There's A Face At The Window
I sink to the floor as everyone around me disperses – to party I guess. I can't, not without Brit. Shadows play on my mind, dancing shadows of yesterday. An ethereal tune starts in my head, and I hear someone start to sing, it takes me a moment before it registers that the voice is Brit's. 'Just killed a man, put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he's dead.' What is he talking about? I don't understand, maybe metaphorically he did kill himself – after all no one forced him to break through the laser cage, but he never pulled the trigger. Never intended to die. 'Life had just begun, but now I've gone and thrown it all away'. I turn, and he's there, but not there. He's translucent, a shadow of the man he was. A ghost. He walks towards me, a solitary tear forming in the corner of his eye before falling down his cheek. He reaches me and stretches out a hand and lifts my face to look at him, while helping me stand. 'Didn't mean to make you cry if I'm not back again this time tomorrow'. For the first time in my memory Brit has left me confused, doesn't he realize he's dead? He stops singing and talks to me, telling me to carry on as if nothing really matters. Doesn't he realize I can't do that? It does matter, he's dead! I can't carry on.
I open my mouth, but I can't speak, it's too late, my time has come. It's my time to join him. He came back for me. He realizes what it is I'm trying to say, and slowly shakes his head. The look he gives me sends shivers down my spine – it's so eloquent it says it all – it's not my time. I'm not ready to leave everyone behind and face the truth. I don't want to die, but him leaving me makes me wish I'd never been born at all. But then, I'd never have met Brit.
I stare intently at him, searching for any hint of Brit being there physically, rather than spiritually, but I can find none. 'I see a little silhouetto of a man'. And in reality that's all Brit is – a silhouette, a walking shadow. 'Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the fandango?' It takes a moment for me to remember the first conversation we ever heard Galileo and Scaramouche having. He asked her to do the fandango. I don't understand why Brit is talking about this - it's not relevant. 'Thunderbolt and lightning – very very frightening me!' I am frightened, what he's saying doesn't make any sense.
Brit seems to feel my fear and explains his meaning very simply – 'Forgive them. They're young, I didn't die for them, I died for you. So you could be free. There is no such thing as life worth living if you aren't free. Free yourself babe, don't cling to my memory. Live.' I scream back at him, 'I can't live without you! I don't want to be free! Not without you! Brit, I'm begging you, please don't leave me. Please. Not again.'
'Babe, I'm not here to go again. I am gone.' His words shatter my already broken heart. Brit has clearly decided his work here is not yet done, my hatred for Galileo and Scaramouche is still as intense as ever. He whispers to me, 'Galileo… Galileo… Galileo… Galileo…' he tries one last time to get make me see sense, this time by using his full name, 'Galileo Figaro magnifico. Forgive him. Forgive him and Scaramouche. Babe, it's a tough world out there, and they're going to need you, just as much as you need them. I know you don't want to hear it but you do need them. you need the dream. You've got a chance to succeed, forgive them, don't let me have died in vain. Forgive them.' That works, and I feel my hatred start to dissipate. I can't forgive them for me, but I will for Brit.
'I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me'. Where did that come from? Everyone loves him - he's Brit! 'Brit… how can you say that?' I choke. 'I love you, of course I do, I always have and I always will.' My words are like Galileo's were when we first met him – stuttered. But mine are through bitter sobs, not nerves. 'I have forgiven them.' 'No you haven't babe. Not really, forgive them properly, forgive Galileo properly. He didn't mean for me to die. He's just a poor boy, from a poor family. Spare him his life from this monstrosity.' Before I can interrupt him, he continues, sensing my confusion. 'It's what you will become babe if you don't learn to forgive and forget. Easy come, easy go.' He turns towards me, staring intently, deeply into my eyes – my very soul, 'Will you let me go?'
'Bismillah! No, we will not let you go'. I can't do it, I can't let him go. And if they were here, the other Bohemians wouldn't either, so I've taken it upon myself to speak for all of us. 'We will not let you go. We will not let you go.' The look Brit gives me pleads with me, wrestles with my soul, 'let me go'. 'Will not let you go'. He repeats his request, though this time it's more of a statement, 'let me go'. As hard as I try, I still can't find it in myself to let go once and for all, 'Will not let you go.' He looks at me, challenging my conscience, 'Babe, let me go.' Normally Brit is a placid kind of guy, very easy going but I can detect an underlying force, a resolve, he wants to go. I can finally acknowledge this – I've got to let him go physically, but I'll always remember, forever. We'll remember forever. 'I'll never forget, I'll never let you go.' I whisper to him. I can't - I won't. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
'Oh mama mia, mama mia. Mama mia let me go.' It is then that I am able to accept his total determination to go. I can't keep him in this half-life of eternal torment, and I nod, acquiescing. The wind starts to rise from barely there to a gentle breeze, scarcely enough for me to feel it, but enough to start to push Brits spirit form back away from me. Ignoring this, he continues to talk to me, 'Thank you' he murmurs. 'Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me.' The glint in his eye suggests he is looking forward to this, and has no fear.
The wind continues to push him, breaking our fragile hand hold, and he leaves my grasp. The momentary comfort I had from him is leaving, 'So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye. So you think you can love me and leave me to die'. That's what he's done, left me to die. I'm nothing without him, in spite of my earlier resolve. I finally do what I have been trying not to all the time since his death, but now I can't stop myself, 'Oh baby, can't do this to me baby'. The wind relaxes but his voice is brought back to me, 'Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here… Nothing really matters, anyone can see, nothing really matters. Say it Meat.' His conviction gives me the strength to carry on, 'nothing really matters to me…' My voice starts to break as the wind rises again, stronger this time and Brit is blown back, his form fading in the dimming light until he disappears from my view entirely. I fall to the floor, my heart breaking in despair, my body wracked with sobs. I've seen him for the last time, now he's truly gone. I ain't never saying goodbye, the good died young. The wind has died; leaving an ethereal, ghostly calm over the wasteland. As I being to fall into what I hope will be my last sleep his voice is brought back to me, one last time.
'Any way the wind blows…'
