The Rest Is Illusion

by Eric Arvin

  …Blood? Are you sure?

  IT CAME to a last act of defiance for Wilder. One last struggle to reclaim his faltering world.

  He set out barefoot on icy ground, full of heat and hate. He looked ridiculous, but he didn’t care. He was not concerned with the others’ whispers and condescending looks. His sole purpose at the moment was at Sigma Gamma, and he had nothing but rage on his mind.

  Tony would bear the brunt of his anger more than Maggie. Wilder hated the victory on Tony’s face in the darkroom, the look of superiority and alpha-dog citizenship. It was a disgusting display because he knew Tony’s weakness. And Maggie was too feeble to see that impotence, too naive to tell strength from false bravado. If he was to go down, Wilder thought, he would be dragged off on top. So, as he drew closer to the fraternity, with his mission clear in his mind and the aftereffect of it already reverberating, he heard his very steps shake the earth.

  Nearing Sigma Gamma with numbed feet, Wilder saw Ashley slipping in through the side door looking disheveled, as if he had spent the night somewhere else in his clothes. Wilder thought the unlocked side door would be his best entry choice as well.

  He waited for the right moment, standing cautiously beside the door to get in unnoticed. Not being seen would make getting out easier. Finally, Wilder opened the door and slid through quietly, still aware of the space around him. He climbed up the stairs carefully, his bare feet leaving wet prints on the concrete steps.

  He peered down the second-floor hallway. There were no open doors or blaring music. Wilder passed Ashley and Dashel’s room. No noise. He passed by Gabriel’s door, aware his clothes lay inside. Then, he stalled in a silent, shivering rage outside Tony’s room. The door was closed. Wilder reached for the knob and turned slowly. Click, and he was in. It opened quietly, only catching a little on the snagged carpet below.

  Wilder took in the contents of the room. Beer cans, compact discs and videos, a desk, a torn and stained blue sofa, and the bed that had been the scene of a certain mastery. But no one was there. He pushed the door open wider. Lying on the desk was the item he wanted. Wilder smiled at the ease of the task. How stupid Tony was, he thought, leaving his room unlocked for anyone to walk in. Anyone at all.

  Gabriel stood in the doorway. “Wilder. What are you doing here?”

  “I haven’t got time for you now, Gabriel,” Wilder said. “Go get my clothes. I’ve been walking around all morning half-naked. I have something to do.”

  Gabe hesitated, but then he left the doorframe. Wilder turned back and grabbed Tony’s car keys, dragging them across the wood of the desktop and leaving a large deep gouge in the surface. He charged out of the room, heading back to the stairs.

  Gabriel appeared with Wilder’s clothes in his arms. “Here they are,” he said as Wilder passed him by with an indifferent nudge. “Wilder?” he questioned. “Wilder, are those Tony’s keys?”

  Behind him, Wilder heard Gabe run to Tony’s room, then back after him.

  “Those are Tony’s keys!” he said anxiously as he pursued the thief into the stairwell.

  Wilder quickly descended the steps, his feet slapping the concrete. Gabriel followed him, his arms still full of Wilder’s clothes.

  “Wilder, stop!” Gabriel shouted from the bottom step as he reached out and grabbed Wilder’s shoulder. Wilder reeled around and knocked him backward. Gabriel lost traction, and the clothes tumbled all about as he fell back on the steps, hitting his head and the small of his back. He howled in twitching pain. It was the last Wilder saw of him.

  Out in the fraternity parking lot, Tony’s prized Corvette shone red and glossy from the melting snow. Wilder took the keys and gouged a perfectly straight line into the driver’s door. When Wilder was through with it, Tony would not recognize his precious car. It would be a distorted reflection of its former glory.

  He slammed the door and turned the ignition. It purred. Wilder revved the engine and peeled out onto the college drive. The tires squealed.

  The soles of his feet were wet and slippery on the pedals as he pressed the gas and brake at varying intervals. Wilder charged through campus, shrieking wheels and aiming at slow movers on the crosswalks. As he drove, the tires skidded on the ice and slick paved roads, but he hardly felt the vehicle sliding. He clipped sharp curves and ignored sign posts and guard rails that scraped the red paint off the car.

  Wilder made the crisp turn on the scenic route that offered a view of the Point, stripping the gears as he sped. Up ahead was the old tree. A sharp blinding hate grabbed at him. He pressed harder on the gas with his bare foot. He glimpsed the river past tree limbs and hills as Wilder raced toward the tree. His intent was to skim it. Scrape the side of it. Maybe rip off the passenger side mirror in the process.

  He rounded the turn and slowed just enough to assure he could swipe the tree with the Corvette and rip gaping wounds in both the tree and the car.

  But the strange season intervened.

  When he got close to the tree, snowflakes began to fall all around him and the car. Great rectangular sheets of snow covered the windshield, blinding Wilder. He felt the sharp turning of the wheels beneath him and desperately tried to stop as they lost their traction. His bare foot slipped off the brake and hit the gas instead.

  In that frozen ice-second, Wilder at last saw. In a flash of epiphany, he looked into the rearview mirror and perceived fresh, frightened, questioning eyes looking back at him. Eyes he remembered from more innocuous days. Infant days when he still believed in the love of his parents. In that same second, he heard a penetrating scream from somewhere outside the car. The scream tore through the fibers of existence like razors thrown through tissue paper. And then the world was gone, the curtain drawn. All that was left submerged into a terrifying darkness.

  SARAH STOOD in the chapel doorway with the doors spread wide, letting in the outer light of the melting world. She glanced at the newly replaced window, and then she returned to the more pressing matter of finding Dash. She studied the pews in search of a head of curly golden hair, but only a couple girls looked at her with slight irritation.

  “Sorry,” Sarah said in a loud whisper as she backed out of the small building and closed the doors.

  “I don’t know where he could be, Ash,” Sarah said, out on the chapel steps, holding the phone with her jaw and shoulder as she fixed a mass of hair that had come undone.

  “He’s not at the clinic either,” Ashley sighed over the phone, his breath sounding like fresh static. “Any other ideas?”

  “Maybe he’s off campus,” Sarah suggested.

  “No. His car is still at the house. I checked before I left. Plus, he’s too careful to be driving around on these roads.”

  Sarah walked slowly and hesitantly down the chapel steps. Worry and fear struck at her heart. She had searched every building on the quad and near her side of campus, but Dash was nowhere. Why was she so worried? Surely he was fine. Surely it was just stress causing her anguish.

  As she scanned the quad, she noticed Tony off in the distance. He was coming from the Point and was probably headed back to his dorm room. The football player appeared in high spirits. His walk was light. Truthfully, he was almost skipping with his big boots through the snow.

  Sarah’s pace quickened as Tony got farther away. “Ash, I think I may have found him,” she said over the cell.

  Her gait increased from fast walk to slight jog as she came upon the sight of the lone tree at the Point. She stopped at the small mound just before the scenic road and wrapped her arm around a large oak. A wave of thick relief came over her as she saw Dash straddled on a large limb in the tree. He wore a suit and was reading over a massive quantity of papers. She stood and took in his face. Even though it was marked by sickness, it was still beautiful and still made her sigh.

  “He’s here! He’s here!” Sarah exclaimed, remembering Ashley on the phone. “Dash!” she yelled.

  Dash looked at her as if he knew she was there all the time, smiling with such warm
th and affection Sarah knew she need not ask for forgiveness. It had probably never occurred to him to be angry with her about her absence in the first place. He lifted up a hand and waved. She waved back furiously, so hard she felt a slight twinge in her shoulder.

  Of course he’s fine, she thought, of course he is!

  “What’s he doing?” Ashley inquired.

  “What are you doing?” Sarah repeated the question. She held the phone down so she would not be yelling in Ashley’s ear.

  Dash cast her a puzzled expression as if he could not hear her. She was too far. As Sarah walked carefully over the wet mound of earth to get to the tree across the road, a gust of wind howled up from the valley. The papers Dash had been holding scattered from his hands like feathers from a torn pillow in a slumber party fight. White sheets rained down everywhere. Sarah gasped at his misfortune.

  In that instant, Sarah saw a red streak speeding in their general direction—a red Corvette whose windshield was now covered with paper. It all happened so quickly. Sarah barely caught another glimpse of Dash on the tree limb. He wasn’t straddling the branch but standing on it.

  “Oh my God… Dash!” she cried over the phone.

  She sensed what was to come before it happened. In that second, Sarah let out a great sweeping cry of sadness and regret. As the Corvette hit the tree, Sarah saw Dashel Yarnsbrook, her friend and love, ascend into the air, then descend down the bluff. She heard nothing issue from him. No cries, no agonized screams. He just flew and fell, it seemed, completely consenting.

  She dropped the phone and fell to her knees on the knoll. Sarah wanted to run down the bluff to find Dash, but her body fell limp. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed in a heap of disbelief onto the mound of earth. She didn’t hear Ashley screaming on her cell phone as it lay on the sodden ground beside her.

  THE KISS was dizzying and goose bump–inducing. Euphoric vertigo brought on by the simple contact of soft lip on soft precious lip. The kiss that novels and films thrive on. The one that Tony had waited for his entire life. Yet, it was not just a kiss either. Like so many things in the past few days, it was more significant than just a gesture. A door had opened, and Tony had no choice but to walk through, erect and proud. Proud of the fact he was a man who loved. A man who was capable of love. And it just so happened his soul, his life force, chose to fall in love with another man. For the first time in his life, he felt no shame in the face of his desires and his longings. They were a directive given to him before he was even conceived. It was all perfectly right, and undeniably good and honest. All the contemptible air bloating him had been expelled with the taste of Dashel’s pink lips.

  They didn’t talk after the kiss. No words at all. There was no need. Tony simply stayed high in the tree, staring at Dash for a few seconds before he embraced him once more. He felt Dashel place a hand on the back of his head, gently massaging his clipped scalp. The papers on Dash’s lap fluttered in a budding breeze.

  Still, Tony saw Dash’s eyes were glazed over, and he seemed slightly detached. It reminded Tony of a dream state that allowed Dash to see and understand but restricted his reactions. Tony did not truly comprehend the look. In any event, Tony climbed back down the tree and, with a flirtatious glance, waved so long for the time being.

  He walked in giddy excitation back over the scenic road and up the small mound on the other side. With his hands in his pockets and a disbelieving grin on his face, he kicked small clumps of unmelted snow on the path in front of him as he passed into the quad. Aww, shucks! was all he could hear in his infatuated mind. Every breath tasted as clean and pure as the first day of spring.

  Tony was nearing the edge of the other side of the quad when he heard the rapid trinity of noises. A terrible squeal, a time-halting scream, and then a catastrophic crash. He turned around and started running back to the Point.

  Tony forgot about breathing in those seconds. He forgot about anything not linked in some way to the Old Lady and the love she held. When he reached the scene, it was as if he was taking in everything through a telescope. All the edges outside the realm of importance were edited or blurred from sight. His mind only allowed him to see certain images, to react to specified and relevant information.

  Sarah kneeled on the ground and a voice screamed from somewhere near her. But Tony didn’t stop to care for her. He normally would have, but Tony passed her by and headed for the next image his thought processes would permit him to see.

  The tree was bleeding. No… that isn’t it. The tree had merged with a car. A red Corvette. The great limb Dash had been seated on lay over the roof of the vehicle, crushing it like crinkled construction paper. Tony smelled smoke and saw white billows rising from where the engine should have been. The tree had been broken. Split.

  Tony tried to refocus, to step from behind his tunnellike sight and see more. Papers blew this way and that, confusing him and distorting his imagery reception like a thunderstorm does a television. Some of the wet sheets of paper clung to the bottoms of his shoes.

  Dash was nowhere near the tree. Tony looked over, around, and under the car. No Dash. There was Wilder. Wilder was in the car. Tony could just make him out, slouched in the driver’s seat, his head bent at a strange angle and blood crawling down his face like long thin fingers. It was merely a response to the sight of Wilder, the idea of possible life in the wreckage, that made Tony try to get him out. He felt no real concern for Wilder, only concern for life. Tony tore some flesh off his palm as he tried to get at Wilder, but he couldn’t do anything. The car was already a tomb.

  He rushed to the other side of the Corvette-and-tree amalgam to the sloped ground that descended into the bluff, and he climbed the splintered pile of the Lady, looking around the inclined area. He instantly caught sight of a huddled heap near the bottom of the slope and recognized the pinstriped suit against the broken weeds and bushes. If not for the brush, Dash would have fallen clear down the side of the bluff.

  He slid down the steep pitch through the mud and slush. He, too, broke his fall over the precipice by the small wall of dead briar bushes and wintry debris. A scattering of papers avalanched down the slope alongside him.

  Dash lay on his stomach. Tony heard his own voice calling Dashel’s name repeatedly.

  Tony gingerly laid Dash’s head on his lap. Dashel’s eyes were shut, his face serene. He only had a small scratch on his right cheek, leaving him all the more aesthetically beautiful. Tony did not reach for a pulse. He cradled Dash in his arms and looped a finger through one of the shiny golden ringlets that hung down on Dashel’s brow. It was a moment of complete appreciation, admiration for the lovely person whose lifeless head lay on his lap and whose soft lips he had just kissed.

  The papers spread out in diagonals and wind-twisted creases all about them. Papers and sheets and empty note cards. But then Tony noticed they were all blank. He didn’t see a word or typed phrase or ink blot on any of them. Not even a faded memory that Dashel’s words were there.

  Awareness returned. The tunnel vision let go its grip, and Tony cried, the hurt setting in. Clinging to Dash like a last breath, he let out an unbroken wail as he rocked and swayed. The pages danced around.

  He heard faltering and misplaced steps above him. Gasping and crying, he looked up to see Sarah bracing herself at the broken tree. She fell to her knees, leaning against the Lady.

  Smoke still curled from the car. Sirens in the distance.

  DASHEL WATCHED the fresh day sun reach across the winding river valley. It brought to his mind every beautifully accurate cliché he had ever heard about sunrises and rivers. He was a guard for those overused truths, the old tree a citadel. They both kept vigil over the tranquil passing river and the small sheets of ice carried by murky brown water over turns and bends.

  Dashel’s passivity had not faded with the rising of the sun. It had grown into a more realistic ideal of a coming dream. Everything was pleasant and possible, and there was no pain. That was the loveliest aspect of his newly acquired
state of grace. As he sat becalmed on the large limb, he felt at times that he had already passed into another place, that he was a spectator watching from a more gracious reality. As minutes glided by, the feeling became overwhelming until he finally accepted the reality of a young dying man in a tree as a dream. A dream he would wake from soon. One he would shake off as he opened his eyes to a lovelier Promised Land.

  So, all the events that followed his acceptance of the nonreality became visions and pretty hallucinations of a wandering mind. He certainly saw Tony and welcomed the sweet kiss. And he felt happiness for Tony’s liberation from his painful shackles. Above all, Dash tasted the sweetness of love and deep affection for him. It was all very true, but it was also a fairy tale. A fantasy from his boyhood, an artifact from his early idealistic days when he had been honest with himself about who he was, when he still thought his knight would wear shining armor. Tony seemed to be that handsome knight, climbing an old tower to plant a kiss on the lips of the enchanted prisoner. Only the prisoner in his particular tale liked the tower. He felt at ease there.

  Dash was aware at some level of the blank white sheets of paper on his lap as well. He wasn’t sure why they were there with him at the tree, though. Why did I bring them? And have they always been blank? He remembered vaguely a project he was working on, a paper of some kind. But he hadn’t worked on it for some time. He had taken paper and pen to the library, but nothing ever came from it, his mind wandering too often in fields of grief. He purchased tablet after tablet in hopes he’d work, but to no avail.

  But, why do I have them here? For what possible reason?

  Finally, he was aware of Sarah waving feverishly. She had come to see him off. To let him know he would be missed and she loved him. He loved parts of his magic world so dearly.