Chapter Twenty-Nine
Two years and three months later.
There was a small street in a small suburb of Philadelphia. It went for just two blocks and then a dead end. Trees lined the road, growing thicker at the end. There was not a soul to be seen on that street. Everything was quiet.
Then a man appeared out of nowhere, seeming to fall from the sky. He hit the paved street with a loud thud and lay unmoving for a moment in a heap of black clothes. Eventually, he slowly pushed himself to his feet, wincing with the pain of his impact. He raised his head, took a look around him, and his eyes went wide. His head turned this way and that, taking in the strange things he saw, things so unlike the place he had just come from. Confusion was clear in his eyes.
He bent down to touch the street beneath him with wonder and a little hesitance. It all seemed new and strange to him. What was this place? And more importantly, why was he here?
As he turned around, searching for some kind of answer, he noticed the house he had been dropped in front of. There was a white picket fence, with a long driveway and a large yard. At the end of the driveway was a tall, rectangular stone house. He frowned at it. Then he froze in apparent recognition. He scrabbled for his pockets and came up with a wrinkled color photograph. He looked at the photograph, then at the house. They were exactly the same.
He touched the photograph tenderly, with sadness in his fingers. Then he looked up at the house again, with the expression of a man daring to hope.
His eyes flicked back and forth, considering. He stood in front of the house a long time, debating with himself. Finally, he took a deep breath and his posture changed to firm resolve. His step was confident with a little wobble of fear in it as he began to walk up the driveway towards the house.
Alison was sitting in her room at home, staring at the wall. She found herself doing that more and more often as the years went by. On summer vacation, there was no work to be done, nothing to keep her attention for long periods of time, and so her mind went down black avenues.
I have a good life, if you think about it objectively, she reflected. I have a beautiful child who is all I could ever want in a little boy. I'm doing well in a very good school even though I have a baby. My parents are supportive and wonderful, and have been behind all my decisions when other parents probably would have disapproved. I have friends who care about me who have helped me through everything. I have so many blessings, honestly.
But it's hard to tell my mind that when I come back to an empty bed that was filled once. Hard to tell my mind that when I see couples kissing and holding hands in the park. Hard to tell my mind that when I go to the opera or the theater and imagine a man hanging from the rafters. I miss Erik. More than is maybe normal after almost three years.
It's interesting how time flies, isn't it? I've spent about the same time away from him as I spent with him. And now…now I can barely even remember his face. She closed her eyes and tried to call it to mind, the way she used to. Before, there had been a clear Technicolor picture. Now…nothing.
A tear slipped down her cheek. How has it come to this? Three years ago I had as happy a life as anyone could have. I had everything I wanted: a job that I loved, friends, and a man that I gave my heart to. The only remnant of that life I have now is my son. And I love him, but it isn't the same. I need to feel Erik's arms around me, holding me and telling me that everything is going to be all right. But it's not. I know it's not. I'll have a life outside of college and get a job. I'll have friends at work. I might even get married, but it won't be the same at all. Not even close. Because he's gone.
She leaned her head back on the wall and began to sing softly.
"Without you, the ground thaws
The rain falls
The grass grows
Without you, the seeds root
The flowers bloom
The children play
The stars gleam, the poets dream
The eagles fly, without you
The earth turns, the sun burns
But I die without you
Without you, the breeze warms
The girl smiles
The cloud moves
Without you, the tides change
The boys run
The oceans crash
The crowds roar, the days soar
The babies cry, without you
The moon glows, the river flows
But I die without you
The world revives, colors renew
But I know blue, only blue
Lonely blue, within me blue
Without you
Without you, the hand gropes
The ear hears
The pulse beats
Without you, the eyes gaze
The legs walk
The lungs breathe
The mind churns, the heart years
The tears dry, without you
Life goes on, but I'm gone
'Cause I die without you
Without you
Without you
Without you."
She buried her face in her hands and began to sob softly, shoulders shaking. She had learned to keep it contained, to cry when no one else could see her, and to leave no sign of tears behind. The pain of emptiness tried to pull her into true tears. With an effort of will, she pushed it back. Her tears dried and she began to stare at the wall again.
The man stood at the door of the house in the photograph. His heart was beating quickly. He was more nervous that he had ever been in his life. What if he was wrong? What if this was not the place he thought it was? And if it was, what if he was not welcome there?
All of this questioning was useless. He raised his hand, knocked on the black door and waited.
He heard the twist of a key in a lock and the door swung open from the inside. A middle-aged woman stood behind the door. The man stared. What were those clothes she was wearing? Why was she wearing pants like a man? And strange pants, too. Why did they only go to the knees? And her whole arm was bare! What kind of clothes were these for a respectable woman to wear?
"Hello, I'm sorry it took so long. We don't usually use this door; we use the one at the back." At her voice, he snapped back to his purpose.
"Hello," he said hesitantly, in slightly French-accented English. "I am looking for an Angelique Taylor. Does she live in this house?"
The woman frowned. "There are Taylors in this house, but no Angelique, sorry. You must have the wrong house." She began to close the door.
A flash of memory hit him. Of course. "Wait!"
She opened the door slowly again. "What?"
"Alison Taylor. Not Angelique here. Alison."
"Yes, there is an Alison Taylor here. My daughter."
The man breathed a sigh of relief. "May I see her, please?"
The woman looked at him suspiciously. "Have you met before?"
"Yes."
She paused for a moment, considering. "All right, come in and I'll get her."
He smiled. "Thank you."
He stepped inside the house and looked around. A straight staircase hugged the left wall of the room he was in. At his left, there was a doorway, leading into a room he couldn't see. To his right, there was a small room with fancy furniture, like a parlor.
"Stay here. I'll bring her down."
The woman disappeared up the stairs and the man began to pace, his fingers drumming nervously.
There was a knock on Alison's door. "Alison?" her mother asked.
"What is it, Mom?"
"There's a man here to see you. I don't know who he is, but apparently he knows you."
Alison sighed. "I don't want to see people today."
"One of those days?" Her mother's voice was understanding and held a trace of pity.
"Yes."
"You don't have to talk to him for very long if you don't want to. But I did promise that I would get you."
"I'm not even decent! I'm still in my pajamas."
"Can you get changed quickly and come down?"
Alison pressed her lips together in annoyance. "Fine."
Her mother's footsteps faded as she walked back down the front stairs.
Alison jumped up and threw on her favorite short-sleeved shirt and a pair of jean shorts. She brushed her hair with quick strokes, opened the door, and walked to the stairs.
The man heard the echo of soft footsteps from above him. He looked up, tension in every line of his body. His heart was beating painfully in his chest. Then she appeared at the top of the stairs.
She was thinner than he remembered. She was wearing even more showy clothes than this woman who was most likely her mother. His eyes lingered on skin for a moment then turned to her face. Everything was almost the same as he remembered and he drank in the little details: the way her hair swept over her shoulder, the curve of her cheek. Sadness had made its mark on that beautiful face, though. There were hollows of tiredness underneath her eyes, which were wide with shock and disbelief and the painful desire to hope.
Alison looked down at the man standing at the bottom of the stairs. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt that barely peeked through. A long black cape swirled around his body. His fingers were stained and spotted with ink. He seemed to be about three or four inches taller than she was. His hair was black, shiny, and slightly off center, almost as if it were a wig. Her gaze travelled to his face. His eyes reflected total astonishment. His face was almost handsome, despite the residential grief in each shadow and line. Then her eyes stopped at the white mask that covered the right half of his face. No, her mind scolded her. This is absolutely impossible. There is no way that this could be…
"Erik?" she asked hesitantly, breathlessly.
"Angelique."
They stared at each other for a moment.
Then Alison took the stairs two at a time and flung herself into his arms.
The song that Alison sings is from the musical Rent. Please review!
