Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.
His wall. Carefully crafted over years of practice. No one could see through it. No one could go over or under it. Whatever was hidden behind it was just that: hidden.
Cross. Loop Up. Fold. Bring Down.
His movements were careful and precise. He had to look good today. There was so much to do. They had a lot of places to be. He wasn't sure if he was ready for another year. But he had to be, like it or not.
He adjusted his bow tie. He had to look good today. There was so much to do. They had a lot of places to be. He brushed himself off, picking at a nonexistent piece of lint. He knew now that he was not ready for this. He just couldn't do it. He'd just have to say he was too sick to go. Too tired. Too... busy.
But all of them were lies. His travel companion—for that's all they were at this moment, nothing more—had seen that he was in fine health. They had seen that while he had not slept the night before, he didn't show it and quite enjoyed his coffee not an hour before. And it's not like he had anything else to do today. Too scared would be the truth.
He was scared to see what had changed. Scared to see what's become of it. He was close to tears as it was; thinking about it wasn't helping.
He walked numbly down the stairs, his knuckles going white as they clutched the banister. He couldn't even bring himself to use the elevator. What if it broke down? He'd never make it. But did he want to make it? He'd been fighting with himself for seven days.
He told himself he would go, over and over. That he would go, if only for the sake of going. To say he did it so he would have something to cry about for the next decade. But now that it was time, he wasn't sure if he could do it.
The past few days had been pressing down on him. A week ago, he informed his friends.
"I won't be in town next weekend. Family trip," he posted on Facebook. Not entirely untrue. But he couldn't even tell them face-to-face. He had avoided everyone that week, staying locked up in his room and just listening to old cassette tapes.
It was the first chip in his wall that he had carefully crafted over time. He just couldn't function normally and that bothered him. Even more than not being able to decide whether or not to go. His beautiful wall had an ugly and obvious crack.
He reached the Ground Floor and he knew it was far too late to turn back. He advanced towards where the other half of his travel group was standing. His steps were uncertain, heavy. It was just the two of them. It was just two days. Strangely, he had no feelings about the number two. It was just another number. It was company and the result was much better than going it alone.
The ride was silent. His palms sweat and breathing became harder. He closed his eyes and tried to quell his anxiety. His associate tapped a hand on his knee, acknowledging that he could see the pain crossing his features. But he would not cry. His head would stay high.
The car stopped far too soon. He fumbled for the latch as his companion leafed through his wallet. He had to get out of that car. He was smothering. He stood outside of the bright yellow death trap, breathing in the smoggy air. He was here. There truly was no going back. As if there was really an option before.
His comrade exited the opposite side of the vehicle. It rolled off, avoiding the crowd, and reentering traffic. He could hear the water running. The low, mournful chatter of those around him. He joined the mass with his traveling fellow. They were all equal now.
Status, occupation, age, gender, sexuality, race... None of it mattered. They had all gone through the same experience. Some headed slightly left. Others headed slightly right. He followed the group heading towards the latter. He slowed his pace, his earlier trepidation returning. Did he really want to see this? He had gone this far. Technically he had heard the water. He was content with that.
His wall was still intact. He knew the moment he saw, he would crumble. Ice had begun to form in that crack of his. The crack would only get larger as time went on.
A strong hand rested on his shoulder. It wasn't forcing him into anything, it was silently asking a question. It was still up to him.
He pushed purposefully onward. The grass below his feet crunched softly, just like the grass beneath everyone elses'. The water only became louder. Maybe they should've gone the other way, had a look around first.
No. He was on a mission. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
It finally came into view. A magnificent structure with glistening water. The Southern one, at least. He wanted to reach out and touch it, just to prove to himself it was real. He truly could ask for nothing better. The granite coating was pristine and he imagined the waters to be warm and comforting.
He was suddenly glad that he came.
He strode dutifully through the crowd, knowing where it would be. He lost the other at some time. It wasn't important.
His wall started to shake. It wasn't just going to crumble slowly and mercifully. At this rate, it was going to come crashing down and force him to tears. It was good that he was around people already in tears. He'd fit right in.
His soles came to a halt. There it was. Black and white. Clear as crystal. He ran his fingers over each letter inscribed as he read. He only made it through the first two words. The other four were just too hard.
It was as if someone had set a grenade into the crevice. The wall shattered just as thoroughly as the newly-formed ice. He was exposed. Anyone could see the raw emotions. He feared he could never pick the pieces back up.
Curled up, looking out the small window at the blue sky and red, orange, yellow trees. That's what he is reduced to. After taking a small picture, he had demanded to leave. He couldn't take it anymore. He needed security. He needed to be home.
He needed his bed. He needed to sleep, if he could manage it. He needed a hug.
Luckily, it only lasted an hour. They touched firm ground not a moment too soon. He was almost expecting the plane to crash and burn. Maybe in a field somewhere. There were a few tense moments of turbulence, that's for sure.
He struggled to pick up the stones and try to fit them together like puzzle pieces. A whole decade to build and less than a week to destroy. They weren't fitting. They'd never get put together again. He'd live in fear forever.
The moment he came in contact with his sheets, he held it in no more. He cried. He remembered. And thus, he mourned. When he was younger, he did not fully understand. Now, he knew. The last ten years were real.
"Don't cry."
That voice. Always that voice when he was sad.
"Don't cry, baby. It's alright. I'm okay."
No, that wasn't true. Death doesn't equal okay.
He rolled over. He didn't need to hear that voice comforting a six-year-old him. It was old news.
Two voices were silenced that day. One voice so musically inclined it was singing until the very end. The other never got the chance to speak.
He always wondered what it would be like, strolling down a street with not a care in the world, singing your favorite song, and then suddenly having your life ended by forces out of your own control. They were in someone's control, but not yours. A large-scale act of violence that ended thousands of lives... also ending yours. What was death like? He wasn't sure about an afterlife. Sometimes he liked to entertain the idea that maybe... death did mean okay.
A light knock at his door. Was it his comrade? Comrade was no longer an appropriate term now that they were home again.
"Listen, buddy. I know you're hurting. I am, too. And I know your little wall fell today. But you need to know that the walls we build to keep out sadness, also keep out joy."
And that was all he wrote.
Once upon a time, he was a child. Once upon a time, he told his no-longer-relationship-equal about his emotional wall. Once upon a time, he was understood. He was so happy to hear he wasn't alone in hiding his feelings.
And now that he was older, he could understand that phrase. The same one he was told as a child. He had to let in the joy this time around. It would take time to heal, but he could do it. He was brave. He was brave like her.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, rubbing away his tears with the back of his hand. But in order to heal, he had to face the facts. He took a deep breath and called the one person he knew would listen indefinitely. And once he got in contact with that person, he pulled up the picture.
That wall. The wall with only six words on the screen. The words engraved. He swallowed hard as the tears ran silently down his cheeks.
"Babe? Hello? Are you okay?"
"Yes," he spoke in an unconvincing and devastated voice.
"What's going on?"
"It's the eleventh."
"I know. Are you sure you're okay?"
He hesitated. But he had to let the joy in. "No."
A firm hand covered his. He let go of the pieces of concrete. He wouldn't need it anymore.
He spilled his guts. He spoke for an hour, just letting it out to someone who would listen without judging. And when he was done, he ended very simply.
"Why did this happen? I'll tell you why. Life is ridiculous. The universe is one big joke, and the joke is on us."
All the while staring at the picture of the wall and the six words that will forever have an impact on his life:
Elizabeth Hummel and her unborn child.
Yes. Three weeks late. But it came to me on the night of Sept. 11 as I was drifting off to sleep, so couple that with lack of internet access and yes. Three weeks late.
I chose to do this one-shot rather than another chapter of Gleephobia because this was a big reference to the 9/11 attacks, so there was kinda a time frame. That I missed. I suck.
That's besides the point, though. I ran to the library in order to get this done for today. Because today, October 3, is Ocelot Day. CELEBRATE!
Note: This is an act of fiction. I am in no way trying to pass this as reality. I'm sorry if I offended anyone. Any large inaccuracies I will gladly fix.