Urgence
(Part One)
I'm not sure if I was more surprised at Henry or myself.
Despite our usual issues—his being stoicism and mine surliness—neither seemed to be present when we talked.
I didn't notice it at first, but when I did it was startling. I can't speak for him as to why he dropped his guard around me, but being around him made me feel liberated from myself. I don't mean that he gave me insight or anything such as that, but when I'm around him, I'm very rarely in my head.
I feel like I'm not being very clear, let me rephrase that. For the most part, and most situations, I'm analytical and judicious. I don't even realize I do it most of the time; in that way, I sometimes fail to see the bigger picture, or other people's perspectives. I recognize this, and also see it as one of the reasons people think I'm surly. I spend so much time in my head that I rarely take time to simply appreciate the base nature of something.
I guess it's easiest to say that things were relaxed between Henry and I. There wasn't really any need for me to deeply analyze him, and I can only guess that he began to drop his cold front with the newfound trust he had in me. It was a nice feeling, but also a bit disconcerting. It's a strange responsibility for someone to put their trust on you.
After that first, confrontational meeting, we met in his apartment room the next day. There, I finished my story, and he told me the entirety of his. Our situations were vastly different, but obscurely interconnected in ways.
I know I ought to write about those first conversations. In fact, I can imagine how frustrating it is that I'm not. I just can't say that they're necessary. We sat in his living room, me with a bottle of crème soda and him with a beer, and simply talked. We laughed in places, especially those where the absolutely unbelievable occurred, and we interrupted when something made no sense (which was quite often).
More often than not, we interrupted our story telling with other little side-stories of our lives. As an example, when he was telling me about Walter's fear of dogs, I somehow brought that around to my inclination away from cats, which lead us to the thought of what would happen if cats could turn into zombies, which lead us full-circle to whether or not the mutant dogs Walter saw were more zombies or monsters.
That's when I discovered that we weren't talking as if we were in a self-help group, trying to unload our problems and get positive reinforcements. We were simply talking. Connecting. It was fun… probably the most fun I've had since that weekend when I took Mary to Silent Hill.
Our conversations were rarely deep; though I wouldn't say they were superficial either. We spoke as we wanted to, not because we had a goal to complete.
One conversation I distinctly remember was one we had on top of the apartment roof. As I recall, it was early in the morning—seeing the sun nestled just over the horizon. From our view, the sun cast long shadows across everything it touched. All of the congregated buildings that expanded across the horizon looked different in the morning sunlight. The roofs were so shimmery and bright they gave off a blinding effect, while the backs of the buildings that faced us were completely shrouded in dark shadows. Even at that early hour the horns of irritated drivers and wailing sirens sounded. Or maybe it was because it was the early hours that led to the irritated drivers.
It was moments like those, while sitting upon the ice-cold cement, that I realized why I loved the city. It was great to get out into the country every once in a while, but the city felt secure to me. It was what I knew, and something that very rarely changed. Aesthetically it held nothing to the grandeur of places like Silent Hill, but it was where I was comfortable.
As to why Henry and I had chosen such an uncomfortable place to meet, it was simply because we'd grown tired of our apartments. We'd been talking for a couple of weeks, alternating between the two rooms. It was rare that we didn't talk in a day, though neither of us made plans in advance. It was usually a matter of a phone call to see if the other was busy.
On the Thursday morning that we met on the roof, I had called Henry. I was going to be chaperoning a field trip for Laura's class over the next two days and wanted to talk to him before leaving.
I wasn't used to waking up so early. I rarely woke up before noon. After initially getting a job at the bar, I'd tried to wake up early enough to be able to see Laura off to school—that hadn't lasted long. Maybe if she'd been appreciative I would've, but she treated me as if I wasn't even there anyways.
My mouth felt dry, and tasted like the remnants of morning breath mixed with some dull orange tinge—as if I'd thrown up and taken a mint. My eyes were having trouble staying open. I looked over at Henry and was glad to see that it was the same for him. I'd felt irritable upon waking up, and the feeling hadn't ebbed away. It was only slightly lifted by the knowledge that Henry was willing to go through it with me.
Henry eventually broke the silence with a sigh. He leaned back against the wall of the doorway and crossed his hands behind his head for support.
"My sister called me yesterday."
He stated, looking out towards the sun. I tried to follow suit, but the sun hurt my eyes. I focused on the back of one of the buildings instead.
"Yeah?"
I responded.
Henry nodded,
"Yeah. She still wants me to become a Christian."
I vaguely remembered Henry telling me about his sister. As I recall, she was in one of the childhood stories he'd told me. She'd walked in on him having sex with his girlfriend at the time, which also happened to be his first time having sex. She yelled that they were both blasphemers and told his parents. Apparently what followed was an awkward conversation—one that Henry eventually grew so tired of that he simply stood up, denounced his religion complacently, and walked out of the room.
The thought of religion brought me back to Silent Hill. I'd learned a lot about The Order through Henry, who apparently had read a few of the scriptures from their holy documents. I'd never been religious, but that thought stopped me for a moment.
"If I had to believe in a religion, it would be The Order's."
I said, not stopping to think about my words.
As I should've expected, Henry quickly turned to look at me to see if I was joking. He realized I wasn't,
"What?"
He stated. If Henry was less of an introverted stoic, I imagine he would've sounded flabbergasted.
"Hear me out. I'm not saying their way is ethical or moral, but it's real. We're proof of that. All other religions are based on beliefs, and reading a book about things that might've happened once some thousand years ago. But the cult? You told me what Walter Sullivan managed through it. The guy died, but lived on to complete his holy sacraments. No one has proof of there being an afterlife besides The Order."
It made perfect sense to me. I looked over to see his reaction. He thought about it for a moment before nodding at the realization.
"And you, with the town calling you and the false memories?"
I yawned as I nodded in response.
"Don't forgot those… monsters. The pain they inflicted was real, and the pain I inflicted on them was real."
We'd discussed the monsters frequently. We tried to decipher what they had meant in Walter's imagination, and I'd tactfully managed to avoid most conversation about mine, besides that pyramid head. I wasn't looking forward to explaining the mannequin leg creatures.
"I'm not going to join the Order, though."
Henry responded.
"I wasn't asking you to."
Henry half-heartedly extended an arm and tapped my shoulder, in a less enthusiastic rendition of a good-natured arm punch.
"I know, I was kidding"
The both of us were silent for a moment. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the back of the wall behind me.
"If you ever do join the Order, just don't take me with you to their paradise, okay?"
I joked, my voice barely above a whisper. The gentle warmth of the sun was nearly putting me to sleep again.
"Will you at least let me use you as one of my sacraments?"
He asked back, causing me to let out an involuntary laugh.
"Which one would you let me be?"
I asked back, too focused on the conversation and not falling asleep to care that the conversation had suddenly turned very nonsensical.
"I don't know."
He muttered. I felt him shift positions beside me, but didn't look to see what he was doing.
"How about the mother reborn?"
He asked after a moment. I cracked open one eye to glance at him.
"Perfect"
Over the next thirty minutes, we talked about what we were both going to be doing over the next few days. I told him about the field trip I was going on. He commented on how I was probably going to feel like the fat kid in school. I asked what he meant, and he responded by telling me that all of the other parents chaperoning knew each other, or at least knew of each other through their children—they were all going to be wary of me.
I left the roof-top with a sense of foreboding and dread.
AN:
My notes are coming afterwards this time. For no better reason other than not wanting to scroll back to the top of this.
I know it's short. There are about 9 more pages to this, but I didn't feel like going through those 9 pages and editing it. Plus, I'm working off of my friends' computer with my flash drive, and I don't feel like taking up much more time. I think she already thinks that I'm just using her for her word processor. :]
With that said, I honestly don't have time to respond to any of the critiques, or to really proofread. Sorry all, but I do appreciate them.
But hey, at least this chapter finally has dialogue. Haha. Dialogue, if you couldn't tell by now, is not my forte. I'm good at analyzing and portraying characters (to a fault, even. As the Mobled Queen (whom I love for her consistent critiques. I'll have to find some way to repay you one day…) pointed out, I do have a tendency of beating a dead horse, so to speak, when it comes to analyzing characters. ). But I am trying to make my dialogue more prominent, and less contrived. If it wasn't so embarrassing, I'd have a friend do the voice of Henry while I did James and speak the lines out loud, just to see if it sounds believable. Hell. I just might do that.
Now, for a sniveling plea:
Does anyone know of an active Silent Hill roleplaying forum? As I've been writing this, I keep thinking that it would be good practice if I could try being one of the characters in a roleplay. Also for fun, but that should be obvious. I'm not really sure where else to ask/look…
Mkay, that's it. Once again, sorry for the short chapter. But then again, I did say that I wasn't going to update this week, so I guess a small update is better than none at all. Maybe.
Good Night~