Cries and Laughter 17.2
You take the gun out from the drawer, still loaded from yesterday.
You hold it in your hand, feeling its power.
This small, shiny, metallic thing, capable of carrying out the most important decision of your life. You don’t even know what kind of gun it is or what it’s called. What does it matter? You know it works, you know how to use it, that’s all you need to know.
Before you do it, you feel obliged to think of yourself and your life one last time. You went through it yesterday in exhaustive detail, yet you have to do it once more, at least in summary fashion. Some decisions are too hard even when you’ve thought about them over and over.
It’s easier this time, however, because you’ve discovered something about yourself you don’t like — you don’t know how to be a person. Almost eighteen years of experience and you don’t know. You learned everything in school except the most important things. How could you miss something so essential? It doesn’t matter, only makes it easier to kill yourself. You’re not killing a person, only someone who pretended to be. Indeed, it’s a favor, you should be relieved. It’ll be a merciful end to the tragic life of a lost soul, so lost it didn’t know how to be.
The weapon seems kind now, promising a permanent end to the nightmare. Just holding it in your hand, feeling the weight of your final decision coursing through your veins. Peaceful. Quiet. The silence of your certainty is deafening. No more objections, no more doubts, just the overwhelming presence of the decision.
But there’s a knock on the door. A tentative knock. Who can it be at this hour?
Put the gun in the drawer. Quietly. Just sit for a while, whoever it is will go away.
Another knock, soft but insistent. You still don’t answer, just sitting at the edge of the bed beside your desk. They’ll think you’re asleep and eventually go away.
More knocking. Louder. Bolder.
Go away, God damn it! Can’t you see I don’t want to be disturbed?
Oh. The light is on. They can see it from under the door, can’t pretend to be asleep. But why not? Some people sleep with the lights on.
The door opens slowly when you’re still debating whether to open it or not.
“Hello?”
Your heart jumps at the sound. You know that voice. It’s her.
She’s even lovelier than you remember in the soft light of the lamp. Almost makes you forget what she’s done. Almost.
“The guy I saw you talking to — he told me where you were,” she explains, searching your expressionless face.
What do you want, Stephanie? Are you here to torture me some more?
“You left me again,” she says flatly, an accusation delivered like a mere statement of fact, her expressionless face matching yours.
Yes, leaving is my specialty, you’ve known me for less than a day and already you see me better than I do. Can you tell me why?
“I asked you to wait for me.”
“Why? So you can tell me what tonight was all about?”
“You said you wanted to go someplace quiet and talk.”
She’s still playing the game. Maybe she doesn’t know that her friend has told you everything.
“Stop it, Stephanie, I already know about you and Craig.”
“So that’s what this is about?”
“Yeah,” that little thing.
“Why does it matter? We broke up.”
Ah, I understand now, your plan didn’t work. That’s why you’re here, I’m your consolation prize. Well, I have news for you, Stephanie, I’m nobody’s consolation prize, not even for you. You may be used to getting everything you want out of life, but not this time, not after the way you used me.
“Get out.”
But she doesn’t, maybe she didn’t hear you. Yes, she did, her expressionless face breaking up, studying yours like a puzzle to solve. Must be a new experience for her; she’s probably never known rejection in her whole life.
“I don’t understand,” she says finally.
“I don’t want you, Stephanie, I don’t want to talk to you.” Is that clear enough? “Go home.”
But she doesn’t go. Maybe she can’t believe it. Instead, she walks toward you, then kisses you passionately on the lips.
This time you’re surprised, and before you can remember, your body reacts automatically with a mind of its own, kissing her back just as passionately. For a moment, the kiss is all there is, seemingly dissolving all disagreements.
She’s wearing a charming smile when she breaks it off. Unfair, perhaps, but she’s made her point.
“I knew you didn’t mean that,” she says, lowering the shoulder straps of her dress. Her irresistible, hypnotic scent percolates through your senses. Her magnificent breasts, now revealed in their naked perfection, put you in a trance. You know what’s going on, but you’re powerless to stop it, she has more control of your body than you.
“I know you want me,” she says as she unzips your shorts. She is so sure of herself it’s unbelievable; you’ve never known anyone with so much confidence. But it’s this confidence that helps you recover, that helps you remember your anger.
You catch her hands and gently remove them. You hold her firmly and get up, forcing her to get up as well. You zip your shorts, you place the shoulder straps back on her shoulders. She doesn’t do anything to stop you, just watching intently, a look of amazement on her face.
“Go home, Stephanie.”
She stares at you a moment longer, then turns away to leave. But she doesn’t go far. Just standing with her back toward you, trembling slightly. When she turns and faces you again, you see a tear running down her cheeks. A soft, translucent thing that makes her face absolutely adorable, so adorable it must be stopped.
You can’t stand it, it’s all you can do to stop yourself from reaching out. Your heart breaks at the sight even though she must be faking it. Some appearances are just too strong.
“What did you mean about tonight?”
“What?”
“About telling you what tonight was all about.”
“You know what tonight was about, Stephanie.”
“I thought I knew, but why don’t you tell me?”
“After you went inside to talk to your boyfriend — ”
“I told you we broke up, he’s not my boyfriend anymore.”
“So you did.” Why are we quibbling over little details? “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I know why you danced with me, I know what you were doing.”
She blushes a little, perhaps embarrassed? Hard to believe after what happened already.
“You know?” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
She seems uncertain for a moment, then looks up at you sadly.
“And that turned you off.”
Turned me off?
“That sort of thing can turn off a guy.”
“I thought guys liked that,” she says defensively.
What? What sort of twisted world does she live in?
“Then you don’t know guys very well.”
“I think I do, I just don’t know you very well.”
Does she actually think that guys like to be used that way? No, she can’t —
“No one’s refused me the way you did, not that I do this often.”
Is that supposed to be a compliment?
“I didn’t refuse you to set a record. As beautiful as you are, Stephanie, I don’t know how you can expect anything else after you’ve used me like that.”
“Used you? What do you mean?”
“I told you I know, stop playing games.”
“I don’t play games!”
“Your friend told me everything.”
“What?” Sudden alarm on her face. “What did she say?”
“That you danced with me to make Craig jealous, that you were just pretending all along, that you never meant to go home with me.”
She seems stunned for a moment. Shock? Disbelief?
Her eyes starting to wander, her mouth opening and closing, searching for the voice that isn’t there.
“And you believed her?” she asks accusingly, finally finding her voice.
“Yeah,” you say, uncertain now. Could she have been lying?
She approaches you and touches your arm.
“I,” she begins to say, trying to find the words. But she can’t or she won’t. She turns around to leave.
But before she takes her second step, you grab her arm and spin her around to face you.
“Are you saying it’s not true?” you demand.
“Of course, it’s not true! How could you believe her over me?”
“Because it made sense.”
“Oh, I look like a manipulative, lying bitch?” She’s shouting now.
“No, you look like perfection in the flesh,” you say as you see her expression softening, “but that’s the problem. How could someone as beautiful as you be interested in someone like me?”
“What? Are you serious?”
You merely look at her, amazed at what you said. To be honest with yourself is one thing, but to be so honest with someone you’ve just met . . . Though it seems like you know her pretty well at the moment.
“You are serious,” she says slowly as if realizing something for the first time. An important piece of the puzzle she must’ve found. She knows something, something that’s been eluding you all your life. “You don’t know who you are.”
Who am I? Will you tell me?
“And to think I was afraid you might not like me.” She smiles brightly.
“Yeah, imagine that.”
She turns serious again.
“No one’s ever told you?”
“Told me what?”
“How beautiful you are.”
You scoff at the suggestion, how ridiculous it sounds.
“No, no one I could believe anyway. I mean, people say outrageous things, things that aren’t true.”
“People say true things too.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“Why can’t you believe them?”
“I don’t know.”
She stares at you silently, you’re a puzzle that just became more interesting.
“If I were a manipulative bitch and only pretended to like you, what am I doing here?”
“Good question. Maybe you broke up with him because your plan didn’t work.”
“We broke up three weeks ago.”
“Oh.”
“And even if we broke up tonight, what would I be doing here if I didn’t like you?”
“You do have a point.”
“She flirted with you, didn’t she?”
“Who?”
“My friend who told you all this nonsense.”
“You could say that.”
“My God,” she says as she studies your face, “she did more than that.”
You blush and look away.
“But I wouldn’t, and she got angry.”
“It never occurred to you that she lied to have you for herself?”
“No, I thought she told me the truth because she felt sorry for me.”
Time stands still for a moment. Soft, meaningless whispers of the wind tickling your ears. That familiar tickle. Her eyes shimmering adorably, reminding you of someone who used to look at you that way, the eyes that can’t seem to leave yours.
You understand that look now, you’ve always known, just couldn’t bring yourself to believe it before . . .
Her presence, no longer overwhelming, comforts you like an old friend. A friend you don’t have to give up, a friend who could be more than a friend because you see yourself in her eyes, a glimpse of your true self, and you like what you see.
Why couldn’t I see this before? Why was I so blind?
She holds your face with both hands and kisses you tenderly as if it were the first time. Something different about it, something indefinable.
“God, I can’t believe you don’t know,” she says when she breaks the kiss, “How could you not know?”
You just stare at her, unable to answer, unable to think. She caresses your face with her hand, and your eyes with her eyes, her gaze so full of understanding . . . What does she see now?
“You must’ve gone through something terrible, something that hid the truth from you.”
“You know me so well I’m jealous.”
“I don’t know you at all. But you’re going to tell me.”
“Oh?”
“You are, aren’t you?”
She looks at you expectantly.
“Guess I did say I wanted to talk,” you say with a broad smile.
“Yes, you did,” she agrees, smiling back.
As you both sit down on the bed, you can’t help but notice how adorable she is, her brown eyes peering at you. Were you wrong in your first impression of her? The darkness is gone from her face, and so is the pain, something’s different about her.
“But you have to promise to keep your dress on ’cause I can’t think with those in my face,” you say jokingly, glancing at her breasts.
“OK,” she says, giggling.
That night you talk for the first time in your life, a lifetime of bottled-up thoughts seeking release. Poor girl, what is she to make of this?
When she hears what she was deciding for you that night, she doesn’t know whether to cry or laugh and ends up doing a little of both. It is funny and sad . . .
She’s taking it well, very well. You like her, you’re very comfortable with her, already cuddling each other like long-time lovers. How can you be so comfortable with a stranger? You’re not who you used to be.
“I haven’t known you very long,” she says matter-of-factly, lying beside you in the bed, “but I care for you deeply, and I think I might even love you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and the last thing I want is to see you dead. So I think I have no choice but to — ”
She doesn’t finish because she starts kissing you all over, stopping only to look up with a playful grin from time to time.
“Well, you gotta do what you gotta do,” you say sympathetically.
She breaks out in a fit of laughter, and you can’t help but laugh along with her. She has an infectious laugh, and you’re almost sad when it ends.
“Stephanie,” you say, gently stroking her golden hair, “we can do this any time. But tonight, can we just talk? I’m starved for real conversation, I haven’t talked in a long time.”
“Anything you want, baby, anything you want.”
She snuggles next to you, her warmth and the cool breeze of the night reminding you what happiness was and what it can be. And then no longer just a reminder but a sudden realization, the whole world changing in a matter of seconds. It’s too abrupt, too strong, you can’t contain it. You’re not used to its overwhelming embrace. You cry silently, unable to subdue its power. Tears of joy. Tears of life. The emptiness is finally gone.
The search is over and the answer, when you find it, becomes irrelevant. Cries and laughters. Making up for lost times. So much to do, so much to feel, and so much to live.
You tell her everything. You tell her things you’ve never told anyone, things you didn’t even know you knew. And she tells you everything, she’s as starved for conversation as you are.
You laugh and cry at the stories. Full of wonder, full of magic, you can’t get enough. The more you know of each other, the more you have to know. It feels like the last day of the universe — there’s no tomorrow, there’s no time left, everything must be known now while there’s still a chance, while you still have each other. And it feels like the first day of creation — everything new, everything magical, trying to get a head start on life, impatient to learn everything as quickly as possible before routine and balance can impose their restrictions. Everything old is only a memory, it doesn’t matter anymore. Life starts now with fresh possibilities — you are a new person in a new universe with your whole life ahead to find out who you are. The past doesn’t govern you anymore, the illusion having lost its power, its existence. The future, though interesting, also doesn’t matter because you’re too busy with the present, simply dancing the dance of life in the here and now, absolutely fearless and carefree. The consequences be damned, you’ve already been through the worst. Do what you want, say what you want, what could they possibly do to you now? It’s your life, it’s your universe, it’s yours to shape however you want . . .
“There’s one thing you haven’t told me yet,” she says just when it seems there’s nothing left to tell.
“Yeah?”
“What’s your name?”
Lightly playing with her hair, her face buried in your chest, she’s half asleep, almost murmuring. An ethereal blue light surrounding the place, creating a halo only you can see, a child of Fire and a child of Air both safe in the warm glow of Truth. A mischievous giggle spiraling upward harmlessly, whimsically, curiosity giving way to an irrepressible smile, your sudden recognition. A flash of insight, a dazzling awakening to a new realm, the mystery of your life coming into sharp focus. One brilliant moment of revelation making sense of your past, of your true nature, of your reason for being. Now you remember, everything coming back like a tidal wave washing away old limitations. The sublime visions, the inexplicable feelings, the ones you’ve been dismissing as fantasy. The voices of the past, the voices of the future, the voices of the eternal . . .
The stars are out tonight, the sky clear and calm, you can hear it in the air. The same, familiar universe you left behind long ago. You can see it again, you can hear it again. Poking you gently, whispering quietly but excitedly, a long-lost old friend coming back to life. Wants to know where you’ve been, wants to know why you haven’t answered, curious about the girl, curious if you’ll play again . . .
Her question . . . She’s asleep, she couldn’t wait. She already knows what she needs to know, she knows that everything’s all right. So peaceful, so content, an angel of the night sleeping in my arms, soothing the stars, comforting the winds . . .
You smile as you tell her anyway, how insignificant the question seems now . . .
THE END