Anthology Complex IV by M.B. Julien - HTML preview
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A minute or two after, I told her something about her personality, “You laugh for no reason sometimes. I don't think you notice it because they seem like nervous laughs.” She didn't answer, but I continued. “You laugh before and after your own jokes, and actually the very first time I met you, you laughed consistently.” She looked at me with a straight face now, and said, “Maybe I'm deranged...”
And finally, in the darkness of the night, we arrived to our destination. When I looked outside, I saw my parents' home, and wondered why we were here of all places.
As I exited the vehicle, I looked into the backyard and could see the towering tree house. The entryway into it was covered with a type of cloth and faintly I could see an ember glow in it, and in the yard, I saw a mysty gnid dew.
She rounded the vehicle and walking past me, she grabbed my hand and led me through the dark yard. Halfway through the mist, our arms extended but connected, she looked back at me and dimpled, cheeked; we were now right in front of the tree.
She let go of my hand and stood there, thinking, a confused look on what seemed to be a childish face. “Wait, let's go back,” she insisted.
When we got back to the area of the car, she began to speak. “I think if you carry me across the yard it would be more romantic,” she proposed. “Why?,” I asked. She gave me a straight face, and begrudgingly, I sighed and waved her in.
Sliding my left arm down the backside of her body and placing it under her legs, I swept her into the air and began to carry her through the dark yard as she locked one arm around my neck and placed the other on my shoulder. “Yes, this must be the place,” she smiled, and gently placed her forehead on the side of my neck.
We were again in front of the tree, and I let her down. She climbed up first and I followed, and the moment she lifted up the soft fabric in the entryway I could hear the soft piano music being played in the treehouse, but it wasn't until I entered after her that I saw just exactly what she had planned.
The inside was furnished with all different types of flowers around the perimeter and romantically lit by several candles. The soft music made well for the vision.
Eventually, she told me that the flowers were collected from her various gardens, this house's garden, the apartment's garden, her work's garden, and perhaps, she may have insinuated that she stole some from other places as well. Fucking garden thief.
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Looking at the ground, I saw a dinner of the rich disguised for the poor. In between the cups and plates and silverware, there stood two lonely peace lilies who occupied the same vase.
“Will you marry me?,” she asked, and when I looked to her I see that she is on one knee. I told her to shut up, and she went on to declare that it was at least worth a shot.
“I had to clean up the whole thing before I did this, because our kids made a mess in here,” she said. I looked at her again, and saw the type of delusion you see in people who have an unobtainable dream. “It's wonderful,” I told her, “very pretty, just like you.” She smiled.
We both sat down after taking off our heels and dress shoes, Indian style, on circle-cloths and I noted that the glassless window in the wall was also covered by a soft curtain fabric, as if to conceal and obscure whatever was going on in here.
I grabbed my plastic cup to see what was inside, and saw something purple. I take a sip to find it is grape juice. Excellent.
“I take it these two lilies are a symbolic metaphor of our relationship,” I asked her.
“Yes,” she replied, “I am a loner lily, you are a loner lily, and together we are loner lilies, and will be together forever (and ever). Pure of heart, break the bread,” she finished confidently.
We stopped talking for about a minute which gave us time to eat and drink, but she started up again. “...Almost exactly one year ago, David asked me if we would ever have to leave you the same way we left Silvio. It was a few days before our trip, right after I told them about it.” I chewed, and she continued. “...I thought about the question all night, and it made me realize that I was in a relationship with you, and that the four of us were a family, albeit a strange one.” After a moment she continued. “...So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, I did all of this, the flowers, the dinner, the curtains, because I see this as our anniversary. I'm not sure when we became involved, but I thought maybe around this time of the year, in fall, while it's windy and the leaves are changing colors, we could say we became partners.”
Here inside this quiet and avowal room, there was direction. I stared at Lynne, she stared at me, and finally I said simply and directly, “...I need you, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.”
I said this because, one, it was how I truly felt, and two, because they were words she needed to hear, especially tonight. Telling her that I needed her must have opened up something inside of her, knowing that she was not just wanted but needed, because immediately she replied, leaning forward and putting her hand on the top of mine.
“I know you're troubled, I am too, but the important thing is that we survived, and now we have a life together. I wouldn't have gotten here without you,” she said.
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I told her that I wouldn't have been where I am now without her either, and that I was happy, that she made me happy. She smiled at this. I knew now that there were only three words she wanted to say right then and there, and I knew there were only three words she wanted to hear back from me. That if this exchange had been made, there would be fireworks in the air and she could die happily. But I didn't tell her, and the exchange was not made. “You're so good to me, so nice to me,” this is all that was said and was from her.
I thought about the two of us celebrating our anniversary in fall, and the simple fact that the fall was when nature began to die.
“I tried to think of the most romantic place I could think of, and I figured this was the best place considering what we experienced here earlier in the year. This treehouse is basically our spot.”
I looked to my left after she said that and noticed an airbed, and eventually asked her what it was for. “I want to sleep with you here tonight and talk about everything.” At some point, romanticism has to be considered a disease, or at least some type of condition.
The tune on the radio changed, still a soft melodic song. Another silent eating session that would last this time five minutes, and breaking the silence I decided to play a game with her. Not because these moments with her were dull, because they weren't, but rather it seemed to me that she may have thought the long pause in speech was an implication of me being bored.
“Je voudrais vous emmener a la Lune,” I said in a frenched accent. She looked up from her plate with a confused but interested face, “You know French?,” she asked. “I know as much as the next person.” “Oh, what does that mean?” “I said I would like to take you to the Moon.” She smiled, paused, thought for a moment, then replied, “Oui oui,” in a laughing frenched accent, and I now knew she wanted to play.
I continued in the accent, but spoke mostly in English, “Virst, I vould like to get to know you... Vat is your name, belle fille?” She replied in her normal voice, “My name is Lynnette, but you can call me Lynne,” she said, then stuck out her hand, “pleased to meet you.”
I took her hand and raised it up to my mouth, kissing it once, “This is a very prettie name,” and as I pulled her in closer to me, I kissed her up and down her arm,
“Mademoiselle, mon cherie,” I looked up at her in the corner of my eye, “Telle me, my ladie, is eit okay to rub yo' feete?” She giggled, like a little girl, saying “We only just met, but okay.”
As I moved the dinnerware out of the way she asked me what “belle fille” meant,
“beautiful girl.” Finished, she laid her legs out and placed one of them onto my lap, 123 | LONELYLILLIES
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which was her non-silver side. First I tickled her foot, but she warned me to stop as I was supposed to be giving her a massage.
And so like the past, I slid my hand down her foot and began the massage with both of my hands. “Ooh lala,” I remarked, as I went further towards her knee, and at some non-silver hour I raised her leg to kiss it, “Tout bon,” I suggested. She looked at me as if I were a maniac. “What is 'mon cherie,'?”, she asked, “My sweetheart.”
Just then an evil wind intruded into the treehouse, blew out all the candles, and then escaped through the curtained window. Fortunately for Lynne, she had matches and re-lit the room.
I took off my suit jacket, and when she sat back down, she looked at me smiling, “Do you remember our first date?” I thought about it. “When we watched that terrible movie in my apartment?,” I asked.
She shook her head, grinning almost like a villain. “It was that day we gardened together and got to know eachother,” she said. She admitted to me that she wasn't exactly the type of person who asked another person to go out on a date, that she was more a label-less person who slowly transitioned into relationships. I had never thought about it that way, but I was exactly the same.
“To me, atleast, that was our first date. Do you remember our second?,” she asked. I thought about it longer this time. Using her logic, I answered, “When we went to the library?”
She shook her head again, “After the storm, when we rode around town looking at fallen trees during a blackout.” “But it's not like we agreed, so how can those be dates?”
“It doesn't matter... If you were a woman you would understand.” “So you're saying anytime we are together, it's a date?” “If the circumstances are correct, yes. For example, while the library wasn't our second date, it was indeed a date, because of the heavy snowfall.” I tried to speak but she cut me off, “Another example,” she continued, “The gardening was a date because flowers were involved.”
“The moments after the storm were a date because we were adventuring to music in a dark town. Our roadtrip was an obvious extended date because we held hands looking at the Sun. The night you kicked me out of your apartment was a date nonetheless because we danced and I saw the Moon. The night at your home was a date because we both fell asleep watching old sitcoms. Do you understand now, the circumstances create the date.”
“...You remember when we finally beat Streets of Rage?,” I asked. “That was one of my favorite dates,” she replied.
A jazz song began to play on the radio, and she spoke. “I hope thirty years from now you will remember this as our first truly romantic date.” “This is not a romantic date, I don't go on romantic dates.” She rolled her eyes at me, and again began taking in that 124 | LONELYLILLIES
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pearly romantic tone.
“This is the first time I have ever actually felt truly beautiful out on a date.” “Stop saying that word.” “What word.” “You know which one.” “There's a whole world inside me that I vant to show you. An entire universe, living and breathing with vibrant energy.
I'm going to be saying things like this all night so get used to it.” I shrugged.
“Tell me, my dear, have you ever been truly in love?,” she asked, “I think I have, because this is the first time I have ever truly beautified myself for another person,” she finished. This was going to be a long night, and yet the night got even longer when she got up, went to her secret garden, and from the back removed a red rose, then a black rose.
“Two years ago I gave you a purple rose, because you mean so much to me. The next year, you gave me a painted yellow rose, because I meant something to you, this year I am going to continue the tradition with these two roses, because I believe we have both ended previous lives to start new lives, and ended previous romances to start a new romance. I know it's late, but here you go,” and she handed me the roses.
As she handed me the roses, I noticed her nail polish; silver in color because she now embraced her identity.
The moment she sat back down, she placed her legs on my lap once more and immediately proceeded to ask me a question, and her tone suggested she was waiting to ask me this all night. “So which number am I? Number twenty?” “Twenty?” “I mean how many girls have come before me?” I laughed and told her she was only number two.
“So Maria was your only other relationship?” “Yes, that's what I said didn't I?”
Though she tried to hide it, I could tell this pleased her, as I was also number two for her.
There is something about being someone's first and last, someone's only, but there is also something about starting life over with a second.
“Did you go to prom?,” she blurted. I laughed, “What the fuck do you think?” “Sorry, stupid question. I went with Silvio, and the more I think about it, dancing to that music, I so badly wished it could have been you instead.” As she was speaking a mosquito came and bit me. I slapped it away. “Sorry, I didn't think about bugs,” she said.
A moment of silence came into the room, and maybe after three minutes, I tilted my head back onto the wall, rubbing her feet, looking at her and smiling and she smiling back. “You know,” I said, “When I first met you, I felt I had strange feelings for you, but on the contrary, it's you who has stranger feelings for me.” “What kind of feelings?” “I knew I liked you, I just didn't know why...”
She paused. “...Back in school they told me that I have emotional issues,” she laughed. “They told me I have those too, what kind do you have?” We both erupted into laughter, “I think it's just something with my brain, it races I guess,” she told me. “But 125 | LONELYLILLIES
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I'm emotional now and I feel good. I feel happy, because I know you don't normally do things like this, so thank you for doing it with me. It really makes me happy.” I knew she was happy because she didn't hide behind a fake smile anymore. No longer a limping flower, but standing up strong and beautiful, soft but sometimes tough, pretty but sometimes gross.
She stood up and looked at me. “What?” “You're supposed to stand up if I stand up.”
“Why would I stand up, I'm not going anywhere.” She rubbed her hand on the top of my head as she walked past me and left the treehouse to go use the bathroom inside the home.
Alone, I had time to think. I stood up to stretch my legs and walked a bit around the treehouse. Candles and flowers that illustrated a timeless romance. Blowing curtains that turned touchy feely nights into dreams. We were the beautiful and the damned, and I contemplated getting out of this treehouse and running far away because she's fucking crazy.
I went up to an orange flower to smell it, and I have to say it smelled a bit like death.
This was somewhat a metaphor for our relationship; we are both, overall, pathetic people.
She doesn't have an education, I don't remember the last time I had a job. She's willing to forgo a normal healthy relationship with someone else for an unconventional relationship with me, and even though I know I can't give her every thing she needs, there's the selfish part of me that won't let her go. Most likely, if I told her how pathetic we were, her reply would probably be something along the lines “but we are pathetic together,” which would make us even more pathetic.
The curtains were raised and she was back into my life, holding a small container.
She told me it was dessert, and we sat down to eat it. At one point a drop of it landed on her dress, so she wiped it off with her finger and licked it. Nasty.
The next event this night was the singing of some of her newly written poetry. This may have been now the third time she's sang to me, and the third time truly was a charm, probably because she was more comfortable with it.
The poem, despite the circumstances, was a very sad love song about an inevitable break-up. She at first decided to call it “Faded Memories,” but then changed the name to
“A Link To The Past,” saying it suited the mood of the words much better.
I told her that her singing was lovely, but she knew I was only being polite. After this, she got up and went around to the secret garden again, and this time she did not take out roses but instead took a hidden gift wrapped in brown paper, brought it to me, and told me to open it.
I immediately knew that it was a painting of some sort, and once it was fully opened, I saw that it was a painting of King Solomon, wearing a red and white robe and 126 | LONELYLILLIES
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wandering through a desert. It was signed by her, so I didn't have to ask her if she painted it herself, and I noticed that it was in a different style than her other paintings. It was entirely in shades of red and white. Above her name were the words “What has been will be again.”
“I remember you told me Solomon had a big influence on your life,” she said, “I wanted to pay you back for Rosa.” “You remember that?,” I asked, because honestly I didn't. “I am a woman, I remember everything.”
I must have been lost in it, I stared at it for at least ten minutes, completely forgetting she was even there, which was why I didn't realize she had moved directly to my side to see what it was I was so fascinated by. Once I was out of it, I looked at her, silently, eventually leaning towards her to hug her and to kiss her forehead.
This was the moment I learned that her forehead was a sensitive spot, sensitive meaning it changed her biochemically. She raised one leg over my lap and onto the otherside, then sat on my lap facing me, putting her arms around my neck and resting her elbows on my shoulders. She literally just sat there, staring at me, it may have been one of the weirdest moments in my life.
“Have you ever experimented with drugs?,” she asked me. “...No,” I replied wondering, “unless you're talking about prescription drugs. I've taken things for headaches, insomnia, depression, things of that nature. Why?” “I've never done drugs,”
she replied, “no one ever asked me to. Maybe I wasn't cool enough. Have you ever smoked?” We both found out neither of us had ever smoked either, and that in the past, we drank on social occasions but haven't had a drop in years.
“Well, you're boring,” she suggested. I was confused and replied, “But if I'm boring, that means you're boring, too.” “Yeah but I know I'm boring, I thought maybe you had a little excitement in your past.” “So basically neither of us had a teenhood and we spent our twenties as funless people,” I said. “We are having fun now, aren't we?,” she replied.
“I am having a little bit of fun,” I admitted.
She shifted a little, then asked me if I was honestly having fun, if I didn't think tonight was the least bit boring, which would mean she herself was boring as well. I had to shift a little myself, and answered, telling her that I was normally interested in things like philosophy, the stars, Solomon, the physics behind waterfalls, and then she came along and added to that list. She did not understand completely was I was hinting at, because she still had yet to see the world the way I did.
“...It means you fascinate me, more than any other person I've ever known; you fascinate me the same way thinking about the meaning of life fascinates a philosopher.”
She stared at me computing what I had just said to her, and then a moment later she closed her eyes. “What I am about to tell you, I have never told anyone, and you must 127 | LONELYLILLIES
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never speak of it to another soul for as long as you live” she said. “...I've masturbated in public before... Not for everyone to see, that's disgusting, but I mean it was in secret, during class, I was bored, and I was young.”
I was silent as I didn't know how to react to this, and I could tell that my pause made her regret saying what she had just said. “I knew I shouldn't have told you that,” she said in a soft manner. I laughed, and told her that I hoped she knew that this would be something I brought up and made fun of her for for the rest of her life. “Hey,” she began,
“if that's the small price I have to pay to have you be part of the rest of my life, I'll gladly pay it.”
“Alright, since sharing is caring, I'll tell you a secret as well.” She clapped joyfully, like a child, after I said this. “A few months after I met you, I had a dream about you, but it wasn't you. I mean, the woman was a prostitute, but even though it wasn't you I was thinking of you. Anyway, I had sex with her and afterwards I severed her left foot and put it in my freezer. Of course I was simply trying to recreate you and turn her into you, because at that time I was a little obsessed with you and was fascinated by your amputation.”
Her facial expression went blank, but unlike her I wasn't embarrassed. “I guess I should be flattered?,” she asked. If you want to be.
Her expression stayed blank, but she began speaking, “I don't know if you know this, but you tend to stare. Like sometimes you stare at me, right through me. I mean, I like it, I've gotten used to it, but I think it might unsettle others.” Once she stopped talking, I stared at her aimlessly, “Like this?” “Yes, and it's kinda strange, like you might be dangerous...”
And suddenly, a new song came on the radio. The beginning was familiar, but the moment I saw her face light up, I knew exactly which song it was. Her smile turned into something sneaky, an evil playful look, and it came to my attention that she was the one who specifically chose all of these songs, and she knew that the song we first danced to way back in that winter two or some years ago would pop up.
“I was waiting for this song,” she told me. I knew exactly what she wanted, and of course dancing is inevitable in an environment like this. I rose up with her reddishly with her still on my lap, and once up fullright I heard her feet hit the ground, her arms still around my neck.
“May I have this dance?,” I asked. “Yes, yes you may,” she replied, “because tonight, we dance!” And dance we did dance. We swayed a little, here and there, then and now, and at one moment she left my body to raise the curtains at the window to see if the Moon was out; she was saddened that it was not.
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continued the slowdance and had the sight of ghostly trees through the window which had an assortment of different colored leaves; red, yellow, green, brown. Orange.
Again, like some kind of animal or uncivilized and unsocialized human being, she rubbed her face on my neck in different directions, sometimes toughly, other times softly.
As the song began to end, I could tell she wanted it to go on forever, and maybe trying to hold on to the mood and the moment, she stood on her tippy-toes, placed her chin on my shoulder, took my hand and placed it on her chest, wrapped both of her arms around me tightly and squeezed up against me, and everything was quiet except the feeling of her heartbeat next to mine.
For the following hour, different types of songs came on and we adventured through several types of dance styles. A song with a high tempo came on and we danced wildly, I spun her over and over, picked her up again and again, and I saw how fast she could move with her silver shoe, displaying such improvement.
We did a ballroom dance, then a jazz dance, and I swear I couldn't keep up with her. I remember telling her that I was supposed to lead, but she paid no attention.
After this, I sat down because she wanted to show me how she could tap dance. At home, she practiced walking and balance, and outside she practiced running. At first there was an air of shyness during the tap dance, but it went away as the silver shoe became a part of her. At the end, she grabbed her crotch, a bit Michael Jackson style, and I told her that she had developed quite the silver foot.
We were very tired once all the songs stopped playing and the radio came to an end, and this is when she told me that she had a few more things planned for the night. After the dinner, after the gift, after the dancing, we were to roam the city. She gave me the option of choosing whether we would drive or walk. “You're so very thoughtful, Lynnette.” “Only for you,” she put her hands together and gave me a humongous smile. I chose to drive. Or I should say I chose to drive but she was the one driving.
We got in her car at around midnight, and began our drive towards the city. I asked the belle of the ball where we were going, and she said she had no idea, that we would go where life took us. I told her to stop saying stupid shit like that and to speak literally.
Under a bright street light she made a right turn and traversed us onto an abandoned superhighway, and what was one streetlight turned into many. At first, we drove through a place that had many dark trees on either side and heard sounds of owls, but after a while we made it out of that place and could see the skyline of the now colorful city.
Staring at an oddly shaped skyscraper in the distance, Lynne asked me a question. “If I planned another night like this, would you do it with me again? I'll think of new things we can do.” “No,” I replied. She turned her head to look at me in confusion. “I'm kidding,” I told her. She gave me a saddened “Oh...”
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I slowly placed my hand on one of her driving arms and cautiously took it away from the steering wheel, putting it down onto one of her thighs, and holding her hand I told her that I loved doing these things with her, doing anything with her, really, and that it was disheartening, sometimes even a bit annoying, knowing that she may have felt insecure about such trivial things.
She smiled, took her hand away from mine to place it back on the wheel, and firmly said, “Don't hold my hand while I'm driving.”
We continued our midnight drive down the highway speeding through winds, and resting the back of my head on the chair I asked her a question, “Tell me, Lynne, what are you thinking about right now. What's going on in that creative, introspective and beautiful mind of yours?” “Honestly? I'm thinking about philosophy, the stars, Solomon, the physics behind waterfalls, and you.”
She continued, “It kind of makes sense to me now. I am the right brain, and you are left brain. I'm the wannabe energetic artist and you're the wannabe brooding philosopher, and together we create the entire brain. Does that make any sense?” “We aren't one person Lynne, I don't care how many ways you put it, there are no such things as soulmates.”
We drove on, exiting the highway and entering a well lit town. She parked the car in a handicap location and we sat there, thinking and talking. “Do you think botanists can design flowers from scratch?,” I asked her. She said yes.
“If I was one I think I'd do that, and I'd name it after you. A lynnette. How would I design it you ask? I don't know. It would come in many colors but it would be known primarily for being yellow. Because, you know, yellow makes people happy. I would design it in a way that gave it the quality of appearing to resemble a kind and wonderful lady, you know, because you're both pretty and beautiful. Do you understand what I mean when I say that? It means you're pretty, in the sense that you are very pleasing to look at, superficially, and beautiful in the sense that you have a very attractive personality, deeply.
When people say they wish they had a friend to lean on,” I leaned on her, “they're talking about you. You say I'm gentle but I'm not generally gentle. I'm gentle when I'm with you, because you're gentle. So I'm gentle because you make me gentle. That would probably be the trademark of the lynnette, it would be very gentle.”
“Oh God,” she said, “That's very sweet, but now you're just trying to romanticize me.” She got out of the car and waited for me to exit as well.
We began walking around the block, turning randomly on random sidewalks and passing buildings that housed unincorporated stores. Near a park, we saw a showcase of lightning bugs, lighting on and off in a magical way for our amusement.
As we passed under a street light, I looked at her and saw her dress turn glitzy; under 130 | LONELYLILLIES
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the light it made it appear as in a ray of clear crystals and diamonds, glittering on and exhibiting the anthology of her love.
“I'm cold,” she remarked right in front of the Harvest Moon hotel. The oldest damn trick in the book, created by some woman in the sixteenth century.
I took off my suit jacket, but as I went to put it around her, I realized that it wasn't a trick and that it was indeed very cold. “Jesus, it is cold,” I said, and put the jacket back on myself. “Ugh!” she sighed, “so inconsiderate!”
Feeling sorry, I took it off and finally placed it around her. “Thank you,” she said this, but it was inaudible as only her mouth moved to make the words. I didn't mind it, I actually liked the date. It wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be.
Walking back to the car, she had put my arm around her neck and held my hanging hand with her raised hand, telling me how pretty all the leaves on the ground looked.
We eventually found the car after searching and took the abandoned superhighway back to the tree house. This time I didn't have to carry her across the dark yard, as she went into my parents' home to wash off her make-up.
I climbed into the treehouse, sat there for a while, waiting to see her again. I don't remember the last time I felt this way.
I went up to another flower, this time being yellow in color, and pushed it. As I went by pushing plants, she entered the chamber and went directly to the radio, making it say sounds of ocean waves washing up onto the shore.
“Yay,” she said, I'm really not sure why. “We aren't going outside again, right?” I asked, she replied saying no, so I took off my socks, my pants and my dress shirt, left only my shorts and my t-shirt and crawled onto the airbed, “Then I'm going to sleep.” I later learned that this was exactly why she put on the sounds of the ocean, as she took off her dress and left only her basketball shorts and a spaghetti top and practically jumped on top of me.
Slowly, she slid off to the side of me and put her arm on my stomach and her head on my chest. She slid her silver leg onto mine, but I told her that this hurted me. “Sorry,” she replied, and re-positioned her leg as she pulled the covers over us.
Blanketed, I felt her head slowly and slightly rise and slowly and slightly fall as I breathed in and out, and I just knew she was searching for my heartbeat, because all this time had passed and I still had not uttered those three simple words.
As the sounds of the oceans persisted, she asked me a question. “Have you ever played the association game?,” she asked me. I thought about the question, then replied,
“autumn,” she looked up at me and said “anniversary.”
I started to say the next word but before I could she sat up and told me that if we were going to play, I had to be completely honest with her, and that she would be completely 131 | LONELYLILLIES
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honest with me. I said okay, and she placed her head back on my chest.
romance. love. two. marriage. prison. gangster. godfather. movie. 2001. millennium.
1000. dollars. lincoln. history. war. peace. harmony. joy. happiness. yellow. sun. moon.
venus. goddess. sataness. mistress. seductive. evil. sin. hell. heaven. you. me? yes. no.
negative. positive. constructive. hardhat. blue. sadness. silvio. past. future. electricity.
energy. inspire. art. crazy. asylums. madness. insanity. serial-killer. prostitute. naked. sex.
penis. vagina. insertion. babies. family. marriage. prison. cellmates. soulmates.
eternity. ...connection. “You paused, why did you pause?” “I didn't pause.” “Fine, us.”
them. enemies. allies. friends. friendship. true. lie. promises. broken. mended. healed.
bruise. violence. hate. love. red. heart. beat. hit. hurt. pain. pleasure. satisfaction. bloom.
lavish. lavender. purple. roses. flowers. plants. trees. nature. indifferent. chaos. theory.
science. school. boring. you. me? yes. funny. clowns. scary. darkness. light. sky. clouds.
shapes. sizes. polygons. games. sega. nintendo. mario. sonic. animals. cute. dresses.
purdy. pudding. chocolate. vanilla. ice-cream. dessert. lick. tongue. french-kiss. france.
paris. city. lights. view. lake. water. waves. ocean. beautiful. lipstick. kiss. music. classics.
zeppelin. stairway. staircase. fall. autumn. love. one. anniversary...
Before I could say my next thought a wind blew into the treehouse and once again took out all the lit candles. Neither of us got up and just simply laid in the darkness. “I like you,” she said, and the other three words again rose into my mind.
In the darkness we heard sounds of the oceans, and we were like two sailors who mission it was to discover the deep waters. We were quantumly entangled, far but near, distanced but together.
“What would you rate this romantic date out of ten?,” her head moved as she talked.
“Eleven.” She was silent. She stayed silent for a while then began to tell me that her restraining order against Silvio had expired. “To a year without bruises,” she finished.
She mentioning her past reminded me of my own. “You know I would never do anything like this with anyone else? I hope you realize that, and it's important that you understand that,” I told her this. She slid her arm all the way around me to hug my body, but didn't say a word. She was probably too tired.
The both of us, getting drowsy but still unable to sleep, shifted for much of the early night, and I realized just like me, she moved around a lot, which was why at some point I found myself spooning her, we both facing west and my arm around her side, her hand interlocked with mine.
For some reason she began adjusting her shirt. I'm not sure why, but this was followed by two quick and successive farts. “What the fuck?,” I nearly shouted. She laughed, saying, “Excuse me,” and I could tell she didn't really care. I had to shake the blanket a few times to get the smell out of the vicinity.
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Far enough into the night we stopped moving. We found our cuddly place. Like the creep that I am, I watched her fall asleep. I felt that if I asked her if she was asleep, she would say no, because tonight she was already in a dream. That dream that women so desire. To make a plan and execute it perfectly, a plan that unravels itself like clockwork.
A plan that leaves you tired, but not the bad tired, the good tired. And so from this tiredness, she finally fell asleep, and I too finally fell asleep, though I felt as if, like Lynnette, that I was already in a dream.
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Chapter 20
TOO RARE TO DIE
2:1:2:20
AN abandoned superhighway, its residents dark trees on either side At night owls could be heard, but never seen as they would hide But it was not the night, for today was in day and the Sun's rays were divers And the highway was not abandoned, for it was packed with many drivers One of whom was Lynnette, in red and purple dreams she came racing down the fateful road, Leaves of different colors blowing from the winds that came from different cars, This was imagery worth painting, she thought, because soon it would be getting cold And with the painter's mind she had already begun, imagining the scars and stars After a while her mind grew tired, as it had done so before And her eyes would every now and again slightly close, and open, as if in a long war And in an accidental spare, she slightly swerved, veering off the road and into detour Waking up she panicked, drove into an orange construction car, which caught eyes into gore Her car flipped and flipped, finally, it was fully driven into the ground to land on its top Another car slamming into hers, and other cars barely dodging the way And from this, from her, came a black darkness of unconsciousness And when her eyes were opened, she found herself upside-down hanging in her car Her vision was at first blurry, and she saw the broken glass from her window And she heard cries for help, shouting, from the others on the road Finally her vision came back to her, though it came partially stained in red bode For a drop of blood had teared into her eye which seemed to come from limbo In the distance outside the broken window of lead, she saw the sight of her golden rosehead Though what was gold was now red in graph, and the once complete rose was now broken in half And while upside-down, restrained by her seat, she reached out for her love as it ceased to beat But she could not move, for she was trapped, and her reaching arm futile in a positioned tracted She did not know it, but the accident had left her concussed She was under delusion, but knew what she was reaching for, knew what was discussed She lived and loved; an indestructible and unbreakable human spirit of spry She was too weird to live, and yet too rare to die
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(2:1 / 4 / IV)
Part 3
M.B. JULIEN
Chapter 21
SOLITAIRE
2:1:3:21
INJURY report; the following players are inactive this week: Cameron Bersin (calf), De'Anthony Charles (knee), Leonard Harris (hip), Kyle Thompson (hamstring), Shareece Powers (finger), Garrison Vanette (illness), Bradley Chipper (concussion), Darius Leary (back), Joe Rogers (shoulder), Austin Ross (achilles), Jonathon Spikes (foot), Paul Webb (ankle) Parker Thomas (toe), Terron Reed (quadriceps), Lynn Naws (groin)...
“My father knew exactly what he was doing,” said Clayton's son, “it was a psychological thing and it seemed to work.”
Week eight saw Chipper in street clothes walking up and down the field, sidelined, but helping with play calling as his team struggled throughout the divisional match-up.
Clayton's son continued, “He ignored him that week because he wanted him to know he was expendable, but at the same time he knew what he was dealing with in Chipper.
He knew Chipper would fight for his job and that it would light a fire up under his ***.”
Sammy Nordstrom would start at the quarterback position in week eight and would be contesting Chipper for the throne, but even plays like Clayton's famous “Double Petal” couldn't help him to win the contest.
Clayton's son, once again, continued, “The entire week, Clayton basically ignored Chip. Not because he was useless, because he wasn't, but mostly because he had to focus on Sam and winning that week without his starting quarterback. There was more to it, though. Part of the ignoring was to pit Chip against Sam, make Sam the enemy, so when he was cleared to play, he would come back better. He knew it was working when he saw how invested Chip was even on the sidelines of week eight. Some people might say that was very manipulative, maybe even unfair to Sam, but Henry had already lost a championship game before, and trust me, he wasn't interested in losing another. He wanted everything he could get out of his players. He needed Chip to stay hungry and that's exactly what happened.”
After the week eight loss to a divisional opponent, the home team dropped to 4-4, their first lost in five games.
While week eight stopped the home team's momentum, week eight is known for being a tragic week in which a star player, Peter Sellers, died in a car crash the following Monday after football Sunday.
Peter Sellers was hospitalized for several hours but eventually succumbed to his injuries, leaving behind a wife and four children. Peter Sellers was known for his work both on and off the field, as he helped to fund charities and schools.
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Community High School to begin the ninth period.
As the students rolled into Paxton's class, he called each of their names to see who was currently present. Afterwards, he noted who was not present the day before, and gave each of these five students; Sandeep, Briana, Cedric, Elliot and Monica, a chance to receive extra credit as the other students in the class had already received theirs the day prior.
Paxton called the names of these five students and then pointed to the board, where there was one number, “21,” followed by four possible choices, “The City of Angels,”
“Deep Shades,” “Restless Nights,” “Black & White.”
This was a memory challenge, and when Cedric quickly rose his hand and declared that the answer was option B, Paxton was a bit surprised by his speedy answer, asking him how he was so able to answer so quickly.
“You did this with the class yesterday, right?,” Cedric asked. “Well, B got the circle around it,” he finished. Paxton looked at the board and noticed the very faint black circle around “Deep Shades,” a circle he thought he had completely erased. He laughed to himself, enough for the class to hear, and told the five students they would also be awarded the extra credit.
The next activity saw the students reading passages from “Deep Shades” and attempting to explain what a particular passage may be implying. The following was read by Latasha:
I am in deep thought and she is trying to ask me a question but I'm not responding.
She looks at me and gives me a shove and I snap out of it, and I ask her what she was saying. Apparently she was telling me about a dream she had last night, and then she asked me what things I dream about? I ask her what she means, because people don't really have a certain theme to their dreams.
Then she says of course people do, she starts to talk about how she always has this dream where she is in a field of apple trees and she is looking for an apple to eat, but the ones she comes across always have dirt on them, so she never ends up eating any of the apples and throughout the dream she becomes hungrier and hungrier until she wakes up.
She tells me that she is always having dreams like that, where what she's looking for is right in front of her but it is wrong in some way.
Mr. Paxton asked Latasha what she thought those paragraphs might mean, and Latasha, after thinking, began speaking again.
“There ain't no right or wrong answer right, that's what y'all be saying.” “Right.”
“Okay then... I look at her dream as, like, she tryin' to say something by sayin' something else. Like. The field of apple trees, there's probably a lot of trees and a lot of apples, but she still can't find a clean apple to eat. And if P say red objects can mean love, then 136 | SOLITAIRE
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maybe what she trying to say is she can't find clean love. So it's like she's starving for love, or hungry for love, or something like that, I don't know,” she finished.
Paxton confirmed her notions, telling her that this was how he interpreted the text as well, that Lynne, at least psychologically, had a fear of never finding an honest love and a healthy, blooming marriage.
Before Paxton could finish and move on to the next passage, Latasha interrupted him.
“Mr. P, why people even get married?,” she asked him very curiously.
Paxton was silent at first, but eventually replied, “That's a good question, Latasha.”
After another moment's pause, he started up again, saying, “Everyone has their own reasons for getting married, some are simple reasons, others are more complicated reasons.” Once Paxton realized he was giving relationship advice to seventeen year-olds and eighteen year-olds, he became quite embarrassed, but continued nonetheless.
“If you love someone, and want to spend your life with them, you can prove this commitment to them with marriage, because marriage is a sort of test for love, I think.
And if-” Paxton is cut off by Monica, who was a student which consistently added to the chatter of the classroom but never added to the discourse, “What happens if you don't ever get married?” “How do you mean?,” Paxton responded. “Do I have to get married?”, she replied.
As James went to answer her question, the class was interrupted by an employee of the school, who came with him a new student of Native American ancestry. They found the new student a new desk, where he sat, and the class resumed its studies.
Paxton continued to discuss the twenty-first chapter, speaking of black roses and commenting on the fact that Lynne and the narrator could be found in darkness throughout the novel, sometimes in the darkness together, but usually separated, in the darkness of their own solitude.
After the ball had rung, Paxton went to the whiteboard and erased all of its contents, removing all and any black circles, then went around to clean his classroom, and what stuck in his mind was Monica's question, on whether or not she would have to marry some day.
The question was strange and bizarre to him, for a young person to see the world in such a concrete way; to believe that at every corner of life, there were stone tablets with words on them.
Paxton mused. And then thought. One did not need to know how to paint well to be an artist, nor did one need to take a course in physics or chemistry to become a scientist.
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one was already a philosopher. Paxton continued and finished. If ever you guided another person in instruction, then you were a teacher.
There is something to be said about solitude... To me, it is like staring at a distant star in the nightsky, though the problem is after a few hours it becomes day and the Sun brightens the sky, making that distant star invisible and the Sun's light blinding. Too much of the Sun's light and you are left blinded, but going blind and regaining your sight in the night again may teach you what it means to have vision, the same way solitude may teach you what it means to have wisdom.
Where is she? She tells me to buy a copy of Sleepless, and somehow I manage to find this old ass movie and she's not even here. She was supposed to be here an hour ago.
The phone begins to ring. I get up off the couch and read the caller identification;
“HARRY S. TRUMAN UNIVERSITY HOS...” After picking up the phone a woman on the other end confirms who I am, then begins to tell me that Lynne Parker has been hospitalized.
The first image that sacked my mind was a stargazer. I then found myself dialoging with the woman in something of a hazy dream, but I knew I wasn't dreaming, I knew I was just shocked at what I just heard. A moment later she handed me off to Lynne's hospital room and I soon heard her sedated and broken voice through the receiver. “I'm fine... My arm is broken, but I'm fine.”
Later, I arrived at the hospital and a nurse told me that she was currently located in room thirteen. Once I'd found her door, a doctor intercepted me to pull me aside.
“Hi, I'm doctor Sylvenstein,” he told me, and a laugh tried to escape but I withheld it.
“First I want to tell you your wife is completely fine aside from a broken arm which I believe will heal correctly. Second, she is mildly concussed, so she may appear to be a bit confused, but you can talk to her and I'm sure she will be happy to see you.” I gave him my thanks and then entered the room.
She was watching television, some football program, when she turned-over and saw me. She put out her uninjured arm and when I got to her she took my hand, and I saw the arm sleeve on the other side.
“Nice dress,” I amused her. They gave her a bluish colored hospital gown. She looked down and laughed, then joked that she found it in the hospital's thrift shop.
I sat down beside her letting go of her hand, but as she recounted the vehicle crash to me, she went back and forth rubbing the inside of my forearm, almost like she didn't want me to get hurt from the crash as she relived it.
“I was coming home this morning on the eighty-eight, and I don't know what happened. I must have closed my eyes and fell asleep for a second because that's the last thing I remember. Like something forcing the car to the right very slowly, and then a very 138 | SOLITAIRE
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faint red.”
I sighed. “You fell asleep?,” I asked her. “I'm not sure,” she replied. I got up, and I tried to refrain, but I said the three words that will offend anyone, “I told you.”
I looked back at her, “I told you to slow down. I told you to stop working so hard, to stop doing so much. I told you to take a break.”
She stayed silent, not because she had nothing to say but because she wanted me to know that what I had just said to her offended her, left her insulted.
I went to go sit back down next to her and the entire time she looked opposite my direction. I think ten minutes of silence passed by until she finally said something. Still looking away from me, something in between a nervous smile and a broken laugh plagued her face, “I'm weak...”
The saddest thing I've ever heard her say gave way to minutes of awkward silence. It made me sad myself to have heard it; in her current state of mind she had no idea how untrue that statement was.
“I mean, I don't want to hurt your feelings Lynne, but you try to do too many things at once. I saw it when I first met you, and I saw it last year. I'm not asking you to change, I don't want to see you change, I love that you are passionate about life, but what good is it going to do you if that passion gets you killed. You probably drove Silvio off the walls.”
I could see something dark and unknown settle within her after I said his name, a couple of nodded sideways. “I would never say something like that to you,” she said, “I would never use Maria to hurt you.”
A moment after, with one blink, I saw a single tear roll down her cheek and disappear at the bottom of her chin. A bullet to her chest.
“What if you had died? What am I supposed to do? You can't expect me to take care of Sarah and David. And Silvio, I'm sure you wouldn't want them in his hands. I want you to work less hours.”
Her attitude towards me grew legs, “What are you?... If you're not their father, then what are you? A friend? What? An uncle? Is that all you can be for them? So I guess Olya was right. You're not their biological father, so you can never be real to them.”
I got up, “You're naive and delusional.” “And you're no better than Silvio,” she replied. “I really know how to pick 'em,” she laughed, the trail of her tear now dried.
“It makes sense to me now why he was always frustrated with you. God forbid David and Sarah were in the car with you. You fucking string me along to be part of your lifeplan and go and almost get yourself killed. Fuck off.”
“And it makes perfect sense to me now why Maria left your ass. I fuck up one time and you're already overreacting.” I began to walk away but she continued a bit louder,
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didn't even ask me if I was okay.”
I turned around and optioned to slam my palm against the wall, seeing Mr. Nosleep, and causing her to quickly react to my action.
She then got up off the hospital bed and stood there, as if she was preparing to fist fight me with one arm. “Is that supposed to scare me? Are you going to hit me now?” She walked over to me and just stood there, like some half-crazy half-wounded strange woman.
I stood there, now with my palm against my face as she went on and on about something I couldn't clearly hear because I wasn't focused on her. Her speaking brought a ringing to my ears, like the terrible ringing of a telephone, and at once I found myself shouting at her for the first time, “You risked the lives of the other drivers!” My sudden burst caused her to flinch and jerk heavily and put up her arms in a defensive play which brought her broken arm more pain. The shock of it all harmed her mentally, and after her widened eyes returned to normal, she quickly removed herself from the room.
After she'd left, I sat back down to rest from all the commotion. My eyes were blinking uncontrollably. I must have looked like a madman. I must have looked like a madman. I probably looked like a madman. A madman. I must have probably looked like a madman.
I got up and began pacing back and forth, various thoughts running back and forth in my mind, trading picks of what will occur next, and this is when the hospital room door opened again and she walked back in. I couldn't be certain of the amount of time she was gone for, but when I saw her face, I saw that the one dried trail had turned into twenty-one.
She went over to the corner to do something in secret, saying, “What you said, you can't fix this.” I walked up behind her and she quickly turned around, again in defense.
“Why did you leave the room? Did you think I was going to hit you?” “I've been hit before.” “Not by me.”
We were both in eachother's faces. Well, not really, it was more face to chest than face to face, but she looked up at me offensively and wouldn't budge.
“There's something wrong with you. You're life—” “Life doesn't give a fuck about you. God doesn't give a fuck about you. Ask God about your fucked up past, ask God about your foot.” She suddenly slapped me across the face, and the momentum of her slap shifted the mood between us. I simply stared at her, and when I didn't respond, when I didn't strike her back, she began yelling at me and began beating my chest, as if she wanted me to hit her back.
Once my chest began hurting I grabbed her arm and felt Hell come over me. I became angry with her. An anger I had never felt ever in my entire life. It was not just anger, but 140 | SOLITAIRE
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complete and total wrath.
What did it matter if I was a father to them or not? If I would continue to raise them after her death? A family member, a close friend, they can just as easily become estranged to you, to become a stranger in any given year. Blood, no blood, those who carry the same genes are not bound by anything except the illusion of such abstract. What did it matter if I loved her or not? If I missed her when she was gone or just the same thoughts of her never crossing my mind when she was absent. Why would I mean so much to her that these things mattered? Love once blinded her and she paid dearly for it, therefore love cannot be pure, it cannot only have good intention. Those in love are not bound by anything except the mirage of hope.
I had been shouting so much that I’d lost my breath. I felt like a shotgun and felt I had released a resentment towards her I had been harboring for the last year. I felt relieved, and at the same time all of the shouting made me feel restless.
And just then, two employees of the hospital rushed in and started trying to release Lynne from my grip. One of them made as if to strike me. When I looked back at Lynne, I could see tears in her eyes.
They took hold of me and quieted me down, restraining me from possibly hurting her, and when they saw that I was relaxed, they let go of the hold and stood in the midway of me and Lynne. A moment of silence that was not true silence, as the three of us could hear Lynne crying loudly. She looked back at me with dark eyes, fresh trails, and she shouted, “Why are you still here!” And I left the room, I left the hospital, knowing the damage that had been done between the two of us was beyond repair.
I was somewhat escorted out of the hospital, and for the first time in a long time, I felt alone. Something of it all made me feel as if I had gotten my corner back. And I felt, too, that what I had done to her, that it would put her in the darkest place that she had ever seen, that it would reveal to her the depth of the deepest shade she had ever tended.
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Chapter 22
A FLOWER BENDING IN THE BREEZE
2:1:3:22
¶ IT'S been three days. I haven't written anything in ten. I couldn't write anything yesterday and I'm not sure how I'm writing now, I've just been drained and have had no energy to do anything except lie down or sleep, and some days I can't even sleep well.
¶ I don't understand why he got so mad at me. It's all I can think about. I know it could have been worse, but it wasn't and he can't see that. He's not even thankful that I'm still breathing. He would rather offend me then be here with me now holding me and telling me everything will be okay.
¶ I spent forever waiting for a second chance on love and magic and purpose, but I guess when you give someone a flower, that flower has to eventually die. He told me he would never love me, I thought I could change him, more and more these days I see that I was wrong.
¶ I honestly thought he was going to hit me. I think part of me wishes he did so I could at least see some emotion. I know he's not a liar, but when someone is as cool and distant as he is, it gets you thinking. . Thinking about what they could really be hiding, something worse then the common lie.
¶ I didn't think it could ever happen, but those moments were more terrifying than anything Silvio has ever done to me, the worst moments of my life. He has the potential to be worst than Silvio, because at least Silvio had never stirred up so many emotions inside me.
Silvio never made me feel the way he makes me feel, so when he breaks my heart, it shatters into a million pieces. I can take the physical pain, but I can't take the psychological pain from someone I truly love. Someone I love with all of my heart. Someone who I will never give up on no matter how dark the days get.
¶ The kids visited yesterday with Emily and brought me my things. Sara was crying the whole time and David was just sad. Like always, they calmed down after some time. Silvio sent his regards with them, and asked if he could visit, but he understood when I told him I didn't want to see him.
¶ Sara came with some of her school supplies and I thought it would be a good idea to let her draw on my foot to get her to stop thinking about my arm. She ended up finishing a purple river that went from the top of my foot down the side and to the bottom just before they left to go home. It had a bunch of colorful caterpillars, and I see now that she is a really good drawer. . Just like her mama. .
¶ Olya also came, but at a later time, with Jazmin. They gave me support, which I really needed. I didn't tell them about what happened before.
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all day to ruin mine. That made me laugh so much, and it was something I really needed. I think that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
¶ Last night I had a dream that woke me up in the middle of the night, and since I couldn't really go back to sleep, I sort of just got up and looked out my window for a while.
I like to do that sometimes, it helps me clear my head, gives me time to think about things.
¶ In the night I saw some interesting things. Yellow leaves on the ground, some kind of blue flower bending slightly from the October wind, and after I opened the window to let some cool air in, a ladybird flew in. Seeing as how I'm in room thirteen, everything is even now and is balanced out.
¶ In the morning, just before I took a shower, they gave me a new gown. It was different from the one I had on, it was white with yellow pattern designs, and apparently was the only one they had left and was very old, so now when I leave my room for anything everyone else is in blue or green and I'm in yellow.
¶ I still have something lingering in my head, I think it's the concussion. i remembered a day or two after that my ankle bracelet is gone. it's probably been run over repeatably by now and is stuck buried somewhere in that road. that's fine, since I'm alone again anyway and don't know how to fucking calm down. ive ruined a relationship because i dont know how to be normal,
¶ the lights in this room are strange. either they are all on, or none of them are on. i cant light one side of the room even though there are two halves and two light switches. it kind of reminds me of the meaning for the diamond rose that love is all or nothing.
¶ how am i suppose to compete with other women who are better than me? he doesnt understand that thats why i try so hard. at everything at loving him, making him happy, and at working so hard. im just a waitress and i'm insecure. why doesn't he go for someone who isn't disabled? Someone who actually has a career and doesn't have the burden of children?
someone who actually has an education i'm just a dragonfly surrounded by honey bees, and even grasshoppers can hop ten yards
¶ i was shocked to hear yesterday that after they looked at my results, they found a benign tumor in my other foot they said it wasnt anything to get excited over but wanted to keep me here to run a few more tests and observe me even if its no concern, doesnt that mean that at any time in the future, another tumor can start to grow that can be harmful like my other one? im sad i'm trying to stay strong, but im broken all of this is too much. please someone just hug me
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Chapter 23
CAVE MYTHOLOGY: FORGERY!
2:1:3:23
THERE was music from my neighbor's apartment through the autumn nights. Unable to sleep, I often found myself behind the wheel of my old car, an old car that a mechanic previously told me might be difficult to drive.
I had many late night driving thoughts as I drifted here and there, trying to forget the sad thing that happened to her.
I remember I drove through a part of the city that seemed as if it never slept; there were always people about, faint music being played, glaring lights from everywhere. I remember, at one point or another, driving through a dirty tunnel which had illustrated drawings on its walls.
The sight reminded me of a dream I had many years ago. I am in some type of ruin, or some type of cave, and on selected walls there are drawings, or rather I should say, stories.
One of the stories was about the myth of an “Iceman,” who in anthologic mythology were men who could turn rocks into gems. Because this was thought to be impossible, this gave icemen an air of mystique about them, which may or may not have been an advantage.
On the wall, sitting behind the iceman, was some type of game, and before him stood a wooly man without a face, and a beast without a name.
To the sides of these three men were river banks, two rivers that would eventually run into eachother. In the background, a forest that echoed in laughter, a songbird which sung from a tree by the brook, and in the air, a dame who shined white light and turned things into gold.
The story goes as this; the iceman taught the wooly man, the beast and the dame how to turn simple rocks into precious gems, but also warned them of dentraud, which is “the loss of identity,” by explaining to them that they should never forget that, though they are gems now, they were once rocks before. He instructs them that the rich cannot exist without the poor and the poor without the rich, nor the pretty without the ugly, and the ugly without the pretty; both sides gave the other a definition.
After a year of honing their skills, each of the three met their conclusion: The dame used her new found ability to adorn herself with various colors of gems, seeking both beauty and fame, though she was soon found out, after much inspection of the gems by the socialites, to be a fraud. In her search to be beautiful, she had done things that made her soul ugly.
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though he too was soon found out, after much inspection of the gems by the appraisers, to be a fraud. In his search for wealth, he did things that made him poor in ethics.
The beast, unlike the others, took heed of the warning the iceman told him. He spent his year not turning rocks into gems, but gems into rocks. When he felt his skill was polished, he returned to his village which had been in war for two years. The conflict had been over possession of many beautiful ancient gems left behind by important historical figures. The beast, turning these ancient gems into rocks, ended this conflict and restored peace to his village, as the inhabitants could no longer fight over fortune nor beauty nor fame.
It must be past midnight by now. The car clock says 2:47 A.M., but I was always too lazy to fix it. Making a right turn, I enter onto a street that has one streetlight that is flickering on and off.
I have seen many people lose their identities over the years. I've seen people guided by strings, and when the strings are cut off I've seen them fall down. Each one so certain that they were unique, that they were different, but when the time came for them to stand up for their individuality, they buckled and became like the rest.
I know Tao will lose his if he stays with May-ling. I'm not sure if he can see that she is a liar and a manipulator. People like her, they don't show you what they're really made up of until it's too late.
The same thing happened to Jose. He'd hire people, sometimes strangers, and they would rip him off. It's not that he was too nice, or too level-headed, he just felt that if he did his part for his community, that regardless of the actions of others, he knew his own actions were polished in good intention.
I feel my index finger twitch as I leave the flickering street, and for some reason I begin to think of her. A raindrop hitting my windshield would eventually bring a cool and calm November rain, and this didn't help me to block out thoughts of her.
This probably won't surprise you, but I have never given another person a traditional gift of traditional affection, such as a card for a friend, a gift for a family member, or a ring for a lover. Most of the times these traditional efforts had an unauthentic air about them to me; a friend throws away your card, a family member returns your gift, a lover divorces you. I think if your gesture is truly important to you, truly authentic, you won't turn rocks into gems, but gems into rocks, and when you make that untraditional gesture the recipient will know that it is true and everlasting. But that's just me, I could be wrong... I used to think about it more, but for the most part, I've lost interest in
“traditional” things.
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to sell it well, others know how to use it to fit in. Seldom is honest love used without the self in mind. Every relationship I have had with another human being, it has always been mostly motivated by self-interest by the other party, but not with her, with her it's different, which is what makes this so frustrating.
This time I began driving down a street where one of the streetlights had a higher glow than the rest. What's wrong with these lights, somebody oughta fix them. The rain has stopped, it didn't come to stay. We played with gold marbles, then looked for the man in the white mask. What's that up there in the sky? That's the Moon. Licking pennies.
Spontaneous creation. It is the proposed concept that anything that can be perceived was created spontaneously with every thing else by every thing else, i.e.; the ceiling created the floor as the floor created the ceiling; beauty created ugliness as ugliness created beauty; morality created immorality as immorality created morality; the rich created the poor as the poor created the rich; chaos created peace as peace created chaos; salvation created damnation as damnation created salvation.
Stopped on the side of an empty street, I sat and thought as a single light was turned on in an apartment building in the distance and a shadow walked across the room.
Would time work the same way? Is time under the same law of spontaneous creation?
What I mean is, does the past affect the future as the future affects the past? Then what is the present?
I believe we must begin by commenting “time” as an illusion. A Monday in 1948 is identical to today, the only difference being the fact that matter has moved around; we take time simply as the movement of matter.
Illusion. Dreams are not weightless, they do not only exist in abstraction. We know this because of the brain activity produced while we sleep. The same could be true for illusions; someone suffering from psychosis might see a phantom of their dead sibling, and while it's not “real,” it does exist to some degree on the physical level.
Illusion harboring physicality would promote the idea of time as an illusion to be a physical thing, and with all physical things, there can be manipulation. If we assume time can be physical, and it carries a value, then we can also assume we can manipulate it, the manipulation of values is constant and all around us. You move a glass cup from spot A to spot B, you have manipulated space, what might happen if you manipulate time by adding or removing energy to it? If you add energy to it, will time speed up? If you remove energy from it, will it slow down? Is time proportional to something else, such as wealth is to poverty? If I add energy to time, will something else decrease? I have thought long and hard on what component would decrease, but I never come up with anything.
Another thought I have had on time pertains to the notions of both Issac Newton and Albert Einstein.
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Einstein suggested that space and time were one fabric, woven into eachother to create spacetime, as in space and time are mutual to eachother, one always affects the other. Newton suggested a law that tells us anything in motion will remain in motion unless acted upon by an external force.
“Motion” is usually an attribute of space, and not of time, but if space and time are dependent of one another, as stated by Albert, then I believe we can apply Newton's first law of motion to the concept of Einstein's space-time; that is to say, if time is in motion, it will remain in motion, if time is at rest, then it will remain at rest.
It gets interesting when you also include the final part of the first law of motion,
“unless acted upon by an external force.” This would mean time will stay in motion unless a force affects it, perhaps a force such as friction, which could decrease its energy and slow it down. Imagine if something slowed down time to a complete halt.
The shadow comes across the window again and the lights are turned off. I looked out my driver window and heard the gentle sweet singing of leaves in the wind and a whisper that calls after you in the night... These strange man's laws.
I closed my eyes. I must have been asleep for a long time. Maybe for days. Moving lips to breathe her pretty name. After a while I opened my eyes, and found myself alone again. Alone at the edge opening of a cave cliff, above a raging sea.
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Chapter 24
THE COMEBACK KID
2:1:3:24
MR. Paxton made his way out of the preschool building and into his car to drive to work. Eight periods later he found himself standing before his Critical Thinking class.
Additionally attending the class was an area supervisor. Everyone in the classroom was watching “The Book of Five Rings,” a documentary concerning the philosophy of various subjects.
Twenty minutes into the class, the area supervisor spoke quietly with Paxton in a corner of the class and then left. Once gone, Paxton turned on the lights and shut off the television, rolling it into the corner and at the same time the entire class took out Anthology Complex, quickly turning to page 97 to continue their studies.
“We only have about twenty-five minutes left so let's not waste anytime,” Paxton said eagerly. “Mr. P,” Latasha shouted, “what do he mean in the beginning of chapter twenty-four? Like what he mean by knowledge ain't got no limits and wise men sayin' they fools?”
Paxton, who immediately recalls the beginning of chapter twenty-four, begins to speak, “The narrator makes a clear distinction between knowledge, intelligence and wisdom. For instance,” Paxton pauses for a moment, “you might have knowledge of a friend and 'know' them, but intelligence tells us that identity is deeper, it goes down to a genetic level, and wisdom is knowing the difference between these two. Having the wisdom to know you are not as knowledgeable of your friend as you think you are.
Intelligence allows us to think critically of a piece of knowledge, and also allows us to use our imagination to solve problems.”
“But how can knowledge not have a limit?,” asked Becca. Before Paxton could reply, Chris blurted, “The same way your stupidity has no limit.” Half of the class began to laugh, which eventually prompted Becca to grab her ballpoint pen and throw it at Chris's face. The entire class heard the sound of a click as the pen collided with his teeth, which of course, led to two minutes of Chris's complaining of pain.
Audrey Cheng, who sat in the center of the classroom, wondered how she had scored so highly on the recent quiz despite her lack of study. Unbeknown to her, this was because Paxton had manipulated the scores and graded the entire class on a curve.
Though this was a class of students who would be left behind, Paxton felt he needed to do everything in his power to give them the best chance to succeed in life and the proper motivation to learn. Paxton now saw that, even if the students failed to apply themselves on the actual coursework, they were atleast participating and driving discussions, which was to him a huge improvement in contrast to the beginning of the 148 | THE COMEBACK KID
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school-year. The desire to learn was, to Paxton, as important, if not more important, than knowledge itself.
The bell rings, indicating the end of the regular schoolday. The students spill out of Paxton's classroom, and in the hallway is Latasha, who is waiting for the rest of her peers to disappear completely. During the wait, Andre passes by her, and though he vies for her attention, she ignores him.
Once she sees that they are all gone, she walks back into Paxton's class to find him erasing the whiteboard.
“Give me one minute,” he tells her. Latasha sits down patiently at his desk, and after he has cleaned the board he laves the room and returns with a lunch from the school's cafeteria.
He gives the lunch to Latasha and at the same time sits down across from her. After a while, Latasha asks him something that has been bugging her, “Mr. P... How come you know how to speak Spanish? I'm only askin' 'cause you white...”
Mr. Paxton laughed at the question. “I studied it in high school and in college. On top of that, a lot of my clients spoke Spanish.” “Oh...,” she took a bite of her pizza. “My mom Mexican, my dad black, so that's why I know it.”
As she finished her lunch and as Paxton was searching through his desk, Latasha decided to swap roles. “Hey P, you know the Mexican flag?” “Yeah, with the eagle on it?” “Yeah, you know the colors have meanings right?” “Really? What do they mean?”
“Green is for hope, white is for unity and red is for the blood of the heroes.” “Well, you learn something new everyday.”
Once finished, they both said their endearing goodbyes and walked out of the classroom and parted ways.
“THE SUSPECT IS SAID TO BE ONE TERRELL 'ROCK' BELL WHO WAS A KNOWN ASSOCIATE OF THE ROBINSON ORGANIZATION. BELL IS
CURRENTLY ARMED AND DANGEROUS, AND IS LARGELY SPECULATED TO
BE CARRYING A POLICE FORCE ISSUED RIOT SHOTGUN AND A POLICE
FORCE ISSUED BULLETPROOF VEST. BELL IS ALSO WANTED IN
CONNECTION TO THE ROBBING AND MURDERING OF ASSOCIATES OF LOW-LEVEL DRUG OPERATIONS, MOSTLY TIED TO THE JOHNSON
ORGANIZATION.”
Ms. Chopra was twenty minutes late to class, crossing the elementary school's parking lot and noticing a car which had a bumper sticker on it. It read, “District 54
Teacher Working Without A Contract.”
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about outer space and space travel, which is why they were watching the animated film titled 'The Kobo of Ieif Snirg' on a big screen. After class, after school, Karuna ventured over to the school library where she had the task of picking out the class's next reading assignment.
As she browsed, a distant memory lingered in her mind. Eventually, though, she selected a children's science-adventure book named 'Mooneater'.
Emily walked through South Kennedy Elementary School's hallway where she found Sara and Dave who were preparing to end the school day's regular period. As she packed them into her car, she thought of her daughter's near-death experience.
The three had begun their drive home, and the late fall sky fell unusually early. In the backseat, Emily had a case of water bottles, one of which Dave would ask if he could drink. “Only take one,” she warned him.
Taking a test sip, Dave found that the water was particularly delicious, and soon after finished half of the bottle with several gulps. “Damn grandma, this is some good shit.”
Emily, normally strict, said nothing in return.
Under the clouded horizon of the city skyline drove away the three to their destination. In the city that surrounded all around, there was the grandly designed backdrop of a fading sunned landscape. Ernest Gate's faceless woman stood still as they egressed from its erection. The triple Umbrella towers, which were among the most unique of remnant displays, could only be contested by the haunting that came from the White Lane bride. The red structure of the Free Radical Design created imagery through its rotating cycle, and Kincaid continued to spin opposite its direction to contrast its themes. As while, Stoner's wide block-hogging posture and Dreamer's triangular-like design sit directly across from the bridge that would take the three into their town.
Yelowe-Art bridge, who connected city life to town life, and made possible the distinctions between the busy and the tired.
The three eventually passed by Leavenworth Community College, and neighboring it a mural which depicted an angel battling a demon. “Unlock rear doors,” Emily said aloud to the car, and after the doors were unlocked, Dave and Sara exited the vehicle to enter their grandmother's residence.
“Replay that,” Clayton requested. David Croft rewound and the entire team re-watched the play. Early into the second half of the week nine game, an interesting play had occurred. The opponent was at their own goaline, prone to a safety. The first snap yielded no progress, and the second snap found the opponent's quarterback scrambling around the line of scrimmage, to which he would eventually be sacked right on top of said line. This resulted in a safety, awarding the home team two points and possession.
“Pause it,” Okadigbo requested, “Look, right there... He was not in the endzone.”
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Faulkner asked Croft to play it again, and upon review, Faulkner agreed that it was not actually a safety.
At the time, the game was completely one-sided, the opponents leading 28 to 3, however, it would be debated whether this false call was to blame for the home team's eventual comeback and ultimately winning the contest.
“That's the play,” argued Reggie, “That decision is what turned the game around.”
They were now reviewing footage that was advanced by ten minutes, where Clayton decided on a surprise on-side kick which was easily recovered by the home team.
Prior, the opponents suffered a safety which led to a punt to the home team, which led to a returned touchdown by Warren Stacy, now bringing the score from 28-5 to 28-12.
This was succeeded by a successful on-side kick, which gave possession right back to the home team.
“You have to step up in the pocket when it's open,” Clayton said to Chip while watching a sack play. “Don't try to bounce outside when you can move straight up, this will allow you to also keep your eyes down the field to monitor potential receivers.”
The next play, Chip threw an interception which slowed down the momentum of the comeback. “I think that sack before is what forced you to throw that ball too early,”
Clayton suggested. Chipper could see that Clayton was annoyed with the play, seeing that a mistake like this was preventable, and in his expression, Chipper saw that Clayton was fumbling with some irrecoverable football game.
After the pick, hope was again lost. Fans of the home team were already leaving, but the football Gods had it in their hearts to punish them.
“Moving corners and safeties,” McCormack pointed out at a play. He was referring to Chip's ability of pump faking and looking off defenders, calling it a “Snake's Eye.” It was more noticeable in this historic comeback game than it was in the preceding games because it was something he had only recently been practicing.
Entering the fourth quarter and slowly building onto the once-lost momentum, the score was 28 to 20, the opponents stalling on drives and not scoring a single point in the entire second half, in part due to Reggie's leadership on defense.
“Thank God Baxter got injured,” said Boe Tamana. The injury to Baxter, who was the outside linebacker of the opposing team, allowed for exploitation after a rookie backup entered the game.
The home team was now at the segment where Chipper, again, threw an interception.
Fortunately for them, on the returning of the interception, a hard blow from a teammate caused the ball to pop out and allowed Chip to land on it, recovering the ball. It was eight plays later that he ran in for a touchdown to tie the game with 1:27 remaining.
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in sports history, and would earn this game the nickname of “The Theory Game.”
Football enthusiast everywhere, and to this day, still debate over the outcome of the game. “If this was done, or if that was avoided, things would have been different.” “That second two-point conversion shouldn't have counted.” Fans would study it and dissect it and would string up theories on football and this regular season game itself.
Tie game, kickoff, 1:27 left; the opposing team catches the ball in the field of play and return it for a whopping sixty-three yards, already nearing field goal position. They easily drive down the field and reach the home team's goaline, 0:29 remaining in the game. Third and goal, they need to punch it in, otherwise they will be forced to kick a field goal.
The opposing team walk up to the line of scrimmage, having just had time to think due to the home's team decision to burn their final timeout. Attention was high as the players re-watched their favorite moment of the game on the screen.
After calling an audible, the opposing team's quarterback snapped the ball, dropped back, and hoped to connect on a slant route, but was picked off by Kevin Faulkner, who went the distance and returned the interception for an eventual game-winning touchdown; it is one of the rarer moments Clayton could be seen on film jumping up and down as he tried to keep up with Kevin.
This play is highly discussed because of the circumstances that surround it. The home team decided on an unusual formation of the Mantis scheme, which was a deceptively passive formation on defense. This was, perhaps, what influenced the call for an audible, and fans wonder if the audible had not been called, if the ball would have been ran instead of thrown, running being the obvious choice under the circumstances.
There perhaps may have also been confusion on the offense after they noticed the Mantis scheme, and this is when, enthusiasts say, they should have used their final timeout instead of calling an audible.
Others suggested kicking a field goal right then and there, to lead by three, giving the home team only twenty-nine seconds for an unlikely score. Of course, hindsight is 20/20.
The “Claymen,” as they were called from then on, went on to a record of 5-4. Clayton got up to turn the television off and began grading the players for the week-in review.
Seeing as they played to win, he disregarded any practice failures and graded on a curve.
“The student must learn how to learn better, though this may prove difficult if the teacher has not already gone through the same process.”
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Chapter 25
THE CITY THAT NEVER SLEEPS
2:1:3:25
¶ I was always a night-owl before Sara. I would stay up after midnight watching late-night TV, periodically looking out of my window into the sky, or I would walk around the apartment gathering my thoughts. Sometimes I would go to bed and lie awake thinking, thinking about either everything or nothing. Blank spaces or my near to distant future, I would never fall in the middle; either I was on or I was off. Yeah, the after hours are always a good time for thinking, like a flower that closes up in the night.
¶ Last night, I had a mazed seam. . I haven't really been able to get much sleep lately, so I walked around the hospital with a restless mind. I took an elevator up to the fifth floor where they had an indoor display of a waterfall. In the elevator was a pretty painting of a white flower with gray petals blowing away into the wind. Named, “Mortalus Gradius.”
¶ The waterfall fell very softly and I loved watching it, but it also reminded me that mostly everything in life is fleeting. Love, hate, joy, sorrow. No mother or father will ever tell you that their child brought them pain and gloom. They brought happiness as well, but there's a reason why we only hang the happy photos. I guess it's sometimes a lie.
¶ “One more year and I'll be happy.” “Just need to get the job.” “If I had someone to love.” “When we finally have enough to buy that house.” “The end goal is children and a family.”
¶ I'm tired of lying to myself, and I'm tired of trusting people who tell me they have the wisdom to show me the light. I'm sorry to say this, but I feel like no one really has the true answer to life. Maybe because there isn't one.
¶ After the waterfall, at around one a.m., I found myself walking around in the children's ward. I had been there before and talked with some of the women who worked there.
Melissa isn't working there anymore, but she is the reason why Twin Souls hangs on the right wall of the hallway that leads into the ward. I decided to pair White Lights with Rosalynnette, and together they made the illusion of fated lovers.
¶ Lookin g into one of the play r ooms, I saw this singl e plastic foot from som e pri n cess d oll lay i ng on th e floor. The girl playing with it must have been a total sicko. Jesus.
¶ Just east of the playroom was a large window that looked out into the hospital's parking garage. I stared out and saw a few cars come and go at around two a.m., but what was more was that I noticed the same blue flower that could be seen from my room was visible here as well. I thought that until I found myself at another window on the west wing showed the same thing, and I realized that these blue flowers surrounded the entire hospital.
¶ I of course watched it, and at some time a wind began to take over the town. The blue flower bowed from the breeze, but finally it bent, hung there, and snapped.
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I read about that, it made me think about how all life has to end, even flowers. It almost seems absurd to give someone something that will eventually die, but I will say this; a lady would rather have a flower that will one day die but is real, then a flower that can live forever but is fake.
¶ I found the elevator again and went down to the second floor, which is where most of the elderly people stay. As soon as the door to the elevator opened, I could tell something was wrong with one of the lights. Walking down that hallway, I realized it was because one of them was messed up and kept flicking on and off.
¶ On a table in one of the kitchens on that floor, there was a deck of cards. At the top of the deck was a two of hearts, and just beside it a Purple Heart medal. . The other car in my accident had a child in it, but they are okay. . Everyone is still alive and I'm the only one with any injuries. I am thankful for that.
¶ On the other side of this floor, which is ironically dominated by newborns, as you walk through the center and leave the old for the new, hangs another copy of Mortalus Gradius, and now that I think about it, as I'm writing this, I realize there was a painting on every floor that I visited.
¶ As I was walking through, I ran into a tired doctor. “You like that painting?,” he asked me. I said yes (then again I love all paintings, especially the ones with flowers). He commented on the fact that he walks past it every day yet has no idea what it means, or what it's trying to say. He told me that after a year of working there, he thought it might be a symbol of all the patients who died. I guess that could work, but I'm not sure.
¶ Later, I took the stairs back down to my floor. After I opened the door into the lobby, I sat down and stared into the small body of water that the waterfall poured into. Many coins, countless wishes. Desire and ignorance. .
¶ It reminded me of my lake, Cellardoor. Walking across the shoreline; beaches, sand in my feet. Hadean dragonflies. Heating Sun. I always felt there was something wrong with him. I just didn't know what it was. A dark past. Mental illness. Last year during the winter, he scared me. He still scares me. What good is love if it's accompanied by fear?
¶ At around four a.m. my adventures and explorations ceased. A security guard came up to me and told me that I needed to go back to my room to rest. She was polite about it, I guess, and I suppose I'm the one who started it, but soon into her request I yelled at her and we started arguing. I felt bitchy. I think I needed to yell at someone. Before it got out of hand I calmed down and she walked me to my room.
¶ I went in and laid down on my bed. The walking didn't tire me, it only made me more restless, and sometime into the night I found myself crying. I couldn't figure out why. It wasn't because of him. It wasn't because the state of my life or because of a bad day. It was one of those feelings you couldn't pinpoint, like an answer lost in a dream at the back of mind. So she wept, and her lucky star flickered until it went out, and in the darkness, her 154 | THE CITY THAT NEVER SLEEPS
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flowers closed.
Three years ago, I had a daydream. I am on the top of a roof, looking into the distance that has a sign which reads “R U BY TEL.” Looking down, over the edge, I realize that I am grasping the arm of a woman who will fall if I let go.
“Kidkiller.” That's what they called her, because that's exactly what she was. The strange fascination with the children she would kidnap and torture and murder. A strange watermark on her forehead.
I question her over and over again about the location of the dark man, but she reveals nothing but deranged babbling and incoherent word-salad.
On the process of writing dreams, it starts with a bunch of scribbling in the middle of the night, and sometimes you can't even read what you wrote down. I think for most of us, if you don't ponder your dream within about half a minute of waking, you'll forget it, or at least forget most of it, which is why when I first started I had the word “dream”
written on a piece of paper on my ceiling.
It was prudent that I remembered quickly as to not put any falseness in my recount of the dream, because as we all know, it is very easy to orchestrate something that didn't really happen and to add false elements into a dream.
The ugly villainette drabbled, “Tip the first domino and watch them all fall down–
You agree that you are nothing but dust and ash, yet you wear high hats and long robes–
Solomon prayed for wisdom instead of riches–Even though I'll probably end up killing myself, I wouldn't trade my life or who I am for anything–I love looking out of the window like a crazy person–That's how life passes you by, you stop thinking about it–
There's a difference between being careless and caring less–And there's nothing manly about a gun–Life seems to come down to one thing, how you handle it–The pride that people tell you you should have, it does more harm than good––My hate is general, I detest all men; some because they are wicked and do evil, others because they tolerate the wicked, refusing them the active vigorous scorn which vice should stimulate in virtuous minds.”
I asked her if she was done, and she began at the end again. Hearing her voice made something rage inside me. A dark cloud brewing just above me. But as she spoke on, my attention shifted to two masked men in suits running out of a bank. I lost grip of her arm and gravity took her away.
At first, I panicked, but as she fell, screaming, I felt nothing. Not remorse, not sadness, but a feeling of the dark cloud of emptiness, and flashes of the man cloaked in darkness consumed my thoughts. I thought backwards, way back, to the time I was given a black book and a white book by two childlike figures. The land of freedom is a terrible thing; God and Satan do battle there; the prize is man's will.
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I awoke to incoherent babbling coming from up above. I think the father in the household above is a drunkard. I can hear every one of his words; I believe he is on the phone; nothing he says makes any sense though. A twitch came over my pinky finger. I thought about her...
I walk over to my bedroom and continue working on combining my two bookshelves.
I will be able to better categorize my dreams this way.
During the span of working I periodically look out of my window into the sky; and with each passing moment the Moon takes the place of the Sun until the night completely falls.
By now I'm sure I've weeded out all the chione, simple-minded people who've come across these pages, so I am sure I will not offend you when I say this... Anyone who has never had an existential crisis is a simple-minded fool living a simply foolish life. If you don't think about death, your own and those around you, then when it comes you'll be shocked, and that's what you get for believing that life isn't sold by death. You want to live your life to the fullest and forget that you will die, that's your problem when you fucking die and it's too fucking late.
What's her fucking problem. It's past midnight and she has me up all night pissed off at her and I can't fucking sleep. Why is it so hard to just fucking relax. Did something just fly past the Moon? Maybe that was an airplane. Man, fuck her.
A plank falls at an angle onto another on the bookshelf. Several composition notebooks fall down the angle, some even falling off the case and onto the floor. The anthologist looks back at the noise.
Go to the closet, pull out a box that contains constellation dreams. Pause. Stare at metal baseball bat. Ruby anger. The anthologist kicks the box ripping open its side. The anthologist removes foot and stomps the top of the box. The third stomp rips open a corner of the box. Each successive stomp brings more and more damage and ripping to the failed dreams, and finally, a hidden piece of glass lacerates and gradually mortifies the anthololitic foot.
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Chapter 26
ALTAMIRA'S DYNASTY
2:1:3:26
AFTER taking attendance, Mr. Paxton's ninth period class walked four and a half blocks to the Altamira Cultural Museum. On the way, Malcolm and Cedric held an interesting conversation. “Y'all drink goat milk?,” Malcolm asked. “Hell yeah, that shit helps your skin stay healthy. Why you think my skin always be feeling smooth nigga.”
“That's disgusting...” “Nigga, my family's entire nutritional foundation is based on goats,” Cedric replied, then began to count on his fingers, one by one, “...goat sausage, goat cheese, goat...” “Cedric shut the fuck up about goats,” Chris yelled. Becca laughed.
Paxton wondered what was going on way behind him as he led the class.
Inside Altamira is a sign that reads “Today Is Free For All Students!!” Just beyond the sign are Ms. Chopra, Mrs. Gonzalez and Mrs. Anderson, who have been exploring the museum with their dual classroom.
“He cheated on her,” Mrs. Gonzalez told the other two teachers. “Who?,” Anderson replied. “Valentina was cheated on by Jeff, he slept with Viktoriah.” “Hmm... I see,”
Anderson replied. The three could not wait for next week's episode.
Just around the corner were Pattie, Christina and Sara, who had recently discovered the Altamira cave paintings section. “I like those pretty things on her head,” remarked Christina. “My mom has a bracelet like that,” continued Sara as she adjusted her silver glasses. “I don't think that's a bracelet, it looks like a chain,” finished Pattie.
Just then, Paxton and his class entered the museum. The entire class immediately split up, mostly in groups of fours and fives, and Paxton found himself exploring with Latasha and Arimatla, the new student of Native American ancestry.
They first appeared in sports history, where Paxton saw that Arimatla was interested in football, and explained to him that the man on the poster was Henry Clayton during a week ten win against a conference rival. The contest was a blowout and no one knew how the home team won by so much.
There were a gallery of photos in the area; of Okadigbo handing a ball to a child, which he did after all of his touchdowns, in remembering his premature son who died a day after being born, of Chipper diving into an endzone and being challenged by two defenders, of Clayton being carried by his players as he held the championship trophy.
Just east of Paxton were Javier, Vyncente and David, who were currently perplexed by a puzzle on the wall. “That's impossible!,” exclaimed David. Javier and Vyncente stared at the painting with suspecting eyes. Mrs. Anderson snuck up behind them, “You have to think outside the box,” she emphasized the word “outside.” “What do you 157 | ALTAMIRA'S DYNASTY
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mean?,” Javier asked. “...Don't be afraid to break the rules,” Anderson replied.
“Do you love me?” asked Monica. Andre hesitated, partially because of the uncomfortableness that came from hiding in the museum's children's playground's rubber tunnel apparatus. “I don't know if I want to ever get married,” she continued once she saw he was not going to answer.
A child named Chandler from Dave's class began crawling through the tunnel, and when he approached Andre and Monica, Andre yelled at him, “Get out of here!” “Eww!,”
Chandler scurried away.
Chris and Becca passed into the independent musicians section and began looking through music, one of them being Cloud Hemingway's newest single, “4.0.6.58.0.0.”
“I don't know,” Chris replied, “Paxi is cool but he's not like any of my other teachers.
Like I know, I can just tell, there is something just off about him. Do you think any other teacher would do the shit he does. Remember how he said he used to scam people? I don't know... Mr. Howard calls him 'So Crates' because he thinks he's weird.”
Becca replied, “But wouldn't you rather have him as a teacher than anyone else in the school? You know you would.”
Chris replied, “I ain't gonna lie, at first I was planning on ditching it so I could go home early, but I guess he's aight... I'm glad Ms. Kowalski told me to take it.”
Sandeep joined the others who were staring at a painting on a wall. “Tales of the African Booty Scratcher?,” he laughed. Audrey and Elliot replied in chuckles.
The painting on the wall told the story of Prometheus, who was chiefly known for giving fire to mankind. In this painting, he was also noted as giving knowledge to the youth, though this action did not fare well with the elders as he was eventually punished for corrupting the minds of the young.
As Latasha passed by Monica and Andre, she thought about how she had not talked to Andre in almost an entire week. Andre was a bit alarmed at her disposition, seeing that she was more straight-faced than angry-faced, and also noted of her wandering around in the museum's Dress & Gown shop ten minutes before, as Latasha was not one for feminine things.
“Yo, P-trunk,” Latasha said, “what is that?” James looked in the direction that Latasha was pointing in and saw the three dimensional display of the garden of Eden. James immediately recognized that the hologram was based off of a ninth-century piece of art.
Satan, as serpent, slithered sideways quickly atop the stream. On the other side, inside a garden, he saw Adam and Eve whom were cloaked in innocence.
Satan, silently, waited for Eve to abandon Adam. A moment or two later, he swiftly followed her through the slippery forest and to the tree of knowledge.
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“Sssss,” he whispered to Eve, and when she saw who it was, she replied, “Silly snake! Go away!” A piece of red fruit fell from the tree, and this is when Satan began to speak, “Your father, in the Heavens, he doth deceive you into believing that all darkness is evil, but I will say to you, Eve, though darkness doth not guide, it also doth not blind; for, it is better that one be lost with knowledge, than for one to be will-less and so blinded by the guiding light.”
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Chapter 27
THE ANGRY GOD
2:1:3:27
BALTIMORE, 1661. Midnight. I am on a train, filled with passengers, arriving to Baltimore momentarily. Outside my window I see a small town, many lights as we pass through.
I am reading the Torah, its footnotes. I had been reading about Noah and his ark, or if you want an honest account of the story, about an angry God.
In their early years, Child Satan and Child God created a universe without rules. They codenamed it “HADEA,” and it was known to them as an anti-predetermined world. As opposed to our universe, or, our world, which they considered predetermined, an anti-predetermined creation was one which was governed by no laws, no logic, no explanation, and especially, was unpredictable and things could not be predetermined.
Here, physics is defied; an object could gain momentum without any force being acted upon it.
During his years as an older man, God, who was now working alone on the project, went through many phases as he tried to solve the issues of the anti-predetermined world.
As he tried to create a world that was predetermined and would work accordingly to a set of rules. He needed to allow the implementation of “patterns,” to create “predictability,”
and finally he would have his “predetermined” universe.
This, by his standards, would be an amazing feat, but to get his foot in the door, he had to first start off as a humble God.
The humble God created his project, but saw that it would not grow; he then became the greedy God. The greedy God created his project but saw that it grew wildly and out of control; he then became the wise God. The wise God created his project but saw that it was melancholic; he then became the joyful God. The joyful God created his project but saw that it was imprudent; he then became the careless God. The careless God created his project but saw that it was without order; he then became the diligent God. The diligent God created his project but saw that it was erroneous; he then became the angry God.
The angry God, after many, many years, created the universe as we know it in anger.
He had been frustrated for many a millennia now, and had begun to make random adjustments to his creation until finally it landed on a certain degree of predictability.
“This is good enough,” he decided and declared angrily, and at once; he put his creation in motion.
The train arrived at the Baltimore station and made its stop. I pick up my briefcase, put on my suit jacket and hat, and then start to get up. As I enter in the midnight town, the lights graze my eyes and cause me to wake up.
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I awoke from sleeping and limped into my living room. I turn on my computer to find that a detective Frank Mainor had been promoted to lieutenant, replacing a lieutenant Shane Stoddard, who I assume was moving on to captain.
I half-peel off the bandage on my foot to find that the glass had done more damage to me than I thought. I take my keys, limp to the first floor to check my mail, and then return to my apartment, noticing that the mailman had accidentally given me a piece of mail for Lynne.
I sat there, flat-footed, in my living room, tending my cut foot and wondering if I should open her mail or not. I decided to open it. I take out the letter and begin to read it: Dear Mrs. Lynette,
We are sending you this letter on behalf of the entire team at HOMENESS. Thank you for your kind donation! We normally don't send personal letters out to donators, but have found your case to be especially special considering the amount of effort you put into helping the homeless. Thank you for standing with us in solidarity and joining our fight to end homelessness!
Sincerely, the HOMENESS team
I thought about the letter, and then went to my desk and took out the letter Lynne had given me two winters ago.
Dear friend,
I am writing you this letter at the risk of your disapproval, but I need you to know how I feel. I have strong feelings for you and get excited when I see you. I feel Heaven surround me when I'm with you, even though I have gone through a solitary Hell to find you. Without that road, I may have never been brought to your door. You stood up for me, even when you didn't have to, and even though it really didn't help, I want you to know that I will always be by your side. Now, and I hope... Forever.
Your friend, L.J.P.
I made a mental note of the “soli-” prefixes, but a long while after became sad and ashamed that I was more interested in finding a puzzle and connections than feeling remorse for yelling at her.
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Thinking of the letters together, I noticed that the word “solidarity” was fonted in gold. Or maybe yellow; I couldn't tell. But for an even longer while, I remembered what she told me about a golden rose. I remembered that walk with her kids down Eden avenue, remembered her blood and gold dress and her stupid fucking attempts to hold my hand because she's so damn clingy.
I could see the reflection of a golden Moon on my window now. Life becomes very dull when it continually imitates art.
Lynnette stared out of her hospital's window into the night, gazing at a golden Moon in the sky. She turned around to see that a new patient was being added to her room; a large woman with small eyes.
Like two unusually friendly women, they struck a cord with eachother immediately, and spoke into the night like vulnerable friends from their respective beds: Chloe: Do you mind if I change this? I don't like football...
Lynnette: I don't mind.
[A nurse walks by the room with a patient, followed by a doctor]
[Chloe eventually lands on a news station, showing footage of Omar Robinson being released from prison]
[Commercials]
Chloe: ...So, what are you in for?...
Lynne: ...Vehicular manslaughter...
Chloe: Hahaha!
[Lynne returns the laugh as Chloe changes the channel]
Lynne: No, I got into a small accident and broke my arm.
Chloe: Your arm looks fine to me...
Lynne: I had the cast removed in the afternoon.
[Infomercials start; advertisement of a silver necklace with a single crystal tear, made of real crystal]
Chloe: Ah... Had a heart attack at my favorite lake...
Lynne: Really?
Chloe: ...No no, just messing with you. Well, I don't think it was a heart attack, but I needed an ambulance and it was embarrassing having all those people look at me.
Lynne: How do you feel now?
Chloe: Like executing a jailbreak...
[Lynne laughs]
Lynne: I won't be of any help, there's a guard here and I'm not great friends with her.
[A nurse knocks on their door and reveals herself, asks Chloe if her name is Joel, 162 | THE ANGRY GOD
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becomes confused, then soon realizes she has the wrong room and excuses herself]
Lynne: What lake was it?
Chloe: Ivory Coast Lake, over by Foot-Loose Center.
Lynne: Never been...
Chloe: It's wonderful, you should.
Lynne: Yeah... Have you ever been to Cellardoor?
Chloe: ...Hmm, can't say that I have.
Lynne: It's beautiful. I got married there ages and ages ago.
Chloe: I thought married people wore rings.
[Lynne pauses]
Lynne: …We're separated now.
Chloe: Details.
[Lynne laughs, then pauses]
Lynne: I don't know. We were fine, and then one night all of a sudden we just started yelling at eachother. He started it though.
[Chloe laughs]
Lynne: “It's not funny,” Lynne laughed.
Chloe: ...And then...
Lynne: I told him to leave, he wouldn't, and eventually the police came and got him. I mean, we started off on the right foot but I don't know what happened...
[Yelling can be heard from outside their window]
Chloe: You shouldn't have to stand for that. For a man who can't love you... God I hate men.
[Lynne laughs]
Lynne: He's not a bad person, I still love him. We're just in a bad place right now.
Chloe: Well, promise me, if he ever makes you feel worthless you make sure you leave him.
[Lynne laughs]
Chloe: “I'm not joking,” Chloe laughs.
Chloe: You give them an inch, they take a foot.
Lynne: I think it's mile.
Chloe: What?
Lynne: You give them an inch they take a mile.
Chloe: Mile, whatever.
Lynne: “...He used to come over every Friday night. Well, it's Friday night and he's not here,” Lynne lets out a nervous laugh.
Chloe: ...Aww, you miss him...
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[Lynne's eyes become mildly watery]
Lynne: He hasn't come back to me... I'm starting to think he never will.
[Infomercial; an emerald rose is on sale, don't miss out on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!]
Chloe: There are plenty of fish in the sea, honey...
Lynne: I know, I know. The way we left it, things can never be the same, and I think I have to accept that while we were good together, we weren't meant for eachother. I just don't know what to expect from him sometimes, he's a complete puzzle...
Chloe: The problem with us is that we love puzzles at first, but after a while they become frustrating.
[Lynne laughs]
Chloe: 'Never jump in with both feet, that's how you get cold feet,' that's what I always say.
[Lynne laughs again]
Lynne: 'But how can you not, when they sweep you off your feet?,' that's what I always ask.
[Chloe laughs]
[A servant comes into the room with their foods, they begin to eat]
Lynne: ...I think I'm going crazy...
Chloe: Why?
Lynne: My mind has just been off the rails lately, I've been thinking about every thing.
Some of the things he said to me before he left.
Chloe: Like what?
Lynne: I don't know, like I've been talking to God... Why did the God they say is loving kill children? Does he actually care?
Chloe: Girl you askin' the wrong person about God.
[Lynne laughs]
Lynne: ...The things that make me right for my lifestyle, maybe they’re the same things that make me wrong for everything else...
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Chapter 28
ILIAD OF FIRE & ICE
2:1:3:28
hclayton_lost-speech.odt: “AND when I came to that town, I saw many of its residents wandering about the ruins picking up trash; for they knew that loss was the first step to shedding weakness and rebuilding something stronger.” Loss... What is it? A simple three letter word; one syllable; yet you can say it to a person and it may evoke deep memories of the past. It is the opposite of gain, which has a positive connotation; does that make loss bad? We know that loss can be good and gain can be bad. Loss can make one humble while gain can make one conceited. When something is lost, one finally sees what they had; when one gains, well, it's almost never as spectacular. After the bye week, we lost all three of our last three games. All three. We also lost Kevin, Reggie and Kelechi to injuries. We are losing momentum, losing games, and most of all, losing morale. I could give some grand speech about sport and it being your life's purpose, or about how we will prevail through all of this loss, but you all know me better than that and you would know I was lying if I did. So what I will say, with honesty, is that I understand we are still rebuilding as a team, and I understand now that I can come up with all the technical schemes in the world but that won't make up for the fact that I lack the words to truly encourage you all. I hate losing, I love winning, I can't change that, and one of the most important skills I have learned in my life is rebuilding. Rebounding from loss. This entire season so far has been an experiment of rebuilding and I do not believe we should stop now. There are still three games left in the regular season and we still have a chance at the playoffs. I'm going to ask you all to go a little crazy and lose some sleep this week. I'm going to ask you to become obsessed with winning. Let it consume you, and make the idea of losing repulse you. Do whatever you can do to help us continue rebuilding. If it means being away from your family, then so be it. You can go be with your family after we win.
“Raheim got all of eastside,” said 2Face, “I can't even go nowhere without getting punked. I try to sell on a corner and they run me off it,” he finished. Wallace had been speaking with Timothy Ryan at a restaurant deep within the inner city when news broke out about a double-building fire that was taking place somewhere in the United Kingdom.
“How does a fire spread that fast?,” he asked 2Face, still looking at the television.
“We can't live like this if we want to start a family. Are you listening to me? We have to find a bigger apartment, we need more money.” May-ling was attempting to gain the attention of Tao but soon lost it after he became increasingly interested in the news. Two twenty-four storey tower-buildings who were very near to eachother had been ablaze and were completely caught on fire, a dark cloud of smoke rising from the tops.
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“Smaller buildings around the area have also been damaged,” Jack heard on the radio news as he drove into a parking spot with his daughter, Felicity, aged sixteen. “If a fire starts from the bottom and rises, how are the people at the top going to get out?,” she asked her father.
Claire Jones, more than three states over from where most of her family resides, had been resting in a motel room watching television when breaking news interrupted her program. The death toll of the burning buildings had rose to nineteen; the fire had completely engulfed the building and people were still being sought after through the wreckage.
The bell for the ending of period eight rings as Paxton is watching the news in his classroom. He had been following recent news of what was now being called the St.
Albans fire. On the board was the lesson plan for the day: REAL LIFE, underlined by LINEAR, DREAM LIFE, underlined by NON-LINEAR, MEMORY LIFE, underlined by HYBRID OF NON-LINEAR AND REAL.
The first student to enter the class was Andre, followed by Monica, Carson. As more students entered they sat down and also screened the tragedy. “I've never seen anything like this,” Paxton said to his completed class.
“Turn on the news,” Karuna messaged Paxton. She was with Anderson and Gonzalez in the teacher's area also viewing the event. By now the fire was out and what was left was the total ruin of two towers and smaller nearby buildings; it was suspected that at least seventy had been trapped inside.
After exchanging phone numbers, Chloe left the hospital for good and bade Lynne farewell. Not too long after a doctor came into her room to discuss her benign tumor. He confirmed again that it was nothing to worry about and further tests concluded that she would be ready to go back home soon.
After the doctor had left, Lynne turned on the television and switched through channels until she came across what appeared to be two burning buildings. She watched in shock as people were laying on the streets, being carried out in stretchers, some crying for their loved ones. She watched as firefighters refused to comment, as some of them laid at the side of building exhausted from their rescue efforts. She felt sad that there was nothing she could do to help.
Silvio, walking through the mall with his pregnant girlfriend, looked at his cellular device to find news about the double-fire. Eventually they stopped at a jewelry shop where Alexa commented on the fact that she was in love with a particularly sapphiric ring, and that it was imperative that she have it. She also made suggestions and hinted at the fact that she wanted to be asked her hand in marriage.
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over the state of Maine when they saw news reports of the disaster on the seat-screens.
“There are so many things to fear living at the top of one of those buildings,” Joe said to Ross. Ross replied, “I know, right.” Kathleen removed her earphones and looked in the direction of her son, “What are you two talking about?”
Inside Emily's apartment, Sara and Dave could be found fighting over the remote.
After Sara loses the battle, she runs over to Emily who is sewing and cries to her. Emily walks over to Dave and snatches the remote out of his hands, then tells the both of them that neither of them can watch television. She then sits down and decides that all three of them would be watching the news. When she finally lands on the news channel, she is shocked by the helicopter-view of two burning buildings. “Cool!,” Dave yells.
Gun Ho, who was part of the Filipino family of seven, and who was the lone Korean in the household, was privileged with having full command of the television as it was past midnight and everyone else was sleeping. Listening to anime music with the headphones he had stolen from the narrator, he flipped channels until he came across the fire. Like a child, he assumed it was like a climax to one of his Mushashi-based manga comics.
The Irish father, who lived above the narrator, had been paying attention to the news of the fire from the corner of his eye as he talked to a comrade over the phone about escaping from Ireland and from a dark past. When his wife passed by and saw the news, she covered her mouth with her hand and called for her daughter to come witness.
“Get out of here!,” the narrator cried, attempting to bat away a rat from Lynne's garden with his shoe. Catching breath, the rat retreated back into the sewers.
The narrator saw that her garden's eastern fence had been destroyed. Walking into the apartment building and down into the basement, the narrator combined the numbers 31, 17 and 16 to open up a storage section. There, there were tools to be used for the trade of carpentry.
Walking back out, the narrator realized that without Lynne, there was a void. I realized that without her, I had to wash my own clothes; buy my own groceries and toiletries; prepare my own food; I even had to clean my own bathroom for the first time in half of a year.
The narrator walked back outside into Lynne's mystic garden and began rebuilding the broken wooden fence. Taking it off completely, it became obvious to the narrator that the fence was no longer in any usable condition. It had to be replaced, entirely, or it would only suffer the same fate once more.
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Chapter 29
MYSTIC GARDEN
2:1:3:29
¶ HE came to see me today. Honestly, I am a bit confused right now, and for the past hour I have been going back and forth on whether I should call him or not. So that we could at least talk.
¶ He called the hospital first, and after they transferred the call to my room I picked up the phone and said hello. After his voice came through I felt sick. I didn't know what to do.
The sick feeling turned into anger and I hung up the phone.
¶ An hour later I left my room and went to go sit down on the bench near the waterfall and watched as it fell. I heard his voice in my head again and thought I was going crazy, until I looked to my right to see him standing there with flowers in his hand.
¶ I didn't look at him again. He tried talking to me but I ignored him. Lucky for him Emily showed up with Sara and David. When they saw him they got excited and ran up to him. I felt jealous, I admit. I felt anger. Confusion. Emily saw it on my face as I walked away back to my room and she knew that me and him were in a bad place.
¶ I don't know what to do. Should I call him?
The crowd clapped and cheered as the singer known as Lynnette finished her powerful and loud final song. I watched her as she walked off the stage, down the steps, holding her white dress; a white daisy in her hair. For a moment, if you caught it, she looked like a flowering city; a bright white light made of starmyst.
Star-based concepts, or starbased conception, is the idea that any given star in any given system may have any given unique ability.
For example, life on Earth is due in large part to our Sun. It helped to create the conditions for life and allowed both animal and plant life to be sustained. When the first forms of life emerged, they were completely unaware of a “Sun,” and were definitely unaware that this “Sun” was the reason they were alive. It is theorized that eventually, this simple form of life became aware of the ultraviolet Sun rays and evolved in such a way that it could interpret this light, it developed a sensor, and suddenly it attained the capacity to see through evolution and adaptation.
Now let's say that form of life never evolved, it would continue to be unaware of the Sun, therefore being unaware of how or why it is alive. The Sun would be, in essence, an
“invisible” star. This has made me wonder, as human beings who are still evolving and developing sensors, what stars are invisible to us. We can see the Sun, and we know it's why we are here, but are there other “stars” out there that we cannot sense that are also responsible for certain phenomena in our universe?
Could one of these invisible stars be responsible for the force of gravity? Is it possible that these stars are everywhere, each one possessing a unique “power?”
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As she towered past me gracefully with captionability, I felt the breeze wind from her flowering dress. After she passed me and after her dress danced away, I saw the slow falling of her white daisy. Landing on the ground it fell apart into two pieces, and as I walked over to pick it up, I called out to her telling her of what she had left behind.
One piece, the outer, was white and another, the inner, was yellow. I put it back together, and when she got me to me I stood up and fixed it back into her hair.
She thanked me, then killed me with a smile, and after this black and dark silence, I found that the two of us had left the jazz club and wandered outside.
We were in a city located up high in the clouds, and floating, we could look down from any edge and see the ocean down below. I glanced back a few times as we walked away from the jazz club and noticed that it was named “The Mystic Garden.”
We talked. Well, she did. And in her many words she repeatedly told me that she felt lost. That she felt that she was destined for something else, something greater, that she felt she had a power that was currently unknown to her.
She stopped me, grabbing my hand, and looked into me, still telling me she was full of desires. In her fury of words she suddenly spit on me; a spec landed on my lip and another in my eye. I did not wipe as to not offend.
But, I did notice something. I noticed her power to connect, her ability to revir. She couldn't see it, but I saw it; I felt at one with her, as if she were my soulmate. Most people are unaware of their own power when it first shows, but everyone around them can see it, perhaps not its full blossom, but at least in its early stages of flouring.
I dialed the number to her hospital and they put me on hold. I held for about twenty seconds until I finally heard her mystic voice. I said hello, but she suddenly hung up on me. I knew it wasn't a mistake, so I didn't call back. I went back and forth on whether I should just visit her or not and tell her I'm sorry for what I said. Look, at this tangle of thorns.
I drove to a nearby mall and bought the first bouquet of flowers I could find; they were daisies; the outer being yellow and the inner being green. I then drove to the hospital and made my way through it. When I got to her room, she wasn't there.
Strangely, I had to walk for a while until I could find a doctor or a nurse or someone who knew the whereabouts of the patients.
That was when I saw her, sitting in front of a waterfall, gazing in front of herself like a madwoman. I waited there before I approached, and as soon as I went to say something, she suddenly began to talk to herself. I couldn't understand what she was saying exactly, but I could tell it was something sad.
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me, and then turned back towards the waterfall, completely ignoring me.
“I'm sorry for what I did. What I said. Everything.” She didn't budge. I stood there for five minutes, she never saying anything or even looking at me. It was one of our many long silences.
And the silence was broken when Emily arrived with Dave and Sara. After they saw me, Dave and Sara ran up to me and expressed how excited they were to see me, asking me if I was back from traveling.
As Sara wrapped her small arm around me, I see that she has a flower in her hair; a daisy; the outer being green and the inner being white. At some point Lynne got up and walked away, vanishing, I didn't see her again. After I spoke with the three, I left the flowers with Emily, asking her to give them to her daughter; I could tell she knew something was wrong with the both of us. Seeing as she didn't give me anything that resembled a dirty look, I knew then that Lynne hadn't told anyone of what I had done to her.
When I got back home I felt I wanted the world to be at a sort of... Nevermind. I watched television, I listened to music, and finally I went to my computer to study.
Sometime after midnight I received a message from someone.
Lynnette J. Parker (12:07 a.m.): i wore my heart on my sleeve for so long that i accepted love in any form it came in. whether he gave me flowers or hid my prosthetic so i couldn't leave the house, i saw it as love. love has always been the biggest part of my life, not just because i am a woman, but because its the way i understand the world. im not that smart, but i understand love, and everything about me comes down to love. in second grade there was a boy who i would always hold hands with. im not sure why we did it, but thinking about it today i think it was because we were the most shy in our classroom.
i never saw any of the other kids doing that. in fifth grade i had a huge crush on a boy but couldnt tell him how i felt, because for one i didnt feel like he ever noticed me, and if i did tell him i wanted to be his girlfriend, he might reject me. i was too shy. im still too shy. in eighth grade i practically had a crush on any boy who talked to me, but by this age i was starting to see that my family was poor, and i felt like if i did start going out with someone i wouldnt be able to afford anything. how would i buy him gifts, how would i keep him happy. freshman year, i decided my goal was to have my first real boyfriend. it didnt happen, so i had the same goal for sohpmore year. i didnt get my first real boyfriend until junior year, so you can understand when i say i was a little bit behind all the other girls. i was in love with him, i made love to him, and his love eventually came out of me.
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never been intimate with anyone, really, not with romances and not with family, no one...
but then you came along, like a superhero with a heart that saved me. you came and fought off all my demons and you awakened a better version of me i had never seen. its like you were the only knight who could take excalibur, and when you did, my soul was released. my spirit rose. you were so nice to me. i opened up like a flower. i didnt even know what intimacy was until earlier this year when we talked all night and watched the sunrise together. sitting there in the treehouse together, no one had ever been inside my head the way you have. no one had ever seen me like that. no one else has ever seen the scar on my thigh. you are the one person im not afraid of. im more afraid of my own son than you. when i told you i felt like a virgin, i meant it. i know now, after all these years, that i never truly loved silvio. he is the father of my children, but the love i have for you is unparalleled. i dont want to fight. dont be mad at me. im lonely and i miss you. i want you to come back home.
You (12:24 a.m.): i miss you too
You (12:24 a.m.): and i want to see you
You (12:26 a.m.): can i come and see you, please
Lynnette J. Parker (12:26 a.m.): yes
Lynnette J. Parker (12:26 a.m.): tomorrow morning?
You (12:27 a.m.): if its okay with you
Lynnette J. Parker (12:27 a.m.): thats the best time
You (12:27 a.m.): okay, i will be there
You (12:29 a.m.): im sorry
Lynnette J. Parker (12:31 a.m.): you dont have to keep saying that lol Lynnette J. Parker (12:31 a.m.): what did u do with my flowers?
You (12:32 a.m.): they're emily's now
Lynnette J. Parker (12:32 a.m.): :[
Lynnette J. Parker (12:32 a.m.): brb
Lynnette J. Parker (12:37 a.m.): back
Lynnette J. Parker (12:37 a.m.): :]
You (12:37 a.m.): 8]
Lynnette J. Parker (12:37 a.m.): :P
Lynnette J. Parker (12:38 a.m.): ur telephone is not working. thats why i had to message you on here
You (12:38 a.m.): weird
You (12:41 a.m.): its almost one, you should rest
Lynnette J. Parker (12:42 a.m.): k
Lynnette J. Parker (12:42 a.m.): you should too
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Lynnette J. Parker (12:42 a.m.): i will see you tomorrow?
Lynnette J. Parker (12:42 a.m.): or i mean today
You (12:42 a.m.): yeah
Lynnette J. Parker (12:43 a.m.): :]
Lynnette J. Parker (12:44 a.m.): goodnight
Lynnette J. Parker (12:44 a.m.): *kiss*
You (12:44 a.m.): sleep well
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M.B. JULIEN
Chapter 30
MYSTIC GARDEN II
2:1:3:30
AS she towed past me gracely with capability, I felt the breeze wind from her flowing dress. I followed her to the end of the swimming iceberg and we looked out into the purple waters. Behind us was an entire city located on an iceberg about the size of Illinois. Up above were red skies; lightning could be see, but no thunder could be heard.
Most of the strikes were unseen, hiding behind carefully flashing clouds, but every once in a while a strike would connect the sky to the earth.
There are things in our universe that seem inseparable. I am not speaking physically but metaphysically. When one first hears the term “spacetime,” they may believe it to be
“space” and “time” working together to form one unit, and while this is true to a certain degree, it also isn't.
I could be wrong, and maybe you don't agree with me, but I don't believe it is possible to split space from time. “Maybe you are wrong, but I don't know enough about it to disagree with you,” she said as she walked closer to the purple pool.
Space and time are interwoven. With the concept of matter having the ability to move through space, when it does, it creates the illusion of time; distance traveled, acceleration, et cetera. “Velocity,” she said as she began to sit down at the iceberg's edge. Right, right.
The same principle can be found in other things. “What is the principle again?,” she asked as she took off her heels. “Basically, a simple concept such as movement creates one or more illusions, such as time. One object may have multiple dimensions.”
She dipped her feet into the purple pond. “Soooo, like, consciousness and life?” What do you mean 'consciousness and life'?
“Well,” she moved her feet around in the waters, “like, humans and robots right?
Robots don't really do anything on their own, they just follow rules, right? Well then, what makes us so different from robots, then? Consciousness? I don't think so, I think something we describe as life only has the illusion of consciousness. If you give a robot a certain amount of options, based on the information it has, it can choose a decision. And, like, you can do the same thing with people, so who's to say that robot doesn't have as much consciousness as a person. So what I'm saying is we only have as much capability as any other 'life' that can choose between A, B, C or D.”
What she said was interesting. What about feelings and emotions, and knowing the difference between right and wrong? She laughed and said, “You can program robots to feel. Right and wrong may be as physical as it is metaphysical.”
When she took her feet out of the purple puddle, she had purple daisies in between 173 | MYSTIC GARDEN II
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each toe gap. She twinkled her toes then twinkled a smile. After she got up she picked the daisies from her toes, and each one she plucked turned red right after being plucked. She smells them, then puts them out for me to smell as well. Smelling them, I noticed they were red due to the reflection from the sky.
With her hand full of red daises we walked back towards the iceberg city and back into The Mystic Garden. Before entering we saw the establishment's neon electric sign. It read “The Mystic Garden” and had that of a moth to a flame and a butterfly to a flower.
“In a darkened wood stood the daisied dame. The moth flies with lust, his desire is that of the flame. In a sunny forest alongside a falling shower. The butterfly rests in love, her lover seeing her beauty akin to that of a flower. In a mythical garden, the bloom shall meet the fire. But one does wonder, when is it love and not lust, when is it beauty and not simply desire?,” she recited her favorite quote.
6 A.M., Friday
When I left home to visit the hospital in the morning, I was afraid for a moment that the sky was on fire. The clouds kept on flashing incessantly as lightning struck, but there was no sound of thunder.
During the quiet nightly morning lightning-filled drive, I turned on the radio and landed on a news station that spoke about the retirement of one Dan Wilson, by his partner, one Rod Rousseau, and the cold case he had left behind; thirteen people murdered and left to rot in an abandoned apartment building and no one to answer for the crime. Talk about being a free man.
All through the morning, there was lightning but never any thunder, and sometime later in the hour I finally arrived.
7 A.M., Friday
I walked through the doors to the hospital then through the door to Lynne's room. I see that she is sleeping so I grab a chair and sit down next to her, assuming she will awake soon enough.
Yes, I looked at her, stared at her, for a very long time like a man possessed. Right now she is very far away in a land of her own, yet I can touch her right now and she will feel so real to me. She has become so real to me, yet at times she can feel distant and far away... Like a dream. Reality from fiction. Being in two places at once. I never thought someone so far away could be this close, I never thought someone who isn't real could be 174 | MYSTIC GARDEN II
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so alive. A dreamgirl.
All the billions of years and countless distances matter has traveled to create her; the Earth surviving the period of Hadean, LUCA evolving into current life. The arrangement of her face, her body. The developing of her personality. Maybe she isn't real. Maybe she's just the perfect illusion.
8 A.M., Friday
I turn on the television in her room and begin to watch, wondering when she will finally wake up. I think about how we will first look at eachother, what our expressions will be like. First words. What am I going to say.
9 A.M., Friday
She can really sleep. I'm surprised I haven't heard her snore all morning. On the television is the residue of what they are now calling the St. Albans fire. The death toll had rose to sixty-one, there is nothing on what started the fire, though. Tired of the news I go to the window to watch the passing traffic at the entrance of a highway. Somewhere in that section of the room I found what seemed to be a diary; the cover was overly designed and the contents were secured by a lilac belt.
I grabbed it and tried to open it but it was securely locked. That didn't matter as the key wasn't too far from here. I picked up the cherry key and unlocked the diary, and as I opened the page, a fake moonstone ring falls out of a crescent place. I put it back in and pay it no nevermind. I started reading it.
¶ I went in and laid down on my bed. The walking didn't tire me, it only made me more restless, and sometime into the night I found myself crying. I couldn't figure out why. It wasn't because of him. It wasn't because the state of my life or because of a bad day. It was one of those feelings you couldn't pinpoint, like an answer lost in a dream at the back of mind. So she wept, and her lucky star flickered until it went out, and in the darkness, her flowers closed.