33. Water under a bridge (part 3)
The heavens twinkled with perplexity. Cecil's cat-like eyes softened.
Curse, blessing. Burn in Hell, drown in Heaven.
"My journey had ended by the time he arrived in my life," Beverly rasped.
Was this fire at her palms? The keys of a piano? Crickets, curves of ink, locked within a cage. Sisters and fathers and lovers. Faces she'd yet to glimpse and names she'd yet to learn and maps she'd yet to study.
"I wasn't moving anymore. For a long time I was just… stationary. Waiting for the moment where the fire would claim me. Growing bitter, angrier… Playing my piano and pretending to be some childish heroine. It- It was him who made me realize that I was still somewhere at all."
All her life idly raging.
Now she had so many futures in her hands. No crickets. No music notes. These prisoners made sound of their own without her spell.
"Now I move… Even as I lie still, I am in motion. I see everyone and everything. Breaths and breezes course through me. My fingertips buzz with energy. I feel light. I feel powerful. Peter did this to me. He was the first who took me flying."
I had no wings of my own, mine were borrowed.
Where was the white horse, anyways? What would he make of this?
You're kind to me, I'm kind to you.
"And meanwhile, he's still sinking. Even now. He's frightened of the very people he needs to help. He's scared that he'll be turned away… He is constantly thinking about everything and everyone, trying to do the right thing. I know this now better than ever. I feel him."
She was quiet for a while. Dead quiet. She'd forgotten, once again, that they were all dead. Three ghosts. One, two…
"You don't trust me, still?"
There was an amicable sarcasm to Cecil's tone.
Am I still able to feel pain?
"I witnessed my own burial, Cecil."
"It's something I understand, believe me."
"My father's slow descent into numbness, my poor baby sister, all on her own…"
This was no competition. Why did she treat it so?
Stop being so impatient, love. You've nothing to prove to anyone.
"My mother was so desperate to be physically present to them that she gave up her own harness to give them warmth. Now she is stuck and she may stay like that forever, haunting my family, drinking at their eyes. She tossed away her own miracle. Sank her own star. For what? Now my entire family is stranded, without a vessel to welcome them if they don't build ones of their own, before they die… And it's all up to me, to save them from drowning. To help them fly."
Cecil understood. She saw in his gentle eyes a twinkle of recognition. But he didn't interrupt her. She trembled in the chilly New Yorkian twilight.
I have never had anyone depend on me, I don't want to fail you.
Peter Lake had comforted her not too long ago. How was she still so mulish in her doubt? Her stubbornness, his questions, it was a bad brew. It was a heavy burden, this uncertainty. She still marveled at how he could cope with it daily.
She only hoped that, in return, he had a piece of her optimism or her pride while he waited for them by the water. That for once he was sure that it would all turn out in his favor.
"And Peter," she continued, "I watched him decay, piece by piece, as he wept in that godforsaken attic, for three whole days, and I could do nothing but stare. I saw him die and I carried him into my star, and now, not even death treats him kindly! He is dragged to his deathbed in his sleep. He is denied the safety of traveling through light. He is still mistrusted… I- I won't stand for it. I can't just stand by and- and watch the people I love be torn to pieces, by chance, by loss, by pride. I can't lose him again."
Cecil hesitated before raising his eyebrows and speaking softly. "You won't lose him. You are his death. His miracle."
"He is my miracle, as well. I don't care what anyone says."
"Perhaps so. But it's your miracle that keeps him awake. You, who seeks him out. You, who protects him. You, who flies, while the rest of your world walks. You, Beverly Penn. You saved him. And you'll keep saving him, every day, for as long as it takes, until he can fly on his own. Same goes for your family. You'll guide them down a path that they cannot see for themselves just yet."
He'll receive something he will never recognize as yours.
Willa, her father.
She wouldn't even try to wake him…
"The path I see is horrible," Beverly murmured.
The universe, rusty, grim and horrid, creaking around her. Stars glaring.
But Cecil's words were surprisingly encouraging. "Then change it. You've already done it, remember?"
We are cursed and blessed to care.
Cecil flinched slightly, as if pleasantly surprised by his own suggestion. He shrugged.
"The Pearl is a huge nuisance, always has been. But, at least in my opinion, it'll take much, much more than what he has going on, to completely shatter a miracle's path. With Peter… he seems to have a special grudge. He's had his claws on him for two whole decades. He had you taken from him, then killed him as soon as he could. Now the stars don't trust him and the city hungers for him… But it still won't suffice. Pearly didn't realize that it was you who was meant to save Peter, not the other way around. And you are unseen to him. Nothing will happen to Peter when you're around… So, like I said… forks in the road. We are wanderers. Some destinations are inevitable."
Casting a cautious look at the stars, he whispered, and Beverly twirled in the thinness of his breath.
"I have no respect for fallen stars," he said. "I, well… I find the act of giving up one's wings selfish and short-sighted. I've walked the Earth long enough to understand how great a mistake that is. But, just as deeply, I have known love like your mother's. Like yours, as well. It's been difficult, in many instances, to remember how much is at stake, if I ever give up my light. I have been tempted. But… I have always endured. I've faced worse tortures."
Nothing is ever enough, when love is lost.
"You're talking about the woman you love," Beverly said.
"Yes, honey. I can sell the miracle that built my star, to hold her in my arms one more time. Or to let her hear my voice. To tell her, to her face, that she shouldn't beat herself up so much over nothing."
Would she have done so, had Peter lived on? Had Cecil gotten to him and saved him from all this madness?
When love is lost, one discovers greed.
"But… how would I help her, if not from this position? How would I help countless others who need me, as well? To choose otherwise would be like sinking us both. I want her by my side when she goes… And in the case she grows no wings of her own, by the time it happens, I'll take her myself and teach her to fly. Sound familiar?"
A chain like theirs. Constellations, embraces.
"You've helped him from the beginning," Beverly murmured. "Athansor, too. You say that the stars are cynical of him, and the city is as well… So what made you choose Peter Lake?"
"I didn't choose him."
"Yes, you did… We choose to react. You could have just as easily ignored him, like the rest of our equals have, as far as you've stated…"
Our equals.
Stars no longer forged the secret song that dimmed down the flames in her throat. They were… her equals. Piano players, coping with the crickets they were tasked to free. Melodies given, not chosen.
The words had slipped out of her without preamble and now she felt a shiver of satisfaction. Like everything was simpler now. The universe's glittering noises now resembled piano keys. Beverly preferred it.
She asked: "What made you stand for him?"
Cecil leaned back, breathed out.
"Well… This happened long after Peter found me, and I knew he was meant for me. But it also marked the moment where I completely understood why he was given a chance in the first place…"
Beverly enjoyed Cecil's sudden chattiness, in the same way he enjoyed hers.
"Before Peter left, on Christmas Day, when he gave me those coins, and inadvertently saved me from so much trouble… he looked at me with those sad black eyes of his, and slowly opened his arms. Like a child beckoning a parent to carry them to bed, because they're afraid of the dark. He hugged me."
She liked him more like this. Blinded, unafraid. Bereft of all the knowledge that silenced him from those he loved. He appeared rejuvenated when he talked so thoroughly.
"In my long existence," Cecil murmured, "my life and death, down here and up above, over the surface, who has ever given me a hug like that? Who has touched me, to begin with? From all my decades of traveling and sailing and guiding… only a handful of folks have had the… I suppose, decency?, to look me in the eye and call me their friend. Let alone their miracle."
His brown forehead flooded with deep blues and cold purples, when he faced the moonlight. He slanted his eyes a bit, licked his lips.
"Peter Lake, the thief, one of Pearly's magpies… No, I have never been puzzled over the fact that he was entrusted to me. Never did it cross my mind that he was unworthy of my guidance or that he didn't deserve the chance to fly. He always looked me in the eye. He gave me coins, returned me home, kept me safe. He always treated me with respect."
Cecil looked down at the tips of his shoes.
"Because he was in that fiend's shadow for two whole decades, and then one day, he ran, all on his own. Because he's so starved for kindness that he has no room for prejudice or pettiness."
He frowned, contemplative.
"Those people who… disrespected you," Beverly whispered, "you helped them, anyway?"
"Yes. It's what I do. What do I get if I don't? A second's satisfaction?"
"Justice."
Cecil almost laughed. Beverly felt foolish.
City of Justice.
She needed to ask Peter what it meant, when they reunited under the bridge. That golden banner he clung to so fervently, on his final days…
"What justice?"
"Your own."
"What heart am I keeping from breaking? What pride do I protect? What life am I saving? Not mine."
Beverly said nothing. She no longer felt like she had a right to contradict Cecil's words.
Forever she'd considered herself the breaker of mysteries.
Feel me as I feel you.
Peter Lake only asked questions. He was humbler than she'd ever been, in that regard. Perhaps… too humble. At this moment, she preferred to be like him.
"As a younger man, I was quicker to anger. Until I realized that… I have never regretted helping anyone. Maybe that is why Peter Lake was entrusted to me, me who would not discard him, me who always reacts… I'm a good man. At least, I think I am… and that is all the worth my existence has. My kindness is my light. Why would I ever put it at risk?"
He smiled at Beverly. He reminded her of Peter too much in this instance. The gesture, the words he spoke.
The frost of the city shivered, water bubbling. She suddenly felt very self-conscious of her lost privileges. Her desire to burn her house under a wading shriek…
She had been dead for a very short time.
"It's a suffering I will never understand," she murmured, "or be put through…"
"I don't suffer."
"You're strong. Admirably so. Either way, I'm very sorry."
Cecil shrugged, winking. "I'm a miracle-worker, honey. I give the sky its lights. I can save the people I love. If you ask me… I think I won."
Author's Note: To anyone who is here today, thank you for reading.
Yes, at last, Cecil and Beverly's chat is done! I feel very good about how I approached this - some new info that I wanted to add in (for example, the stars being cynical of Peter for being among them now that Beverly harbors him in her vessel, given that he is one of Pearly's "magpies" and he was prevented from performing a miracle to prove he was meant to fly all along (yes, this is part of the reason why I named Part 2 "The Flight of the Magpies", because I want Peter to actually take all of Pearly's men away from Pearly's business and find redemption in becoming stars, I'm so so proud of myself for this, I'm sorry, I just am, ah XD) - for now, at least, hehe, I have so many plans for that, I swear, that line from Cecil that "Peter will receive something that he will not recognize as Beverly's" will be important later on, I promise, cause I have some ideas as to how Peter's eventual miracle will be tied into it all (hint: Abby's parentage in the film is not the parentage she will have in my version, wink wink) :3 I'm excited), and also a chance to give Cecil some more context as a character.
I love the way I'm making him so far and I love writing his chats with Beverly. I have wanted to create my own version of Cecil for the longest time, cause he barely appears in the film and that gave me much more room to add my personal details to him. I did the same to Peter and Beverly, yes, but with Cecil, in the film he is literally just there for one or two scenes, and then he's gone. I wanted to give him my own backstory or reasons for being, as I did to every other character so far... so I did. And the more I write about him, the more I like what I'm doing with him - and this makes me so happy cause, well, I love it when I'm happy with what I write, of course :3
I want him to be the perfect bridge between Beverly's sureness of everything, her constant need to be optimistic or to paint a larger picture, and Peter's strength and resilience to pain. So making it Cecil's "reason" for helping Peter that Peter treats him, a black man in 1910's New York, with respect and warmth, like he would any other person, is one of the best decisions I've made as a writer in these stories so far, I believe.
That my version of Cecil, who is treated cynically even as a miracle-worker because of his race, detects the same perseverance and overwhelming desire to be kind in spite of it all in Peter. And, likewise, detects his own insecurities and desires, his long-lost lust for life, in Beverly, who is now burdened with taking care of her entire family, instead of being cared for (another foil that I'm super proud of, I know I say that a lot but I put a lot of heart and time into what I write, of course I love what I make :3 ).
Okay, yeah, I think that'll be all for tonight. It's 2 am for me right now, and I'll be back with more as soon as I'm able to provide it to you. Here's your hug, and my gratitude for reading my stories, and for getting so far, I swear you make my day just by showing up... See you next time! *hug*
