Chapter 6: Because The World Is Round
A/N: You know, I don't think that last chapter sounded at all right, not like me at all. I think that the longer one harps on a chapter and doesn't just sit and write at it, the weirder it gets. You ever get chapters like that—you want so much to further the plot to get to the ones you really want to write that there's this one chapter that sounds all goofy?
Oh well. They were drunk. That's why they sounded goofy. By the way, thanks to the band, Cracker, for the lyrics in Chapter 5, and thanks to the Beatles for "Because" and to the Decemberists again for "Sons and Daughters" in this chapter. Much love to all Beatles, living and deceased.
Beneath the silver and black afghan, my head resting on that clover-patterned pillow, my body resting on the natty old pothead-tested couch, I couldn't quite sleep. Saturday nights are for carousing and acting stupid. I almost wished I would've given in to Jack's wiles and let him attack me, but it's not in my nature to give in to drunken fool men without my sober mind's permission. A temple-squashing headache set in. Damn, I thought. What was it that Rosa stumbled on in the liquor cabinet? I wasn't paying attention. It's all my fault. Well, mostly. I think I began to sing myself to sleep…
"Because the world is round it turns me on…because the world is round it turns me on…Ahhhhhh! Because the wind is high, it blows my mind. Because the wind is high…Ahhhhh, love is old love is new. Love is old, love is you." That's not just my voice. It's a familiar voice, now a very familiar voice, but it's not mine. "James!" I murmured, happy for his company. "What are you doing here? What about cleaning the house tomorrow?"
"I heard you leave Jack and I was worried for you."
"But what about Rosa?"
"I have to admit she was quite bored with me. I just don't hold the dashing pizzazz that a flashy pirate captain has." How bitter he sounded!
"Jack thought very much the same of me. It's a good thing you've got all the flash I need," I mumbled.
He sat by my ankles. "I'm glad you think so." His eyes brightened. "I was wondering if you might sing another song. I've grown rather fond of your voice…"
"I'll bet you grew fond of it when Jack and Rosa started singing!" I glanced back to the shadows, one Jack Sparrow shadow moving across the hall to Pamina's room. Of course. Suit yourself, I thought. "What song would you like to hear?"
"Do you know any more like the one you sang to me last night?"
"As a matter of fact, I know more songs by that writer. This one I think is really beautiful." I sat up against the armrest, mock-preparing and at the same time preparing properly for singing. "When we arrive, sons and daughters, we'll make our homes on the water. We'll build our walls of aluminum, we'll fill our mouths with cinnamon, now. These currents pull us cross the water, steady your boats, arms to shoulder. Till tides will pull, hold the guns, making this cold harbor our home. Take up your arms, sons and daughters, we will arise from the bunkers by land, by sea, by dirigible, we'll leave our tracks untraceable now." I continued in this way. Slowly, throatily, lovingly almost. Lovingly, yes, I loved him. He was all at once, charge and fearless protector. In the morning I would tell Pamina, maybe. I couldn't bear to see him off to life in this dimension without me. I'd keep him here forever if I could. He had moved to rest his head on my chest, listening to me sing up close while I absently stroked his hair.
"I don't ever want to go home. Of course I don't. That's silly. In my reality I'm dead. But I don't want to leave you," he sighed.
"Ever think of just settling down here? Wife, kids, nice posh house in the country?" I asked of him.
"Admittedly, not till recently. Mind you, this place didn't exist in my mind two days ago, but it was only recently that I realized I could get used to life here. Maybe...as you described it."
"This world is pretty scary sometimes, but it's beautiful all the same. I'd share it all with you if I could. You'd need a job sometime, but you could join the Navy again as a drill instructor or something."
"You talk of the future, you beautify the present, and you know nearly all of my past…Carmen, you're everything."
"Such fancy words, James. Why not forego convention for a while." I lifted his face up to mine and kissed him gently, and he answered with more force. I noted his hands straying to my waist, hugging me close.
We didn't break the fourth rule. Both parties had given permission. I'm just classy enough to leave out the details. Too bad for you. I know you wanted to know. Just let me say that it was definitely improper relations.
I woke up Sunday morning with a worse migraine and bad hair, but very satisfied, very churlish thoughts (how's that for your ACT vocab?) as I lay there under the blanket, with James next to me. How good life is.
How good life can be, I should say. It came to pass that Jack stumbled down the hall into the bathroom, promptly puking his guts out. I slipped my clothes on.
"Jack? All right in there?" I called.
"Not reall—BLORPFH! (ptooey.) Where's Rosa?"
"I don't know. Wait a minute, what time is it?"
"Half past a hangover, quarter to ten."
Jaysus! Have I slept that long? "Never mind, Jack. She's at church. She'll be back and then she'll take you home."
"Good thing, too. Been thinking of busting out of this dump."
"Beg pardon?"
"Not your house. This reality. Do you see me living in a place where washing is expected and drunken carousing is much frowned upon?"
"Good point, Jack. I'll get you some fresh clothes and leave you to your business."
"You're not so rude as you were last night, darling."
"And you're not half as drunk or over-amorous."
"Did you really think that of me or was your brain doing the thinking again. I've always said brains get in the way of everything."
"I wouldn't say it was your brain…"
"Are the two of you okay?" James asked.
"Just fine," we said in unison.
Not just fine.
The door burst open.
My sister shouldn't do that. "Good morning Papagena!" I crowed.
"For the love of mother and child, it's not Papagena!" she growled. And then she stood still. Staring at the pothead-tested couch.
A/N: Not too explicit for you, I hope. I love these scary intense scenes. As the story nears its epilogue, I'd like to thank my frequent reviewers and any future ones. We've got about 2 or 3 chapters to go, and I'd encourage you to read the stories I write in the future, although they won't all be about foxy Norrington in a Murphys tee.