Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop. The poem I used in this story is called "On Not Flying to Hawaii" and it was written by someone named Alison Luterman. She has probably never heard of CB, but it seemed to me like she was writing about Faye....
Flying Away
The airport was hot, humid and stuffy. It was crowded with people who moved slowly, dragging themselves along through the heat. Everything felt sticky to the touch. The view out the windows was nothing special-a bunch of ships taking off and some that were landing. There was nothing but long stretches of black pavement, shimmering in the heat and dirty, tired looking ships. At this particular moment, ships meant nothing to a young woman dressed in a simple black dress. She had seen it all countless times before. She turned away from the window, her short, dark hair swinging around her head. She lowered her sun glasses part way and then-as if the view was too bright-quickly put them back up.
She paced around as heads turned in her direction; most of them men, giving her second glances. She ignored them. She was Faye Valentine-beautiful, smart, brave, independent and depressed.
// I could be the waitress
in the airport restaurant
full of tired cigarette smoke and unseeing tourists. \\
Fumbling with a small packet, Faye pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Moodily, she held the package in front of her and stared at it for a moment. The flimsy cardboard was bent and falling apart. Someone, in a fit of ownership perhaps, had written across the front, in black marker, the word: SPIKE. Quickly, Faye put it away. She couldn't bear to look at it any longer.
Across the corridor, she watched a sour looking waitress idly tapping her perfectly painted nails against the counter. Faye walked over and slid into a small booth in the corner. She examined the picture on the wall briefly-a picture of some planet from space, perhaps this one. She wasn't quite sure, nor did she much care.
// I could turn into the never noticed landscape
hanging identically in all the booths
or the customer behind his Chronicle
who has been giving advice about stock profiles for forty years. \\
Faye turned around, studying the man in the booth behind her. Here in the restaurant, it was dim and cool-a sort of unhurried bustle to serve customers. Still wearing her glasses, Faye propped the menu open and wondered why that man looked so sad, so tired.
// I could be his mortal weariness,
his discarded sports section, his smoldering ashtray \\
Stubbing her cigarette, she watched the smoke slowly float upwards, curling over itself and becoming intertwined, until she could barely see through it. When had her life become so intertwined with Spike's, Jet's and Ed's that she could barely see past them? Until one day, everything had broken apart and she could see the next day and the next-stretching infinitely before her and she had nothing to fill them with, no friends to laugh away the days.
She caught the waitress's eye-a sullen, young girl-and ordered the strongest drink on the menu.
// I could be the seventy-year-old woman who has never seen Hawaii,
touching her red lipstick and sprayed hair.
I could enter the linen dress
that poofs around her body like a bridesmaid,
or become her gay son
sitting opposite her, stirring another sugar
into his coffee for lack of something true to say. \\
Each of these people, Faye mused, living their own separate lives. Each one with their own pain, their own little fears and their own joys. And everyone of them is "I" or "me" to themselves, but to me, they'll always be "you" or "them".
The waitress brought the drink, then walked away, stifling a yawn. Faye sipped it, made a wry face and quickly downed the whole thing. She set the glass down, hearing the small metallic click it made against the solid wood of the table. Starting to feel a little dizzy, she grabbed onto the table-top and held on. Why hadn't she held onto Spike this tightly? Why hadn't she told him she loved him? She took a deep breath, turning her face downwards, so no one would see the tears she felt coming. The carpet on the floor was brightly colored, made with intricate patterns that whorled around and jumped out at her. In the dim lighting, with her sun glasses still on, Faye saw the one she loved, his blood the color of the deep red in the carpet.
// I could be the reincarnated soul of the composer
of the Muzak that plays relentlessly overhead,
or the factory worker who wove this fake Oriental carpet,
or the hushed shoes of the busboy. \\
I will not cry, not here, not now. Maybe not ever, Faye thought and ordered another drink. This one was easier going down and left her feeling better, steadier. She hoped the pain of having loved and gotten nothing in return would fade away. Looking around, she wanted to be someone else, somewhere else...
// But I don't want to be the life of anything in this pit stop.
I want to go to Hawaii, the wet, hot
impossible place in my heart that knows just what it desires. \\
I want to get away from it all. I don't want to have to remember anymore. Faye plopped the money down on the table and made her way back out to the noisy terminal.
// I want money, I want candy.
I want sweet ukulele music and birds who drop from the sky \\
On an impulse, she bought two tickets to Hawaii, even though it ate up the rest of her money. It didn't matter that much anymore. Slipping her last dime into a nearby phone booth, Faye tried to reach a friend, but it appeared he had already left. Turning slowly around, she caught sight of a tall man, with a black beard and smart black tuxedo walking towards her. She went to greet him.
'lo Jet, she said, and mumbling something about having just tried to call him.
Hello Faye...ready to go? He asked kindly, removing his hat.
Faye took a deep breath, slight change of plans actually. Hawaii sound good to you?
Jet rubbed the top of his bald head and finally said, I hear the weather's great this time of year.
And so they were going, neither one talking much.
// I want to be the volcano who lavishes
her boiling rock soup love on everyone,
and I want to be the lover
of volcanoes, who loves best what burns her as it flows. \\
She tried hard not to wish that Jet was Spike and wished she could love Jet instead. He had always been so good to her-even now that Spike was gone. But she just couldn't help loving Spike best. And even now that he was gone, she loved him, but she would survive. After all, she was Faye Valentine-beautiful, smart, brave, independent and strong.
A/N: I tried to focus on the side of Faye that isn't so "shrew-like" for this story...so if some people disagree with my "beautiful, smart...etc" i just have to say that I liked the way it sounded. And, when she isn't dressed quite so...(i'll just say scantily)...she isn't exactly ugly. Anyways, let me know what you thought of my first ever song...um, poem-fic. ~CronoCat =^_^=