The More Things Change…
By
Philippa Evans
There could only ever be awkwardness with her.
Just as one could never drink comfortably from fine china for fear of destroying it and inciting the rage of some aged Auntie (not that Johnny had ever been invited to a tea party by any octogenarian women and, understandably, did not possess a fancy tea set), Devi was so fascinatingly fragile that despite the ease of her lucid conversation, there was an unspoken, almost unconscious need for Johnny to hold his breath when in her presence; to smile slowly…normally.
The awkwardness, however, was most certainly not unpleasant…it was a novelty.
He was coming to suspect that what he felt for her was coming close to resembling a cheesy romantic song…something that people played over and over not because it was anything remotely like good music, but because it was about love and they could relate to it (with what he had previously thought to be smug superiority…which was why he took his sweet time with any boy band fans).
And so he found himself in the bookstore, watching her work. He found that conversations with her rainbowed his mind and scratched out the crude etchings of Happy Noodle Boy. He found that the darkness seemed just a little more pure and the cloudy skies a little less smudged in her presence for one brief moment. He forgot the Wall and its macabre paint. He forgot the scream-drenched rooms below his house. He almost forgot how to exhale.
It was pathetic of him, he mused, but he flattered himself that he would not wind up writing overly emotional poetry to be posted on the Internet for all to gag over, so it was alright.
He was startled into reality when she touched his hand with slightly calloused fingertips. There was a faint dab of purple paint in the corner of her left eyebrow and he smiled when he thought of how it had ended up there.
"Fucking Neanderthals with their crass questions," muttered Devi as a way of greeting. It was such a relief from the mundane ritual repeated everyday by the Dead Living. "The more help we give them, the more they need."
Johnny's head tilted in an agreeable nod. "I could always arrange a few…accidents," he suggested casually. Devi smiled appreciatively at the "joke" and he couldn't help but notice her minor overbite. It made fluffy bunnies tap dance in his stomach, impervious to his digestive juices.
"I'd be more than grateful," Devi said, winking, and Johnny added a few more faces to his mental "To Do" list. "Although I don't think that it would make much of a difference…the world is over-populated with the ignorant. We'd only receive new blank minds waiting to be scribbled in and modified with every new trend."
"The more things change, the more they stay the same…a used-out phrase, but true," nodded Johnny.
"However," said Devi, cautiously touching his hand again, "I was hoping that perhaps some things would change…"
The awkwardness was now reaching dangerous proportions on the Richter Scale of Discomfiture. You could probably, Johnny imagined, cut it with a knife. He had, however, cut far more substantial things with a knife too and so decided to dismiss this observation as irrelevant.
"I was hoping, in fact, that you'd want to go out to see a movie with me tomorrow night. I mean, you've been coming into the store for some time now and I was hoping to continue our conversations in a place a little less…tainted," said Devi, maintaining eye contact with him in a possible attempt to hypnotise him into acceptance. It wasn't necessary.
"I…"
I realise that it's rather short notice but it happens to be Friday and it's not as if I could have phoned you," explained Devi, adding "that was a subtle attempt to get your number, by the way, Johnny."
"I…"
"Aren't you going to say anything?"
"…Call me nny," Johnny said at last. Devi smiled again and the fuzzy bunnies mutated into polar bears.
"Alright, nny. Was that a yes?"
A nod seemed to be an acceptable response. Johnny tried it and was relieved to see that it seemed to work. Times, numbers and venues were exchanged and Johnny felt himself hoping like hell that they were being stored somewhere in his memory.
Suddenly, with an unexpected peck on the cheek, Devi was gone. The inviting smell of coffee and slightly expensive perfume was gone; replace with the sweaty stench of humanity.
….
….
"I thought I'd chat to you because when I converse with my Die-ary, it never gives me any replies…it judges me. Just like that stuffed rat you keep next to you at night. I want to hurt it. Please put him under your bed."
Squee squeed in dismayed shock as Johnny entered the room.
"You might want to start buying a little potpourri before the corpses in my little tunnel start to decompose. It happens sooner than you'd think."
The saucer-like eyes blinked above the bedcovers in mute horror.
"But what I really wanted to talk to you about, was girls," said Johnny. "Say you happen to like one. What do you do?"
"Um…give her flowers?" suggested the boy, realising that a verbal response was required. Johnny gave him a puzzled frown.
"What, like on her grave or something?" he asked. The little boy shook his head vehemently.
"Ah…so whilst she's still living then. I see. These forms of human interaction confuse me. Generally, I just empty people of their intimate fluids. What's the point in giving someone flowers? They only die. It's hardly a fitting symbol for eternal love. But then…what love is truly eternal? Death is inevitable. I should know. Someone always dies. It's a hopeless case, don't you think?"
Again, Squee understood that it was compulsory for him to formulate some form of coherent answer. "There's always now, though…"
"Yes, yes…the moment. The perfect moment. Hardly eternal, however. I wonder how one would go about immortalizing it…"
There was a silence as Johnny tapped his long, pale fingers against Squee's bedpost, deep in thought. The corners of his mouth suddenly turns up, as if trying to escape one another.
"Of course! You'd think that I'd have thought of this before, really. Silly of me…"
The older boy got up, leaning in towards Squee before he made for the door. "Thank you, I really enjoyed our little chat. Sweet dreams."
He left and Squee breathed out.
Johnny's head suddenly appeared again. "Oh…and don't try to retrieve your stuffed bear before morning. I think I heard the bogeymen slamming his skull against the floor."
Squee squeed…again.
…
…
Johnny started ambling towards his house, whistling something from "The Nightmare Before Christmas" under his breath.
…Immortalise the moment…
It was really so simple.
After all, the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
A/N: Well…I couldn't resist typing something from JTHM. You may lynch me, if you wish. I would love any comments/reviews in order to attempt to improve my writing. JTHM does not belong to me, as well as TNBC (don't you just love acronyms?).It is most unfortunate.