And dreams that really might come true
Today is solemn and cold. Today is haunted.
Ryan sits anxiously in the driver’s seat.
You shouldn’t drive, i say.
I’ll be okay, he replies.
His lies are hollow. Like his eyes now. Like his kiss today. He is hollow.
i drive.
We leave the car and join Nathan in the hospital’s cafeteria. He pulls Ryan aside, greeting me gently with his eyes. i continue on to the table.
i hold an apple in my hand.
It is green.
Green like their eyes.
The stem is still on and a piece of the branch clings to it. It is ugly like that and i should break it off, but i twist it instead.
A, B, C, D, E…
i will never make it to R. Not even if i go backwards.
i rip out the stem and bite into the tough flesh that cuts my gums.
The apple bleeds.
Clear juice runs down my hand. i bite my blood off of the apple.
i wonder if Davy bleeds.
Like the apple. Like me.
Does the sickness make him bleed, Nathan?
Does the sickness make him bleed?
Is logic hollow?
We are only allowed upstairs to see him because Ryan is related.
ICU. I see you.
i hate this place.
Distended teddy bears, puppy dogs, and, worst of all, baby sheep line the walls of the pediatric wing. They stare at me with pleading eyes.
Across from Davy’s room is a baby sheep.
Would you take his place? my eyes implore to its so full of—pity?
Would you sacrifice?
Do you love me? It replies.
Ryan grabs my arm.
We had to be sterilized again then suited up with gloves, gowns, and hair caps before we were allowed into the actual room.
Earlier, when we heard that he was out of the coma, Nathan sounded so happy, but now, seeing Davy there, hearing the machines’ static beep and whir, seeing his fluorescent blue-tinged pale skin against the whiteness of the sheets; it is utterly depressing to us all. Ryan and I stand taking antiseptic into our lungs as Nathan wanders over to the edge of the silver bed. Three or four feet closer than I would dare to go.
Nathan stands staring.
Ryan stands staring.
i stare.
Davy stares back.
His eyes are Granny Smith green and still as the apple before i took it into my hand. His hair is my blood. No. Nathan’s.
His blood is Nathan’s.
Nathan’s eyes bleed clear like the apple except running down his cheeks and chin and into the taut black fabric of his shirt under the gown. Not down my hand.
There is not much sound. There is no music of tears.
Music.
Nathan wrote a song for him yesterday.
“Emblem” he called it.
It is sultry and pleading and utterly depressing and as beautiful as Davy himself is, even now that we know that his life is fleeting and that someday, much too soon, he will die.
Nathan and some influential friends of his and Ryan’s begged the permission of the hospital to let Ryan bring his guitar so that when Nathan sang, he would have something to help him stay on key. They also let us bring the camera.
We are on a time limit so i turn on the camera and move around to the foot of the bed. Davy’s eyes follow me.
Ryan begins to strum quietly. i make it to the other side of the bed. i am standing too close for comfort but the lighting is so bad that standing any further away would distort the image.
Nathan is whispering affectionately to his two-year-old son. He misses the cue.
“Nathan.”
He nods, embarrassed. He is ready now.
Steels himself.
“Giving life, taking back joy.
Is this price one I’d afford?”
Eyes closed.
“Stealing this, making me go insane.
Ruination, spawning pain.
Breaking this, disintegrating dreams.
Scathing wounds drown everything.”
Clear-
“Testing pain, torturing time.
Let it go, and end this climb.”
Blood-
“Everyday, music will fill my head.
Retribution in its stead.
All the time, reiterating strife.
Let him breath don’t take his life.”
Flows-
“Touch his face, and heal his heart.
Let him stay, lest dreams depart!”
Freely-
“Maybe if I let these words flow free,
You’ll choose him instead of me.
Far away choruses fill the air.
Carrying loads I can not bear.”
From-
“Liberate, this precious one.
Crush this curse, and free my son!
Viridescent-
“Everyday, music will fill his head.
Retribution in its stead.
Far away choruses fill this air.
Carrying loads I cannot bear.
Emblems! shown in a brighter light
Transcend time-
To make it right.”
Wounds.
“Touch his face, and heal his heart.
Let him stay, less dreams depart.”
No one could have known his pain at that moment.
He goes to wipe his eyes, sees the glove, drops his hand to his side again and turns to leave.
Then Davy smiles.
For the camera? For Nathan? For me?
It does not matter.
He stretches his little arms toward Nathan and Nathan wants to go to him. He wants to touch him and hold him or take him away from all of the machines and doctors and pain and let him be free and normal and whole and well again. He wants to pick him up and whisper sweet nothings in his ears and tell him that everything will be all right and mean it.
But nothing’s right anymore, Davy. Put your arms down. Lay your smile to rest ‘cause the Incurable is your only friend now and it doesn’t love you. No, it doesn’t. It won’t let you grow old and be healthy and play outside with other kids or even eat off your Daddy’s plate anymore. It was only food poisoning this time, but God forbid that you should catch a cold. No, no. The Incurable would love that, Davy. Just love it. Nothing’s right anymore.
But he can’t. He has lied to Davy for so long about his condition, lied to himself since before he found out, that now, when a well-said lie would come in handy, nothing but a guttural moan escapes. He does not look back, cannot bring himself to glance toward the bed again, will not wave a goodbye that will not be his last because “where there is love/ no sickness can kill”.
He is blind when he hits the door with enough force to slam it against the outer wall, if the door had opened outwards, and nearly screams in frustration when his exit is foiled.
The little boy’s eyes are so wide now, his arms still outstretched, and a dazed Nathan walks over to him and into his arms.
“If I didn’t love you I wouldn’t be in so much pain,” he mumbles into his crimson hair.
We all exit this time with Ryan holding the door for us.
“No need to cry my dear,” he says to me as he closes the door firmly behind us.
“He is loved.”
He is loved, but he is sick. He will die, but he is loved.
Is love hollow?
about passing yes-or-no love notes
love is insistent. love is loud. It does not give, it does not fear, it is not shy. It is not poised, it is not self- sacrificing, it is not easily pacified, it keeps no record of justice. love does not delight in the moral but rejoices in the pleasurable. It always shelters, always wants, always persists. love never taints?
What is love?
A feeling? A thing? A place? An act?
Or does it matter?
He wanted him to come back home.
“Been gone too long…” or whatever that song said, but i could see it in the way he walked into the room, the way he hung up his coat, the way the first words he said were “Is Corey here?”
The want in him oozed off of his body like Dad’s cheap cologne.
“He’s downstairs.”
Too hot to be Ryan’s band mate’s dad and too fit to be over forty, Ted Elks exuded the kind of vibe that made your neck burn with hate and desire. Embarrassing, yes, my fascination with this man, but it was nothing if not harmless. Besides, few men ever notice me, and definitely not a friend’s dad. It could never be mutual.
He did not see me at the bottom of the stairs as he hurried around the corner.
He did not see me watching him knock on bedroom doors, come to an abrupt halt when he saw his eldest son lying limply behind one, pull the door closed hesitantly, continue on to the end of that hall where he found the one for whom he searched.
“Ted-” we all froze as Liesa Elks’ voice wafted down toward us.
A bitter reminder that Ted had a wife.
Silence.
Continue.
Corey Harris is not in the mood to talk. Neither is Ted. Corey and i both know what his goal is; both of us hope that it will remain unfulfilled. Both of us have our separate motives.
“You weren’t supposed to come here. You weren’t supposed to find out.”
-“Find out?!”
Incredulous.
-“There are secrets in this house?”
Fragile patience.
“Your son.”
Wince.
-“Not now. I’m here about us.”
Turns away.
“Us?”
Caustic.
“What about Liesa?”
-“Baby, Liesa was a mistake, okay? A fling. You know,
i tune out.
Back to-
Simmering anger.
“You don’t marry your flings! You don’t impregnate your flings! You don’t provide for your flings!!”
Appeasing.
-“She had my baby, Corey. I had to-“
Regret.
“You didn’t know till she showed up. I would’ve never known about any of this if she hadn’t shown up.”
Grasping.
-“Please Corey. Baby, just us now.”
Bitter.
“You're killing us. You’re killing our marriage. You’re killing me. We’re over, Ted and you know it.”
Desperate.
-“I’ll divorce her. I need you. Please Corey, don’t do this!”
Tears.
“You always lie to me and I always believe you! I’m tired of being your bed warmer. I’m tired of being “ just a guy” you know, and I'm sick and tired of the women, Ted.”
Weary.
“No women.”
Nervous.
-“Corey, baby, you know me—”
Adamant.
“No women.”
-“Honey—”
He is in a room before we know it, slams the door before Ted can catch it, petitions hell before the sobs will come.
love is faithless, love is proud?…
-“Aw, c’mon Corey. When has this ever done us any good?”
He rattles at the door, which is not locked, to both of our surprise and to Corey’s horror.
Ted pulls the door shut behind himself.
The voices are heated, conversation repetitive and filled with platitudes that they have no doubt mentioned before. i move around the corner and down the hall to enable my research.
The Nature of True love, i’ll call it.
No. Too cliché.
love Lies… Wondering?
Thinking…
Longing…
Or just Love Lies?
The tone of the conversation has changed drastically from wildfire to blazing inferno.
i should tell someone.
i move closer to the door.
“— always on my case about it! Get off my case, alright?”
i said i would curse the day that i heard a grown man weep. May as well curse the ground on which i stand.
How smart. And perfect timing too.
i am never invisible at the most opportune moments.
Somehow he knows i am standing here. When he pulls the door open faster than my legs can move, his eyes bore into me, registering no surprise.
Calmly.
“Is this the library?”
A faint smile from him.
My neck burns.
It is feral, it is sly?…
Ignores the attempt at an excuse.
“You’ll keep your mouth shut.”
Afterthought.
“Right?”
Frozen.
“Right?”
Stare.
“Right.”
…blue holes that show no soul lie dark inside his head. For pain to leave his seed he’ll cleave to know his ghosts are dead…
Mumble.
“Girl?!”
Not angry.
He wants to touch me.
My hair is dark. Brown. Not black. My eyes are dark. Brown. Not blue. My skin is pale. White. Not tan. i am not tall and lithe. i am not sleek and beautiful. i am not magnetic.
i am not your Corey Harris, i would say if i had words.
He steals them.
Whisper.
“You won’t say a thing, will you.”
I won’t say a thing.
His hands are on me.
He’ll lie and try to satisfy a longing, someone said, won’t go or slow but always grow until he winds up dead. His end won’t send his closest kin a hand to grasp, instead; they’ll yearn, not spurn, but try to earn the death for which he bled.
A dark hallway. Cool carpet beneath my feet. The House of rainbows and fire. His hands.
Corey on the floor inside. i never heard the blowyoullkeepyourmouthshutright.
i think too loud. His hands.
Blue holes that know my soulyoullkeepyourmouthshutright
For pain to leave, his seed he’ll cleavehishands
love is faithless, love is proudyoullkeepyourmouthshutright
Burn with hate and desirehishands
His hands
His hands.
A feeling.
A thing?
A place? An act?…
Or does it matter?
when i know who I am
i have never considered suicide. i have never considered how it would feel to die, to shed this world, meet angels or demons, whichever might be my fate, to kiss Heaven or let Hell embrace me.
i have, however, considered the pain.
What could be more painful than rapture, more beautiful than perdition?
Life?
Maybe i’ll consider…
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