AFTERMATH
The scream of metal, tearing, ripping, shattering, rent the quiet night, echoing on and on in the empty spaces of the evening, devastating the stillness for seconds, minutes, forever. In his mind it became music, the music of a jarring orchestra, ending the concerto. He was turning, tumbling, gently falling, twisting like a leaf in a gentle autumn breeze, slowly, slowly, caught by that breeze and lifted. Then the noise reached out, beyond him, beyond him into the infinity of the night until it faded, died into nothingness.
A moment of stillness, darkness, growing nothingness, poised on the brink of...of something. Then light! A bright white light was moving suddenly towards him, yet still the silence lingered...no wait! He was moving towards the light, beckoning; it was calling him, pulling him in, onwards, relentlessly, towards it. He couldn't pull back, fight it; he didn't want to fight it; it was warm, welcoming, wanting him. He could feel its welcome, leading him onwards to...to wherever he had to be, wanted to be, needed to be now. It could lead, he would happily follow. Nothing else mattered; the light was everything. Now! Was it calling him by name, luring him in, letting him dance to the tune of the light?
He was getting closer now, brighter, it was brighter than ever, so bright it should be hurting his eyes – but it wasn't, he could look into it, through it, beyond it to...just light.
It was surrounding him, enveloping him, could light caress his body? Was he becoming the light? The light was indeed everything.
It was nearly the moment; soon there would no return, no chance of return; he understood, he welcomed the understanding, always the light was there, warm, welcome, wanting him, taking him onwards...onwards to...
"Jackson! JACKSON!"
The anguish seared the light, severed the link with the light, ripped through the warmth. No! No, he wanted the light, wanted to follow the light, wanted that warmth, the surrounding, enveloping, caresses of welcome that had been just within his grasp.
He didn't want to go back, he wanted to fight the forces pulling him back, he kept his eyes on the light, but it was already going, retreating, leaving him, moving further and further back from him. Nothing he could do could stop it, the anguish had caught him, tied him, was pulling him back, wouldn't let him go, wanted, needed to keep him now. The light no longer enveloped him, its caresses were gone, he was bereft, empty, alone. Watching, he could see it disappearing, growing smaller, he was alone in the darkness. But not for long. The anguish that had called him back held him in thrall.
The light was blue now, flashing, gaudy colours, filling the limits of his world. From white to blue, from escape to captivity, from freedom returned, pulled back by a thread, a thread of anguish, of pain, of need...and perhaps of something else. Something hard to name but there, surrounding him, pulling him backwards.
Pulled back, but not yet trapped, not yet safely captured, not yet certain; he could still float, drift, high in the air, high above; he could look down, unseen and see. At first, blue was everything, dominating, rhythmically illuminating in brief snatches. His vision was clearing, yet his view was distorted, strange, unusual; he was seeing, but where from? He was seeing, he could see himself. He could see his body. He could see his body and he was bleeding; the light flooding his eyes was red now.
His body, but was it truly him? Half hidden behind a blur of movement, a blur of bodies, scurrying, climbing, moving; his view obscured now, full hidden. A press of bodies surrounding him, suffocating him, close, so close to him, hands moving, touching; yet he felt nothing, heard nothing, had heard nothing since the anguish wrenched him back, backwards.
Time meant nothing, time was unreal, time was playing tricks as he watched; frantic activity played in slow motion. Still the anguish was close by, never leaving, quiet distress numb with helplessness, only watching, waiting too.
His body cocooned, constricted, lifted, freed from the tangle of twisted metal; himself, his soul, his spirit, the essence of him watching, unmoving and unmoved, missing the promise that had been the light.
Dragged now, linked to the blood red light, the blood covered body; his chance of escape, of freedom had been taken by the anguish, reaching him, staying his path, keeping him from his escape.
Dragged now, closer to the blood red light, closer to the blood covered body, so close, merging, reuniting...ripping agony tearing through him, searing every nerve in his body, agony beyond pain, beyond consciousness, overwhelming release now into the darkness of oblivion. Sinking into the blessed relief of deep blackness; yet he knew the anguish was beside him, still keeping him, holding onto him, even through the blackness he welcomed, he craved.
...
Darkness, numbness, he could only hear, muffled mumbled sounds coming from far away, so far away that they could have nothing to do with him, could they? He need do nothing but drift, alone for the moment, at peace, at rest, sinking, was it release this time? He hadn't expected it now; he hadn't noticed the anguish was no longer beside him, holding him back. Holding his breath, just waiting to see, was that the light returning?
Fiery heat burst throughout his body, tearing his exploring, wandering thoughts apart for the moment; there was nothing except the heat surging through his body, exploding, generating more heat coursing through his nerves, his muscles, from his heart to the very edge of him.
Calmer now, breathing? yes but strangely different; beyond him, beyond his control. Sinking again, sinking into welcome oblivion...into darkness, into the trickery of time...to surface again to sound, to noise all around him...cheeping...peeping...swirling swishing gliding in and out; the rhythm of his life, the recording of his life.
Awareness was returning, growing, he knew now he wasn't alone although the anguish had not returned to his side; he felt surprise at that. He could hear now, a little; sound, voices crystallising, clearing but making no sense; nothing was making sense yet. Why was he alone, with only the sounds, the voices?
His eyes. A voice was asking him to open his eyes; no, that was too much, he couldn't do that just yet. But that voice, warm, cajoling, he knew it yet couldn't place it. On and on, quietly, pulling him further back; yet somehow it wasn't the voice he wanted to hear, the voice he most wanted to hear. The words rolled around him, over him, swept him along on the images they conjured, images, a mirage in his mind, yet so real, he surely could reach out and touch...the memory. Memories; the voice was luring him back with memories, the pictures became so real in his mind, so real he wanted to share them again, so real it was becoming more and more impossible for him to escape them again.
Hazel. The name floated into his mind. Mum. His mum, it was her voice he was hearing, her voice speaking to him, tying him tighter to her reality.
He tried calling out to her, again, louder, in his head he was screaming; a little boy again, wanting his mum. She didn't answer; her gentle voice of memories didn't change. Slowly, oh so slowly realisation, understanding; he could scream forever, she couldn't hear him, he wasn't making a sound.
Wait! She said something. Leaving the memories, she said a name; a name he knew, a name he wanted above all others. Did she say she would get him? Did she say he was there? Why couldn't she hear him, asking, begging, needing him. She left, he would come...
No. NO! Not him! Not his father! Why is he here? Don't let him touch him; the last time he felt his touch it was a fist, a fist thundering into his face; he could taste the blood still, feel the anger still, he was no longer his son, that man was no longer his father, he had lost that gift when he had hit him, hit him for loving. Even now, even here, his voice was loud, angry, blaming, blaming...always needing to apportion blame outside of himself, never accepting anything himself.
Words were buzzing beside him now, flying past so quickly he could hardly catch them. Yes, yes he could hear them, talking, that man's bitterness flowing like bile from his tongue into the blackness his son inhabited.
How could he stop his ears from hearing, stop his mind from remembering, tell them he didn't want that man anywhere near him...not after...
Why was the one person he did want beside him not there? Or perhaps he had been and he had missed him? Had he drifted into darkness and missed him? He didn't know, he couldn't tell; time, life, existence was playing tricks with him. Darkness could be his friend, his lover, his lonely lover.
Without him, he welcomed the darkness, the black, swirling moments; he didn't want to leave the blackness, surfacing to recognising the voices again.
He tried to ignore them, he didn't want them, he didn't want him, his father. But the voices were loud, urgent whisperings penetrating his world, penetrating his darkness, he couldn't escape the world, he couldn't escape their words. His fault! It was his fault the one person he wanted wasn't there; the one person he needed, had been dragged back by, was being kept away, by him.
Snarling, spitting like the tigress that he could picture in his head, his mother, he smiled...was the smile reaching his face, his mouth; he couldn't tell. He could hear her, telling him, thwarting his threats, facing his anger. Hear the hurt in her voice that she needed to say the words at all, telling him, reminding him, that he tore their family apart. Reminding him that he couldn't help himself, his son was...is gay.
He didn't want to hear any more, he couldn't listen anymore, his heart was breaking, he was crying inside, sobbing, wretched, screaming. For nothing, it made no difference, they didn't know what he wanted, they didn't know that he was there, hearing them, calling to them, begging to be heard. Needing that one person, that one thread that was holding him, without him, he might as well go, float away to the peace he craved, the peace he had given up as the anguish pulled him back.
He gave himself up to the darkness of the moment; it wasn't the end, he knew it wouldn't be the end just now. But he could retreat so far, stretch the thread holding him, keeping him, welcome the darkness of the moment.
...
Black darkness fading into midnight blue, dragged back, again. Waiting for the voices to become clear beside him...in his head...waiting for them to make sense. He can hear her again, his mother, talking, to him? To someone else? He didn't know.
No wait! There are definitely other voices now, coming closer; suddenly it feels as though his heart is beating faster, surely it must be beating its way out of his chest; can't anyone see how he feels, doesn't anyone know?
He's there! As sure as he knows anything, he knows he is there now, at last, so close to him, if only he could reach out, touch him. He's calling to him now, desperately, urgently, raising his voice, screaming...why can he not hear him screaming?
He can hear their voices, his mother; offering her voice for his. Why can they not hear him screaming?
And then! At last the voice he has longed to hear; quiet, questioning, how can she joke? This is the voice he came back for, the voice he held on for, the voice, full of anguish that held him by a thread, the anguish that wouldn't let him go. Aaron.
They were alone now, he knew that much; he was talking, quietly, almost whispering. Why didn't he touch him? Oh god! why did he not touch him, why didn't he just hold him? He was reaching out to meet him, to feel him...wasn't he? Why could he not feel his touch upon his body?
No! Don't drag those memories back, happy memories...he couldn't go there, not now; not just yet; maybe one day, but not until his head was clearer. Let him listen to what he was saying; he was doing all the talking, gentle words, caring words; words of beauty, the poetry of his love. No! don't! there is no need for apology! He needed to be held him, to be hugged, kissed, comforted...why can't he feel him moving against him; why isn't he holding him even yet.
Oh god! listening to him; his heart is breaking, his heart is cold, empty, starved, silent. Silent. Silent. Gone.
But no! They couldn't, wouldn't leave him in the silence; the welcoming silence. Suddenly noise, overwhelming noise, activity; that one voice vanished, disappeared, lost forever perhaps.
Penetrating even his consciousness, they wrenched him back, back yet again; there was no peace, they would allow him no peace, no respite. Even the darkness wasn't taking him now, not taking him deep enough; there was only midnight blue.
Midnight blue time, he was floating through the eternal midnight blue time, not gone, but not yet returned.
As always it was the voices that pulled him back, just a little; it wasn't the voice he wanted, it was the voice of inflicted pain, the voice of rejection. But suddenly he wasn't alone; the one voice he wanted was there, they were talking, he could hear them talking.
He needed to concentrate, to listen; there was something different about the voice
No! he wasn't just a voice, he was more than a voice, he was Aaron…and he was fighting for him…with words. Words were powerful; he could hear the power in Aaron's words, talking to his father; the man who should have loved him, cared for him; the man who hit him.
Oh god! That meant he knew! Who told him? He was never going to tell him, never wanted him to know.
Oh god Aaron! Couldn't he feel him reaching out, touching? Yet he must be close, so close. Why did he not feel him touch him?
Oh god yes Aaron! That was the word, the word he called his son. A poof! A fucking poof! And worse; he remembered the venom; the hate spat at him, the rejection, the disintegration of everything around him, for a while, his world was in tatters.
Footsteps, a click of the door; someone had gone, who? Come close, closer, Aaron? Yes, Aaron was still close by. A flood of relief swept over him; he didn't want to be alone with him, the other, his father.
Wait! He was back! Why did he keep coming back, he had not bothered with him for years, why had him being…being in this place, brought him back when all he would do was hate. Hate him, hate Aaron.
Understanding now, wanting understanding, wanting a normal life for his son. Can't he understand he is normal? That he will never be like him. That he would never reject his son.
Still the voices swirl around him; it was hard to concentrate, to hear every word; he could hear Aaron though, hear his strength, feel the warmth of his quiet passion reaching out to him. But no, don't tell him anything Aaron, he won't understand. Won't understand the horror you felt at discovering yourself, the need to pretend; and it was you, your strength, your growth; but thank you.
They don't know they can be heard, do they? Their voices reaching in to the midnight blue places. They can't hear his calls, his screams, his desperate need to escape from this prison. Fighting the panic rising within him, he tried to retreat, to forget the voices, to listen to the music around him; the swirling, sighing; the repetitive, rhythmical noise that was the background to his world.
Yet when the voices weren't there, when it was quiet, he felt lost, his anchor, his reality taken from him, he drifted further, further away from anything he knew, anything he recognised. But always something dragged him back, some sound, a voice, but never a touch, however much he wanted to be touched, however much he knew he was reaching out to touch.
Words are taking him back to childhood, to fun-filled care-free days, his mother's voice, gentle, teasing, reaching him, wanting him, wanting him to come back to her, to Aaron.
Aaron! He's back, he is as sure of it as he is of anything; he can sense him, so close, so tense, a knot of moving anxiety, needing to be doing something, anything. Anything but that Aaron! A noise that he couldn't call music, filled the room; he had said he liked that as a joke! Oh babes! That was wonderful! No! Leave it! Don't listen to anyone else, don't listen to him! What does he know! He could feel warmth spreading through his body, the warmth of affection, of more, of something he wouldn't curse by naming again.
In the quiet of sometime, it was getting lighter; the midnight blue was fading to pale, to a bluey-grey; he felt movement, swaying, rolling, churning, nauseating movement.
He opened his eyes.
A fast blur of colour, movement, coming in and out of focus, increased noise, he had thought he knew, understood, but nothing made sense again. Oh god! he couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe; there were voices beside him again, but he didn't know what they were saying, he couldn't think now, he was going to be sick…no! a sigh and it was over. He hadn't even realised but now it was gone…tentatively he let his tongue move around the inside of his dry mouth, slowly, slowly licking his lips.
The light was yellow now, pale, shadowed yellow artificial light. It was strange seeing what he had only been hearing, guessing, struggling to make sense of it all.
Faces swam into view, his mother, and him! Why did he keep coming back? There was nothing for him here. She was touching his face, he could feel her now, feel her gentle fingers, full of tenderness, full of love.
"Do you want anything?"
He could hear her, see her lips move, see her eyes looking at him, he tried to wet his lips again, he needed to answer her. There was only one thing he wanted, only one word he whispered.
"Aaron."