Friday
I wake up from a dream.
A very….perfumed dream.
I was walking the Halls of the Temple of Azar.
The dark void surrounded me….like a vase of black glass.
I was dressed in the ceremonial blue Lenin.
With each birthday came the mass meditation to ward off the fingers of Trigon.
The morning before, I was sitting in the parlor before the mirror.
With my young mother seated behind me.
Doing my hair.
Gentle caresses of the brush and hand.
But…….
My mother never 'did my hair'.
My mother was never allowed to so much as touch me in the years that I grew up.
Attachment would lead to emotion.
And emotion would lead….
……..to doors being opened…..
…………doors that shouldn't be touched, much like myself.
I keep the doors to my bedroom closed these days.
I no longer walk temple hallways in ornamental gowns.
I have learned to accept the shadows before they begin to follow my feet.
But….
As I wake up in bed this morning, I somehow smell the scent of her.
The fragrant 'mother-ness' that shall never leave any of us.
It's burned into our skin and hearts like amniotic dye.
The traces of it bleed away from my violet-colored vision as the light collects and the day grows older.
I know I haven't slept in.
But….I could very well sleep in.
The consideration of such means……..things have changed.
This Tower…..this week……
I can no longer deny that—for better or for worse—I am a happier person than I used to be.
As far as happiness goes, of course……
But…perhaps such a consideration is erroneous.
For what is happiness if all that there is to be deemed joyful is dictated by delirium, distraction, and delay?
My future is a dark future.
It always has been, and it always will be.
But a lamb sentenced for sacrifice cannot remain spotless forever.
It is to be touched eventually.
Whether it be by the flame or by the laugh.
I am in many ways a dark sacrifice. What is the use if I live a pure, spotless life between now and the brink of Destruction…….if I can allow myself to be touched as well?
But then again, have I not already been touched?
It is out of my hands….and in the grasp of my friends……
The Teen Titans may not be the apple of my eye, but these companions of mine have still impacted my life.
If it weren't for them, I wouldn't be half as confident in myself as I am now.
And that sense of fulfillment is warming….
……and it chases away the scant scents of my mother as the dream evaporates like a melted sheet of wax.
And I can get up this morning.
I pull the sheets off me….
Slide out of bed….
Pad across the room….
And sigh my way into a morning shower.
I still feel alive.
I still feel alive………and….
Content.
……
……
Gowned in leotard and robe…
I set about the kitchen.
I pour myself some tea.
I drift over to the window of the Main Room.
I gaze out the glass and sip.
Half of my reflection….
Half of my City…
The entire day greets me.
With needle-point embers, it delightfully numbs me.
I take a deep breath.
I point a finger of telekinesis towards the window gears and—
Pause midway.
"………………"
No……No need to open the windows.
Not yet.
I take a deep breath.
Another sip….
And…………
I stand there.
Silent.
"…………………"
I swallow the residual traces of herbal tea further down my throat.
I shift where I stand.
One foot.
Another.
"…………………."
I slowly….inevitably look over my shoulder.
I glance at the communication station.
The controls and computer system for contacting any and all of the Titan allies.
The seat of mine that must still be warm from the day previous.
And I stare…..
And I stare………
And I stare…………….
And I exhale.
Later.
I sip some more and drift back past the kitchen counter.
It'll work better…………later……
……
……
I hover on the rooftop of the Tower.
The Gray Wind.
The Gray Sky.
I don't mind one bit….
I levitate in a lotus position and fold my fingers meditatively.
My eyes are closed. My breath is calm. And my mind is centered.
But I do not say the three words out loud.
The chanting stays in my head.
"…………………………………….."
My nostrils flare once during a major inhale.
I open my violet eyes momentarily.
I stare at the stabbing horizon.
The City skyscrapers stabbing into the air.
The calm deadness of the sky.
These are things that normally fill me with a numb peace.
But the most I can feel right now is content.
And there is nothing wrong with feeling 'content', in or out of meditation.
But…..
The moment I start to analyze it, I know….
I know I am doomed to plummet.
And—inevitably—my meditation is cut short by that thought alone.
I take a shuddering breath and try to close my eyes.
Trying to regain something—if not that which was lost, then that which I haven't yet begun to lose.
And my chanting becomes desperate.
And vocal.
"Azarath………Metrion………Zinthos………………Azarath………Metrion………Zinthos………"
……
……
I drift into the Main Room.
My skin feels dry, all of the sudden.
Parched.
I shudder my breath forth and hover towards the windows.
I flick a wrist at the gears.
Whurrrrrrr!
The windows open.
A cool, high-altitude breeze wafts in from the City-side of the Bay.
It cools me.
But…..
Superficially.
I fold my blue-sleeved arms and take a breath.
"………………………………………………"
I swallow a gulp.
I slowly….gaze to the side.
The communication console rests within open view.
The seat half-turned.
The digital lights gently, rhythmically strobing.
"………………………………………………"
Without a breath…
I swiftly turn away from the sight.
I walk quickly towards the elevator doors.
……
……
In the atrium of the Tower.
On the first floor.
I curl up on one of the oversized chairs with a book.
My petite legs prop up the pages for me.
I grasp the covers open with light fingers.
And…..
Dash all over the page with rhythmically-set violet eyes.
The book is the fourth in a series of reading material…….now stacked one on top of the other to the left of the chair that I am in.
I ravenously pour into my pages.
Flying loopty-loops over syntax, sentences, paragraphs, and prose.
Of dragons and demons and cursed family mansions……
Stories that have always pricked me, for they sing pleasantly about the dark shades of me I have long come to regret…..
….and made them all fanciful.
There is relief to be had in being 'creepy'.
For it is a tier below the unimaginable….
And the undesirable.
But right now—for the life of me—I cannot see this reading session to be anything than what it actually is.
What anything in life that makes me 'content' is.
A distraction.
Slowly, my violet optics drip off the pages.
And I start to forget the names of the accursed protagonists that I've been so thirstily limping over in texts passed….
And my eyesight instead lingers in the darker hues of the room.
Evoking sigh after sigh.
"…………………………….."
……
……
I stand in the middle of the Main Room.
My blue robe hanging about me like a shroud.
Staring….
Staring at the communications station.
"……………………….."
A shudder….--
I swallow.
I glance out the window.
The gray sky has turned grayer.
The bright day resembling more and more like a hazy morning….turning into a breached birth of dawn.
I have…………'waited' long enough……
I suppose………
I inhale.
I walk over to the station.
My steps a little too quick for my own good.
Somehow, I slow down just enough by the time I reach the station.
I grab the chair.
I sit daintily in it.
Swivel about…
And operate the dials and buttons of the station.
I send a signal to the communication device of Aqualad.
My pale finger hovers over the activation switch…..
……and lingers.
"…………………………………………"
I take a breath.
I flip the switch.
Klik!
Beep……Beep……Beep……
I sit.
Sit still.
Watching. Listening.
Beep……Beep……Beep……
I take my finger slowly off the switch.
I fold it with my other hand in my lap.
Watching.
Waiting……
Beep……Beep……Beep……
My teeth tighten under my lips.
I can feel my knuckles against each other.
The air wafting in through the windows over the last hour of abandonment in the Main Room fills the enclosed air with a death akin to Autumn.
Again, the things that make me content.
They fall on a paralyzed body…..
A body with violet eyes and pale ears glued to the Machine.
Beep……Beep……Beep……
I take a deep breath.
My eyelids lover some.
He's not answering.
"………………………"
Most likely……busy with Atlantean duties and what-not……
"………………………"
I'll just……
Be courteous……
And……
………leave him a page.
I flip the switch back, reach a hand over, and punch a series of buttons.
He'll know that I have called.
And he can call me back………
……………………………………only if he wants to.
I finish the button combination.
I lean back in the chair—a little too ungracefully for my own good—and stare at the Machine.
The Machine that is now blank and silent as stone.
"…………………………….."
Only if he wants to………
I take a deep breath, swivel the chair around, and force legs of lead to stand up.
And I walk away.
……
……
I drift down hallways.
Past names.
Names of Titans emblazoned on the doors.
….which tells me that I must be walking feverishly all over the Tower, for no two rooms' of ours reside on the exact same floor.
For all of the camaraderie the Titans share, we keep a fairly equidistant space from each other.
I do not believe that my teammates are nearly as reclusive or distancing as I am, but…..
Everyone loves to dip into the sanity of that same solitary confinement that defines me.
Only…..nobody is willing to admit it.
And when it comes to admittance, what is it that I have or have not confessed? Even to myself?
This week has proven to me that the loneliness I treasure is similarly a bane to my own fiber of being.
I'm a lot shallower than I hold credit.
Or maybe…..I've just not been given everything I've ever wanted in one fatal swoop of a handful of days like this before….
Whatever the case, it is turning my head in circles.
And like gears, my legs have been forced into movement.
The best thinking arrives in the shower or on a mindless walk.
And in this case, my pacing exceeds my mentality.
The names of the Titans drift past my vision sooner than I think of them.
I'm forced to react to visual cues.
And I see…
'Robin'
And it forces me to a stand-still.
His door is the same as everyone else's.
And in spite of the factory-neutrality of everyone's door, Robin's own still manages to garner a sense of plainer existence.
It is stale.
Strong and sturdy—yes—but we all know it to be a greater shield than all the other gateways into private superhero lives that this Tower contains.
I have done my best to make my bedroom off-limits to all living things in the next square mile….
…..but Robin is the only one among us who has a perfect track record of protecting the sanctity of his room.
None of us have ever entered it.
It is stone-solid.
Ice-cold-shut.
Locked and guarded by more security codes than even a hundred Cyborgs could mutually crack.
And because of Robin's standing as leader…..and legend……
None of us have ever tried entering the secret lair of his essence.
For inside this room, the boy beneath the Boy Wonder surely unpeels himself.
The mask is no longer a necessity, and we all can only wonder as to the short, black-haired stranger who lives among us….
…sealed up in his secure sarcophagus with only the emblazoned 'R' on the outside to denote any sign of life.
It's a factor of human nature that a person who hides himself in mystery becomes all that much more inspiring and provocative.
It would be a lie to claim that—even the most reclusive of us have never pondered what secrets lie behind the lasting shield of the Titan Leader's fragile, mortal body.
But all of us have far too much respect and—yes—love for him to ever desecrate the meager things he asks for when all else he sacrifices for the will of the team.
Inhumanity is Robin's only guilty pleasure.
I've long grown to realize that him—like me—is aided and strengthened solely by the strength of his own denial.
In his case, it is the denial of his limits.
Where I….
I know that I am horrifically limitless.
My pale finger traces the curve of the emblazoned 'R''s circle.
I take a deep breath, and exhale through pursed lips.
"…………………."
I lower my eyelids heavily, and shuffle on….
……
……
WHURRRRR-CLACK!
"…………….."
I flip a light-switch on.
Click!
Cyborg's laboratory.
I've only seen one episode of Beast Boy's short-lived 'Space Trek' series, or whatever, that he starred in. But the best way I can describe Cyborg's living space is something akin to a sci-fi set on the very same t.v. show.
It is spotless. Clean. A shiny womb of metal and computer stations and dials.
Compartments conform to the walls and form panels of titanium polish.
The electrical stations and hook-up junctions hang down on robot arms and possess a potential grace of glide and drift, but presently lie silent.
I walk into the echoing emptiness of the chamber while Cyborg is gone.
And it is like I can hear him.
There is a naturalness to Cyborg's voice….absent of a grotesque, robotic ringing. But somewhere in the traces of his words and the sway of his gesturing arms…
I can smell something that is resonating here.
I can feel it.
Pale fingers running over crystal-clean metal.
Like the curves in his titanium fingers when he gives me a hand.
When he hoists me and the other teammates out of danger.
Cyborg has his temper…..like any other boy his age….
But he has so much happiness.
So much joy and well-being.
A selfless supporter in times of trouble…..
It rarely ever occurs to us that he has suffered so much.
Perhaps because we've never pried.
And it's not like it isn't obvious.
All it takes is a glance at any part of his 'body', and one can see the scars.
But….
Cyborg is so well-to-do.
And he spends so much time not only being helpful….but gaining so much strength and accomplishment by being such a strong and dependable cornerstone for the team.
To fixate on his loss…..or to make him fixate on his loss…..Only defeats the purpose of his existence nowadays.
I have never admitted it.
But now….
Gliding slowly through the metal perfection of his 'heart'…..
…..I know that Cyborg is living proof that my friends are nowhere near as shallow as I am.
They have long recovered from the wounds to their existence.
They have achieved peace…….and acceptance of themselves.
And that…..
That makes me ashamed of myself.
Moreover for ever assuming—for whatever selfish reason—that I was constantly a few rungs higher up on the ladder.
Truth is painfully humbling.
I stand next to Cyborg's empty lab table.
I run a hand over the cold hard metal.
A chill runs through my body.
And I exhale.
There have been times when—after the heat of Battle—Cyborg has literally carried me out of danger.
And those spare moments……suspended in his arms……
I've never felt so protected before in my life.
Nor have I felt so trusted.
He is a big brother to me……A big brother to us all.
But like Robin, he isn't here.
This….
This is pointless.
I turn around swiftly…
And shuffle out of the laboratory.
……
……
"………………."
In the Main Room….
I stand and stare.
The communication station rests in the waning gray light of the day.
Nothing has changed.
Nothing has arisen.
No blinking lights.
No strobing sound.
Nothing at all.
Nothing to suggest a response to my page.
"…………………"
I fold my arms.
"…………………."
I turn and gaze out the window.
Grayness…..turning to a darker hue.
The shadows of my life collecting together and breathing cold vapor against the open windows.
I shudder.
With a last lonely look towards the dormant communication station, I turn.
I leave.
……
……
Beast Boy's room smells.
Moldy socks.
Fungus-laden pizza.
Maybe a little bit of both combined.
Or at least…..it would normally be fragrant with such….
….had my cleaning frenzy not aided in that two days ago.
The place is now a spotless perfection.
Exotically trimmed down to the bunkbed, the desk, the closet, and a few gaming stations in between.
I have always wondered—from the few extremely scant occasions I have ventured inside Beast Boy's putrid domain—why he possesses a bunk bed made for two people instead of one.
He's given us excuses on occasion…..
Over many a pizza outing or movie night….
That sometimes he sleeps as different animals….each requiring different heights to scale when going to bed or waking up.
But I think the answer is much more pitiful than that.
Beast Boy has always struck me as someone who is missing something extensive in his life.
Sarcastically—yes, perhaps rudely—I have suggested that he's missing a good many brain cells.
But of course it goes further than that.
It doesn't take an empath to know that there is an element of family torn from Beast Boy's existence.
Whether it's been his mother, his father, both, or a sibling….
I've come to realize that the extra bed space means the resting spot for a ghost or two of some sort.
That Beast Boy never truly wants to sleep alone…..Or think that he is sleeping alone….
Or perhaps he never wants to forget that he is alone.
It could mean anything.
But, simply put, that bunk-bed alone makes Beast Boy's room a creepier place than my domain will ever be.
I don't think he's willing to admit that….not anytime soon….
It's easy to sympathize with him.
But….
One has to be honest.
I shuffle across the room.
I come to a stop by his desk.
I glance down.
An aged toy monkey with cymbals sits-grinning-by a pencil holder.
I pick the furried thing up and turn it over in my hand.
Breathing…..
How could anyone accept anything less………
Than a happy, cheerful Beast Boy?
How?
I swallow.
I place the toy monkey back down.
For whatever absurdity randomly inspires me, I 'pat its head' before turning around and making my shuffling exit.
I could do without an annoying Beast Boy.
But—as preachy as I may be—I am the last person in this universe to ever……EVER……steal anything more from him.
No matter how much he might hurt himself with what he 'has'.
……
……
Starfire's room has a smell to it.
Something that no amount of cleaning frenzies can remove.
And, honestly, that isn't much of a bad thing.
Her room is fragrant of all the perfumes, fruits, and ambrosias that one could imagine being indicative of an ultra feminine, little-girl's room.
Which leads me to think that Starfire—in her overtly alien ways—is more of a 'true girl' than any Terran woman who has ever existed or does exists or will exist on the face of the earth.
The pink….Dear Azar, the pink….
Everything about the draperies, the beddings, the carpet, the vanity…..it's all so blasted loud.
And in a way, Starfire herself is very loud.
'Softly loud', if that makes any sense.
She is so blatantly nice, selfless, and kind…..that many of the Titans have long pondered the true nature of her intentions long before Terra ever entered our lives with her own brand of villainy.
But if it's one thing that Starfire has taught us over time, it's that there can be people in this universe whom we can trust and whom we can surrender ourselves to with no…..absolutely no fear of reprisal or betrayal.
Too much of Starfire doesn't feel like a good thing. I think that's why Robin pushes her away like he does and Cyborg and Beast Boy leave her personality as it is and don't bother digging into her character or her past or the obvious pains that she constantly represses under her warming, passionate exterior.
And I…..
I wander into the room.
Bathed in a low, warm glow of fuchsia.
I've been in Starfire's room a few times since the Titans started.
And everytime I've ventured in, I've made it my quickest priority to exit out of the domain.
But now…..
Now I linger….
And I find myself drifting over to the round, pink bed in the center of the room.
The odd Tamaranian design of the sleeping quarters.
I take a deep breath.
I sit down on the edge of the covers and finger the ruffled edges of one of Starfire's pillows.
"……………………"
I envy you, Starfire.
What you have………is a meditation in and of itself.
Just any other person would have crumbled in on her or himself after so many years of repressed feelings.
But you……
You hide your pain so easily.
And you manage to transfer your own fears and your own inadequacies into a power that protects and warms others around you.
And you are so nonchalant about it.
So peaceful………without strain……
What have you been doing all these years that I haven't?
I close my eyes.
Hidden in the dim light, I take the pillow and hug it to my chest.
What has everyone been doing all these years that I've gotten wrong?
Why is everyone around me—in spite of their emotional baggage—so together and so on top of things……
……while I—the poster child for collective mental energy—is standing on the edge of a knife all of the sudden?
That's just it………
The 'suddenness'……
This week……This damnable week and everything about it……
For some reason or another, it's highlighting the worst and best in me.
And I cannot stand long under its collapsing weight.
I'm pathetic.
I'm thin.
I'm………I'm……
I bite my lips.
I hug the pillow tighter.
There's a shaking in my shoulders.
I miss……
I-I miss…………………
"………………………………………."
I sigh.
I exhale long and hard.
"………………………………………"
I put the pillow back where it belongs.
I smooth the bedsheets as if they're disturbed temple grounds.
I stand up.
I adjust my blue robe and hood.
I exit out of the room.
I leave it and its damn pinkness.
The smell of security.
The traces of……….
……
……
"……………………….."
I sit.
I stare.
Arms softly folded.
Body scrunched in the blue-shadowed confines of myself.
Swallowed by the chair.
"…………………………"
The communication station is silent.
The computers not even droning.
The signals dead…..the lines quiet.
No message.
No relay.
No life.
"……………………………"
I take a deep breath.
I close my violet eyes.
Aqualad isn't calling………
I hug myself gently.
My eyes reopen, but they gaze unenthusiastically towards the corners of my vision.
It's just as well.
Last night……
Last night was just a fluke of impulse.
He's……too busy.
Too important for useless 'chit-chat'.
And……
Who am I to care about that anyways?
'Chit-Chat' indeed……
"……………………………"
I glance at the communication console.
I blink.
I eye the dials and instruments.
My fingers twitch.
I………
I could try paging him again.
But……
I wince.
My jaw clenches.
I run a hand over my face…..through my blue hair….
And sigh……
No.
I'm not that desperate.
No need to go for a new low.
I swivel about in the chair.
I practically hop into a slumped, standing position in the middle of the Main Room.
But……so certain as I've been to actually walk somewhere….
I find myself motionless.
Stuck like my feet are in concrete.
My arms hidden in the cape-like folds of my draping robe.
"………………………………."
I inhale…..and sigh it all out.
For half a minute.
And….
I deflate.
"……………………………….."
The open windows breathe in more frigid air through the room.
An iciness sticks to my skin.
Like dew drops below zero….finding the little hairs along my pale epidermis.
I lower my eyelids and sort of…….drift forward.
It is so cold in here.
So cold, and……
Azar save me, I miss………
I miss…………………
"………………………………….."
……
……
I stand in a hallway.
Blue and steel-slated.
Ever cold and ever muted.
I stare out a tinted window onto the dying world.
The grayness that descends on it….turning into a slate dull black with age.
The skyscrapers sink in on themselves and the shadows they constitute.
It is a lovely sight, and for some reason it fails to move me.
Perhaps because I have always seen the creepiness and the darkness in life as a parallel to me….but always bordered off by a bizarre barrier of sorts.
And it comes to my attention that barriers are a common part of my life.
That is something I have always known—truth be told—and something I have moreover been proud of.
But pride is only as long as one's life reigns supreme, and even that is a long time for such feelings to last.
In all my preparation for ultimate doom and disastrous fate on the horizon….
Have I truly awoken to the horror of myself?
Or have I just stared at it from beyond a barrier?
Preserving myself with a false sense of security?
A hypocritical manifestation of everything the clerics of Azar have taught me?
Why now……why now am I stressing over it?
Why all of this sudden 'now-ness'? Is it that I've reached the fulcrum of my life and………
And just am not willing to accept it?
All these things coming and crashing together………
What am I supposed to do?
What am I supposed to do………?
…………………am I supposed to do anything?
"……………………"
I take a deep breath.
I rest my forehead against the glass of the window.
And I shut my eyes.
"…………………."
……
……
"…………………"
I open my eyes.
The wind blows at my blue strands of hair.
The blue sweat-jacket that I am wearing.
The light blue jeans.
I'm standing on the edge of the Tower's rooftop.
Gazing out at the softly shadowing evening.
The grayness…..now tangible.
Immersive.
The breeze.
The air.
The empty nakedness of it all.
I take a deep breath.
I stretch a foot out.
I walk off the edge of the Tower.
And….
I drift.
I float outward.
Levitating…..gliding…….sliding towards the gray land across the grayer waters.
It is cold this evening.
Very cold.
But I glide against it anyway.
The evening darkens.
Turns black against gray.
The queer bursts of strobing lightning in the distance—minus the thunder—announces the mood of the drizzly night.
I can feel the moisture inside of me as well as outside.
Everything belonging to one.
Yet held separately….withheld and carried off for the simple challenge of it.
The nuances of life.
And before I know it…..
……
……
Night has fallen.
The stars….the invisible streamers of the cosmos.
I hear a roaring in my ears.
And…..I must be at the beach.
The shores of life always feel like the end of the world to me.
I know that I have gone above and beyond even what the dancing horizon holds secret.
But it still provokes me into thought.
Into an oblivion of self.
Into…….
"……………………"
I'm standing on a boardwalk.
Gazing into the dancing starlight glitters of what must be the 'Bay'.
I know that I am standing here.
But…..
I feel like I'm adrift on the astral plane.
I'm only tethered to this soul inside of me.
I'm dangling about it like a fly on a leash.
And…..for that matter…..have I ever been properly attached to myself?
Properly grounded?
To this person……this body……this reality………
I take a deep breath.
I sigh and close my eyes.
"………………………"
Music.
"……………………?"
Music….
Sweet and melodic.
I open one violet optic at a time.
I turn my head and stare northward.
Along the dock.
Towards the gray splotch of land against the dark sea and dark sky.
And I see…
A splotch.
Bright and flickering.
A bonfire encircled by bodies.
Seated and swaying.
A rhythmic drifting.
Young faces……young voices….
I…..
I have seen them before.
Throughout the week.
Various walks.
The evening of indulgement.
They….
They are still there.
And in the center of them….closest to the fire…
….seated with the guitar…..
"……………"
I clench my fingers….unflex them….and bring them up to my jacket's hood.
I place the jacket over my head, doubly-shroud my features, and shuffle forward.
Stepping along the dock.
Towards where the asphalt and sand meet the wooden planks.
And the bonfire increases in size in my gaze.
And the song grows louder and louder.
More and more real.
And I realize….that the group isn't singing.
Only one of them is.
The young man….the same one with the guitar.
Bushy brown hair….round-framed glasses over his eyes….
A face that is young, happy, and sad all at once.
But altogether….
Peaceful.
By the time I've analyzed it, I realize that I've walked across the sand….
And now stand in the aura of the heated bonfire.
I can feel the warmth….the flickering frames….
And that of the bodies of strangers….
Strangers to me, but--
Teenagers, all of them.
High schoolers, perhaps those who know each other….
Or maybe they don't.
Or maybe they don't care….
As another song starts……
….I see a boyfriend and girlfriend sitting together, arm in arm.
The boyfriend looks up and sees me in particular.
The first real eye contact in days.
"Hey! Come join us!" he chuckles.
"Hehehe! The more the merrier!"
"………..," I fidget where I stand. The sweatjacket does a good job hiding my features. The night—in spite of the bonfire's light—hides my trademark pale skin. They don't know who I am. "Uhhh….s-sure….."
"Hehe! It's a free country!"
"No need standing around and getting cold!"
"Yeah….," I swallow and shuffle about before nervously finding a seat…..somewhere. "Th-Thanks…."
"You new to this City?"
"Well….n-not exactly…."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Greg. This is Heather. Over there's Viki, Meryl, Howard, Frank—"
"Greg, don't bother introducing EVERYONE again. It takes forever!"
"Awww….all right."
"Shhh! He's starting again!"
"Heh heh….Curtis, man of the hour!"
The guitar starts again. And I'm startled by how loud it is. I glance aside and realize that I've seated myself down just to the very left of the brown-haired guitarist.
He strums his acoustic tool and spills forth a melodic tune.
Melancholy….a ballad….
With a Country sway to it that is unmistakable.
And indicative of the inner vapors of the earth, all the same.
I glance halfway at him….and stare halfway at the fire…
My soul being carried aloft and afloat in the dancing flames.
The happy warmth of oblivion.
And he sings.
He sings….
I came into this world all alone
And I always thought that's how
I would leave
But then you came along
And suddenly the
coldness deep inside of me was gone
And I cried...
But I wouldn't let you see my tears
And
I sighed...
But I wouldn't let you hear
I'm so happy I could
die
Friends for life
For years we laughed and smiled together
But of course the bad
times were there, too
We both said some things we didn't
mean
And it hurt just to hide how much I love you
And I cried...
But I wouldn't let you see my tears
And
I sighed...
But I wouldn't let you hear
I'm so sad I could
die
But we're friends for life
We had our fights and made up again
Once again I was yours and
you were mine
Somehow we conquered all our fears
But we
could never beat Father Time
And I cried...
But you couldn't see my tears
And I
sighed...
But I know you couldn't hear
I'm so sad and happy
I could die
'Cause we're no longer friends for life...
We're
friends forever.
The song ends, and I'm still gazing into the flames.
As if looking across the bedroom after waking up from a dream.
And everything's so warm.
And everything's so real.
So…
So true…..
There is a clapping of hands.
The many youths around me cheer and murmur in appreciation.
"Well done, Curtis."
"That was a beauty."
"You wrote that overnight?"
"Heh…..yeah, more or less."
"Brought a tear to my eye……Why don't you do it again, but impersonate John Lennon?"
"Go to Hell, Frank."
"Heheheheh!"
Before I know it, the group has meandered off into random conversations and a mumbling of voices.
Some blonde girl across the flames puts her mouth to a harmonica and lets a tune waft up to the warm, flickering ashes of the bonfire.
Greg and Heather giggle, lean against each other, and whisper sweet nothings.
Someone in another cluster tells a joke, and the others roar in laughter.
It is a circle of existence….throbbing right at the edge of the universe.
And I hear a few gentle strummings of the acoustic.
"So….," the voice that was once singing now speaks to me. "…..your first night in the Nobody Club?"
"……….." I blink. I glance aside at the brown haired guitarist. "I beg your pardon?"
His calloused fingers wander the strings, finding bizarre cords and experimenting harmoniously while he speaks to me as well. Quite the achievement. "Guess that answers that. This is the Nobody Club."
"…….really…."
"Yup. Because Nobody here knows who Nobody is."
"……….but…..those two…the lovebirds, they—"
"Of course, some people have taken it upon themselves to break a few rules," he half-frowns, then pleasantly returns to his strumming. "But….no biggie. If we had a bunch of rules and crap, we wouldn't be much of a 'Nobody Club' anyways."
"Heh…….I guess….."
"My name's Curtis….But I'm guessing you already know that."
"Yeah, I gathered."
"But who I am….it doesn't matter…..Just like who you are or who anyone else here is…..doesn't matter."
"…………….."
"I'm sorry…heh heh heh….did I lose you?"
"I think you did….," I run a hand through a few strands of blue hair under my shadowing hood. "But….maybe that's the whole point?"
"Yup," he nods, strumming and gazing at his guitar. "We all have our own lives all across the City. But a year or two ago, we just started coming here and figuring….no questions asked, no problems, you know?"
"Mmmhmmmm…."
"We get together here at this spot every few days, and all we can do is just drift. We don't bother with our own lives. We don't pry. We just accept life at face value. The pretty things of life, ya know? The things we can joke about and sing about. And…And…."
"It's an escape, I know."
"Oh, but what's truly an escape? This moment here—sitting around the fire—or the other lives we live? By routine? The simple lever-pull of daily existence?"
"It's different for everyone, I imagine," I say. "I think that….." I wince. "……Escape is a really superficial thing."
He glances at me through the corner of his glasses. "You say that with a hesitancy, I gather……"
I shudder. "What's one Nobody to ask of a Nobody?"
"Heh heh heh….anything a Nobody's willing to ramble about!"
"………………"
"………………"
"………………," I slowly….softly hug my knees to my chest. I lean my chin against my curled legs and sigh. "…………have you ever felt….th-that…….th-that you've come to the point where everything you have ever learned or everything you have ever believed in about yourself comes crashing down like a house of cards at the slightest push of the most insignificant thing?"
He nods. "Absolutely. Only bleeding artists sing around bonfires these days. Heh heh heh…."
My lips curve somewhat…then melt back into obscurity. "I have spent so many years of my life….hardening myself. With pride…..self preservation…..and a strict code of unemotional necessity."
"Uh huh…..I-I think I read you….."
"…………just one week……..one week without my friends………..and suddenly all I've ever practiced or put together has turned out to be nothing……"
He strums his guitar a little. "These are people the Nobody feels close to?"
"I can't help but feel close to them. Even if I wouldn't want to."
"But do you want to?"
"……………………"
"Heh……….On another subject, did you like my song?"
I nod. "Yeah." I glance at him, a slight smirk. "But that's not another subject."
"Oh? Wanna clarify, Miss Nobody?"
"I-I too came into this world 'alone'…..in that I had to learn to be alone…..for personal reasons."
"Mmmhmmm….."
"But…..when my friends came into my life…..I didn't make it a habit to seek them for warmth. For completeness….for something to live for."
"But you couldn't help yourself, could you?"
"………………."
"Listen…..it's fun being a Nobody," the young man tunes his strings and gazes into the fire. "It's fun coming here every other night…..trying to forget the troubles in your life…..trying to get over the mistakes you may have made with people you've grown to know……but somebody can only be alone for so long. For….F-For so long as that person's got a breath, ya know what I mean? God or no God…..Essence or no Essence……we're all alive for a reason. And even if we never know what that reason is, doing anything BUT taking advantage of what 'living' has to offer seems—well—pretty dang pathetic if you ask me. No offense, of course, I'm not making any judgment calls…."
"Of course."
He goes on: "You can be a Nobody forever….and never truly know what life is or what life offers. But….in a lot of ways….Life takes prisoners, and we can't stop the incessant pull to love and be loved. And why should we try and stop it? In all actuality, it's Life that should be given the most attention. Life and all the maniacal warmth it embodies. Being a Nobody is good for a short spell….but trying to do it all the god-forsaken time is—well—not healthy."
"You don't say…."
"I used to come here EVERY night. Damn-near made myself a hobo. It was pretty pathetic. And I learned that there was stuff in my real life that…..needed more attention. That I should stop running. That I should stop trying to escape."
"What…….What if the things we're running from…..a-are things we can't escape?"
"………………"
I hug my knees tighter to my chest and shudder.
"……………….I think…..," his hands rest against the wooden frame of the acoustic. Slowly, he smiles a soft smile. "I think…….that everything we ever consider running from is inescapable anyways. No matter who the Nobody is. And sometimes you gotta just stand and raise your fist against that thing you're running from….if even for the simple absurdity of how pointless it all is. Because it seems twice as absurd to reduce your life to nothing…..simply in the act of trying to avoid 'nothingness' itself. For—in the end—the thing we're all afraid of is the end of all things that continue. And while things still can continue, they might as well continue for the better. For ourselves….and the stupid yahoos we've been forced to fall in love with because of familiarity."
"Hmmm-Hmmm-Hmmmm," I hum forth a chuckle and sigh. "That makes sense….."
"Father Time is going to find us one way or another."
I shudder at that.
"……….I like to think I've learned to stop running from things and accept that. These nights here as a Nobody now for me are simply what they are….a cosmic reboot of my soul. And—Hell—I do write some damn good songs from the whole thing!"
"Heh heh….you do."
"Yeah, I bet."
"…………………"
"…………………."
"…………………."
"…………………."
"………………….I miss my friends."
"…………………?"
"I miss them so much."
"Hmmm?" he turns and looks my way.
But I have my face buried in my knees. And I sit there. Still as a statue. Not even a hiccup.
My hood has fallen free of my head, and the blue strands melt before the fire.
I know he can see my trademark hair and pale skin.
And…….
And he doesn't say anything.
I can almost see the knowing smile on his face as I hear the guitar cords pick up again.
But I don't bother looking at him.
My eyes are too busy tearing up for me to see anything.
……
……
An hour and a half later.
The Nobody Club disassembles.
I'm walking alone.
Away from the site.
My hands in my sweatjacket's pockets.
I glance up across the Bay.
At the distant Tower.
My eyes are dry now.
But the sensation of my breaking is still there.
And somehow….
Somehow it doesn't hurt me anymore.
Truth is only painful at the threshold.
The point of impact.
And it was all……so very true.
I gently smile in spite of myself.
So very true.
And so very pathetic.
I close my eyes and let myself drift up….up….up into the air.
Homeward.
But……
A girl like me can bask in that truth for once.
For it's considerably saner than chaos.
……
……
I miss you, friends.
I miss each and every one of you.
And……
I'll miss you for life, if need be.
……
……
Chaos has a half life, Friday.
Special Thanks to Lord Belgarion for his 'Friends for life, Friends forever' lyrics.
See you in space, Cowboy.