this much before. Any comments? Suggestions? Want
to ask why I'm in a Dorothy-phase? You can find me
at either stormy812@hotmail.com or I like to post at
Lt. Noin's Guide to Gundam Wing where I hide all my
fanfics: http://www.ltnoinsguidetogw.mainpage.net)