Defying Gravity
On the inside cover of a 1995 edition of Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West:
For Tony—Hope we don't end up like them.
Love, Sean
I have to laugh every time I read that inscription. Sean would say that... He jokes, you know, about my being in the mafia – which I'm not, as far as I know, but being born Italian, you never really know – and since Fiyero... Well, that would ruin the story for you, wouldn't it?
It's a good book, you know. Maguire knows what he's doing, though I haven't read too much of him yet. After all, Sean only got me Wicked for my last birthday – the binding's already soft and ribbed from the number of times I've read it – and I've been in love with it ever since. The first bit drags on a little, but once it starts going, you can't put it down. I took him to see the show, and it was all right. I mean, it was amazing and everything – Menzel knows what she's doing, too – but it isn't the same... The book, it's tragic and happy and... You really have to read it for yourself.
Me and Sean, we bond over books and Broadway. We met in a bookstore on Long Beach, actually, and we chatted each other up at Starbucks later. And the week after that, we saw "La Cage aux Folles" together.
Yes, you heard me. "La Cage aux Folles".
What'd you expect?
Anyway...
Me and Sean, we have the same taste, but we still have to agree to disagree on everything anyway. Except for maybe Eugene O'Neill, because he's brilliant, though personally, I think Sean just fell in love with the tumbler on the cover of A Long Day's Journey Into Night. But that play is great. We went to see that, too... Absolutely fucking brilliant. But on other things, like Harry Potter? I enjoy good juvenile fiction once in awhile... And you've got to admit. Rowling may not write literature, but she's got a certain hook. I mean, Prisoner of Azkaban? Who saw the ending coming? Not me. But Sean, he's too old for something like that, 734 pages or not... Sean, he's too mature for something that doesn't require too much thought. Even though he hides the books under his bed; I know, because I dropped a pen once, and what do I find but a secret stash of Harry books. Hardcover, too.
Me and Sean, we fight a lot. Some couples have bad days. We have bad weeks. We're kind of like Phedre and Joscelin in Carey's Kushieltrilogy – I maintain that Carey has a good mind for plot, no matter what Sean says (he swears he reads them for the sex scenes, but I don't believe him, and you shouldn't, either). We give each other the silent treatment, and we pound each other into the ground. We bicker over dishes and argue over bedding. We scream and yell and say that we hate each other at least once a month. Our girl friends think it's cute. We think they're crazy.
Me and Sean, we're always there for each other. I'm there when he hates the world and everything in it, especially himself, and decides – silly boy – that alcohol is his new (or would that be old?) best friend. I'm there when he secretly smiles as he flips through the newest Lemony Snicket book because he doesn't think anyone is looking. And I'm there when he gushes over how great Dostoevsky is, and his eyes are shining, and his face is flushed, and I really, really love him like that because it's the Sean that only I know. He's there when I get annoyed with all the stupidity in the world and start beating the crap out of my walls. And he's there when I spend five minutes measuring out a teaspoon of garlic because I'm anal enough that the flavor has to be just right. He laughs at me, you know, but I don't mind, because personally, I rather like his laugh. It's light and slightly mocking, but it's a good kind of mocking, even if it makes me blush. I'm not very pretty when I blush.
Me and Sean... We just... We fit, you know? We fit, and I think I love him, and I think he loves me, too, or at least he thinks he does, which is good enough for me.
And you know, I might like tragic endings when I read, but me and Sean?
On a Post-It note taped to a ticket to "Wicked":
To Sean—
We won't.
Love, Tony
Right... Well, since I haven't posted anything in about half a year, I thought I should probably, you know, post something to show that I haven't died yet.
"Butterflies and Hurricanes" is a collection of modern day ficlets, all told from Tony's (Race's) point of view. Most of these are going to be the result of either a challenge or a secret slash extravaganza, because I'm lazy when I'm not busy, and those are a few of the things that actually get me writing...
This one is for Raven.
Happy hols!
Gothic AuthorP. S. And because Quickedit is evil, the formatting will probably be a little off... Why can't I use brackets?!
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeevil...
P. P. S. "Butterflies and Hurricanes" is from a song by Muse, by the way... Absolutely brilliant, it is.