The only way this could possibly work is if they are both brutally honest with each other. They were brought together in screwed up circumstances. They are both screwed up people. James starts to think he might be no good for her. He does not deserve the happiness she gives him. He says this, even though he is the best version of himself he’ll ever be. She peeled back his skin and set free the person that lurked beneath. But this body, these bones, the twisted smile attached to his blue eyes are who he is. It is who he will always be. He was damaged when he got here, in more ways than one. That cannot be undone. She was born from his damaged mind. They will damage each other for the rest of their lives. That is the true nature of lovers.
“Are you scared James?” she asks.
“No, not anymore,” he replies.
“Well I am. I’m scared that all of this was for nothing.”
“It’s okay to be afraid, Von. One tiny hiccup doesn’t mean we’re completely doomed. Sometimes we just lose sight of the forest for the trees.”
“That saying is idiotic, and so are you,” she replies with the faintest of smirks.
James had a sudden urge to kiss her. The situation seemed so desperate, so far beyond reason, that it required nothing less than a monumental gesture. He felt a knot inside his chest. Here before him, the very world was ending and he was too afraid to tell the girl of his dreams that he loves her. That was the old James taking hold of him. James from the real world was afraid. He was scared to take what he wanted. James from Navoeth fears nothing. He is strong and courageous. He is confident and smart and desirable. He is everything to Von that she is to him. He had started to forget that he was better in this place. He could arrange words to form masterpieces. He could use his words to create. To destroy. To unleash his wrath. To quell his fears. If he could do all that, he could express love, and receive it in return. The old James spoke in past tense. Like it was too late to change anything.
There were still a million little lights in the sky, even if the darkness sought to silence them. Right here, right now, everything is a beautiful new moment giving birth to another. It is not too late to save the world, as well as the girl. It is never too late. James reaches out his hand for Von. He softly turns her face towards his. Instinctively, she pulls away. He pulls her back and wipes away her tears. She hangs her head, letting her long black fringe block him out. Even after all this time, she is scared to reveal herself. It becomes apparent just now that James has been in love with half a face. Now he lusts for the whole thing.
“Please stop James.”
He lifts her chin up and places both hands on her cheeks. The veil slides away. Black velvet on porcelain skin. Her left eye is there. The other half of her face is there, trembling to the touch. Then the cause of her unease comes into view. There are three thin scars that slither from her temple to her jawline.
“I don’t want you to see me like this James.”
“What are you talking about Von. You look beautiful.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t. You’re in love with the thought of me. Look at me, James. I mean really look at me. You’ve created something hideous.”
He wants to tell her he loves her. If only she could hear his thoughts she would believe him. Then he remembers. She can. After all, she is the only one he has ever let inside his head.
“Just shut your eyes and listen,” he says.
Suddenly, they are gone. James looks before she does. The setting is not surprising at all; given he chose it this time. This is a memory not so far down the rabbit hole. He is back in his eighth-grade classroom. He is about to deliver a speech on what it means to be an American. He was always such a good public speaker until that point. He had his palm cards all ready. He had practiced in the bathroom, in front of the mirror, and in the living room with his mum and dad as the audience. But for some reason that day, he completely froze up. He got nervous. He gasped. He stuttered. Then it all unravelled.
His hands began to shake uncontrollably. Every time he screwed up, the classroom erupted with laughter. He managed the first two paragraphs before his face was completely flushed. His shirt began to feel heavy as his armpits soaked through. Soon, it all became too much. James did the only thing he knows how to do well. He ran away. He bolted through the classroom door, along the corridors, and into the closest bathroom. Once there, he locked himself in one of the stalls. He cried through the first four periods and all through lunch. After lunch, he ran home. He sobbed for another hour or more, crouched on all fours inside his parents’ walk-in closet. It was the only place of comfort he could find, so he stayed there hugging himself in the dark.
It was not until final period that school phoned his dad informing them that James was missing. His dad walked through the door furiously, until he laid eyes upon his son. The sight of his eldest child weeping in the dark was enough to immediately dissolve his anger. He sat down beside James, put an arm around him and told him that it was just a bad day. None of his reassurance could snap James out of it. He was crushed. It was the moment he lost all confidence to speak in front of others. More to the point, he lost the ability to speak to others with any sort of conviction.
Here he is again, voluntarily re-living the adolescent memory. He looks at the class full of kids, then to the fat ginger lady who calls herself his Social Studies teacher. She leans against the world map, silently playing with her chunky green bracelet. His pleading look to her is ignored, just as it was back then. James can already feel the nervous tension. The anticipation builds up inside the stuffy room. They look at James, waiting for him to crack. He needs Von to be here. He looks front and centre, where Ursula the exchange student would have been. Today the seat is empty.
Open your eyes, Von.
He thinks these words, and she listens. The kids disappear. The teacher disappears. It is only Von. Her eyes dart around the classroom as she dissects the room.
Now listen, he tells her.
He glances down at his palm cards and sees they are blank. The cards look miniscule in his giant hands, no longer an eighth grader, but his latest incarnation. The knot in James’ stomach begins to untangle, as a serene feeling washes over him. He tosses the palm cards over his shoulder, and Von giggles as they litter the floor behind him. James takes a deep breath. He smiles. His mind gives birth to loving words.
I cannot pretend that I understand you. I cannot pretend to understand the world you inhabit. The truth is I have barely come to grips with my own. All I know for sure is that I am this way because of the choices I have made. In some ways, you and I are the same. Our worlds are also very similar. We are made up of a billion tiny particles that somehow joined themselves together. We reshape, damage and repair these particles throughout our grand existence. At a certain point in time these particles cannot go on. They will break down as they begin the slow process of disintegration. This strange science is the building block to life as we know it. This phenomenon unfolds every day in the natural environment, in a completely unconscious state.
The miracle of our particles is that they somehow developed consciousness. We are able to think and feel and hear and smell and taste. Our burden of such a gift is that these senses allow for the vulnerabilities of love and pain. Consciousness also allows us to make choices, which again often leads to misfortunate circumstances. The ability to choose is the underlying principle of consciousness, and furthermore, life.
As a species, our ability to choose means we are fundamentally flawed. The process of picking and choosing leads to inevitable mistakes. Despite every human’s shortcomings, each individual surrounds themselves with other human beings who maximise their own happiness. The better the individuals, the better chance a human has of not repeating these same mistakes. Over time, this will also lead to happiness, and the human’s actions will continually reinforce this happiness. Such is the case with you and I.
After we finish growing old, we will die hap
py and content. We will be buried in a beautiful wooden box, while our closest friends and family cry and tell stories about us. This wooden box, as well as us, will rot beneath the ground. Very special words will be carved onto a stone which will act as a marker for our final resting place. Flowers will sprout from the earth around this stone. Bees will collect the pollen from these flowers, and unconsciously spread our seed across the earth. That is how the cycle of life completes itself.
Though I understand the science, I have no idea how or why any of it works. It just does. All we can do is make sense of the world that exists inside of us. It is far beyond the reach of the stars in the sky. It is a place both frightening and full of wonder. Within this world there are two distinct hemispheres. One is made of infallible light. It burns deep beneath the surface of the land. At times, it can be as weak as a dying pulse. But it will always be there. The other hemisphere is inherently dark. It is the shadow that seeks to conquer the land. At times it is so overwhelming, it feels like things will never get better. But it will get better.
You Von, are the only one to have walked these treacherous lands. You have seen all my light, all my dark, and all my in between. You have spent so much time within my world that you have become part of the landscape. You contain not only the good, but also the bad parts of me. You are the bitter taste that helps to cut through the sweetness. You are the darkness I need to sleep peacefully at night. You are the knife that slices me open, spilling out my guts to a world that never listens. You are five little words. All I wish to be.
If either of our worlds is about to end, I will die a happy man. There is no better way to spend my final hours then doing anything, or nothing at all; as long as I get to spend it with you. I do not want to wake up. I do not want to spend another day without you. I do not want the doctors to be right. When I am here with you, it is the best I’ve ever felt. If that feeling isn’t real, then nothing in my world is real. I cannot go back to feeling hollow as I once did. I was walking in someone else’s shoes and thinking someone else’s thoughts.
You make me believe that I am capable of anything. I do not know where this feeling sprouts from. It could be in my heart or my gut or my very soul. But somewhere inside of me, it’s there. I have infinite potential for greatness. I never felt this way until I met you. You make me feel like I spread hope, rather than sadness. You make me feel like I have something good to offer the world, both yours and mine. You make me feel at home, no matter where I am. You make me feel.
Von’s eyes well up, astounded that she could inspire such generous words. She puts her hands on the table, sitting as intently as a good listener should. James pauses for a moment, taking an internal breath. She moves her lips in an attempt to break the silence. He holds his hand up, gesturing for her to hold the thought. James silent declaration continues.
It has been my experience that the greatest of people are by far the least self-assured. Their kindness and goodness comes so naturally, so instinctual, that it becomes second nature. They are completely unaware of the positive effect they have upon others. What looks amazingly selfless and generous to some, is an ordinary action for others. It is only when glimpsed through the eyes of others, that greatness is accurately measured. Through the eyes of others, we are truly appreciated.
I created something great, but this does not make me a great person. You are beautiful and graceful because my thoughts set you in motion. But you are loyal, kind and strong because you took full advantage of the grace you were gifted. I created you, but I cannot take credit for you. In the same way, whatever creative force brought me into existence, is not to blame for my shortcomings. I squandered the wonderful gift I was given. That will forever be my cross to bear. Every single god must learn from their creations. They can offer life, love and salvation. They offer hope. The creator can provide all the tools necessary to build a life. It is up to the individual however, to pick up the pieces. It is their job to assemble them into something righteous. It is their choice to create a life worth living.
It all boils down to this. This feeling I cannot contain, nor define, has spread through me like fire. I simply must follow what my heart says, and my head tries to ignore. I think I love you Von. I guess that means I do love you. I think you feel it too. Before you, I had not given much thought to love. I know that sounds corny, but it’s as true as I can make it sound. Love’s very nature is indescribable. It is far too subjective to outline accurately. In most cases it is a complete infatuation of one for another. It is the absence of rational thought. It is a lack of inhibition to say, or in my case think, of the most overblown romantic notions. Most of all, love is like fear. It comes in many forms. It is ever changing and all encompassing. One day I will be able to describe love perfectly. Until then, I’m still getting to know it.
This shadow of mine will not be defeated. It will continue to follow me around, no matter where I go. I had reached a point in my life where that darkness defined me. But you taught me the most valuable lesson of my life. The shadow isn’t me. It is only a part of me. I can face and embrace that darkness, because you will be right there beside me. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe you aren’t real. I do not care any longer. When I look at you, I see all the violence and sorrow of the world, and I see it melt away to nothing. Whatever purpose there is for you being in my life, I haven’t figured it all out just yet. Still, I am grateful for you being with me. I hold dear to every second, because the seconds add up to minutes, the minutes to hours, and the hours to days. In its special little way, every tiny moment is worth a lifetime.
The rest doesn’t really matter. She cries. She leaps out of her seat. They kiss. Her lips are moist. Her breath is stale. Her skin feels dry. It is remarkable, because it is real.
CHAPTER 20: Wrestling with Logic
Dr Shaw had been wrestling with her logic ever since her last session with James. She was avoiding her patient at all costs; something very out of character for a therapist so diligently committed to her cause. The root source of her absent-mindedness stemmed primarily from guilt. She needed time and space to process the events that had transpired within her office. To say the session was strange would be to leave it clinically under-diagnosed.
When Dr Shaw could not explain things, she felt inadequate. She needed to be in control of any situation her work presented her. It was why she was paid such a generous sum for her time. Anything beyond her professional jurisdiction was severely fraught with danger. Still, she had a job to do, whether she was helping James or not. She did her best to remain professional; taking notes and nodding sympathetically through each of her other sessions. She listened intently to all her patients as they spilled their problems upon her. They talked about their loveless marriages and their unsatisfying jobs. They talked about their wants and their desires; how every day they went to work and paid their bills and smiled politely at their significant others. They lamented how those same wants and desires slowly went the same way as Dr Shaw’s understanding of the session with James. Beyond them.
From time to time, she would prompt her patients with a set of typical key questions. All through it she could not shake a single image from her thoughts. The image was of James on the floor of her office. In his hands, he grasped a ball of human hair he had plucked straight from his dream. The image ended with the hair burning up and vanishing into thin air. She had gone over every possible scenario to make sense of it. Her process of rationalisation led her to the only feasible option. She had become too ingrained within James’ subconscious experience. Just as she had criticised James for doing, she had interpreted his dream imagery as a real object. She knew the brain was a powerful tool. It also had the capability of playing tricks on even the most studious or sceptical of individuals.
She sought out some objective input from her colleagues, hoping they could account for such a strange occurrence. They were just as perplexed. One psychiatrist suggested that Dr Shaw might be in need of a vacation. Her desperate search for answers may not have
helped with the James situation. It did however, present her with a sobering truth. Dr Shaw was alone, in more ways than one. She tossed around the idea of taking some time off work. She was more stressed than usual, amid the proceedings of a messy divorce. Being 45, single and childless, Dr Shaw was taking stock of her life.
She had barely enough mental fortitude to deal with her own issues, let alone those of her patients. That was her professional judgement. Her non-medical assessment was that she needed to get her shit together. Her thoughts were scattered. Her decision-making was delayed. Her office space and physical appearance were untidy. Suffice to say, this was beginning to affect her work. In the case of one James Galinski, she had crossed a line from which she could not turn back. She could not be his therapist any longer. She simply did not have the stomach to break it to him. It was a shame really. James was finally opening up to her. He was talking and she was listening. Together they were shedding his emotional baggage. He was beginning to move forward with his life. Alas, it was time for doctor and patient to cut ties. From a medical standpoint, the best course of action was to inform a third party of her decision to defer her patients’ case file. Non-medically speaking, she was too chicken-shit to say it to his face. This being the case, she phones James’ emergency contact, his dad.
She leans back into her impossibly comfortable chair. This spot was usually reserved for her troubled subjects, but today it cushioned what was to be a rather difficult phone call. She taps her pen against the arm rest. Looking up, she follows the blades of the ceiling fan as they slowly spin around. Then she stands up and walks to her desk. She sits on the edge of the table’s shiny surface, and tosses her pen at the computer screen. She steels herself, pursing her lips before reaching for the phone. She stares at the receiver, hoping it will present a script for the following call. Sadly, this is a conversation she will have to invent from scratch. She breaths deeply, then finally dials.
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