Pete - Rebooting of a myth

Hemp: "Modernize, rewrite, or reboot a myth."

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A Little Exorcise

Tired leaves in October colors follow him into the shack as he swings the heavy door open, inward. Red, gold, and brown drift lazily in the draft he gives life to the small space. He leaves the door open, and more of the late afternoon spills in. The room smells of autumn, musty wood, and old tools.

He loves that smell, and associates it with her.

Too warm in his jacket, too cold without it, he settles on unzipping it, finally. Out of the breeze now, he should be fine, and it feels good; the jacket is a little tight.

Gently, he lays down the rose he’s brought at the open threshold, white petals on dark wood, and steps to the other side of the space, looking out the window at the carefully managed meadow, grass and marble, beyond. The sun is almost down, somewhere behind all that gray sky. Usually he is calm and at peace when he sings to her, but this time the butterflies and numbness in his fingers are almost overpowering. He’s focusing on looking around the inside of the shed, not the tears he’s trying to hold back, as he completes his small ritual. Finally he’s settled near the small window opposite the door. No crying, he’s tool old for that. He starts it, then; His voice hangs in the stillness as he begins the song, filling the space.

Someday
When I’m awfully low
When the world is cold
I will feel a glow,
Just thinking of you
And the way you look
Tonight

He smiles sadly, as he waits. Ms. Mavis had been open-mouth shocked when he’d finally screwed up his courage and sung for her, after all her pestering. However she’d found out about it, she’d forgotten all about the tryout process, and offered him a place in Choral on the spot.

Today, right now, his clear voice and perfect pitch didn’t seem to match how he felt in his own awkward, pudgy body. He wanted to see her very much, but also not so much at all.

He turns, and she’s there, silent and almost smiling in the doorway. She’s looking down at the rose, then back up at him, her expression a mixture of sadness and light. Almost always, it was easy for him to find the smile in her expression, but now he would swear the sadness was much more pronounced.

Like she knows.

“Hey,” he says, glib as ever. Master of dialog. His eyes along her long blonde hair, cornflower blue eyes, and falling to her pale dress. “I’m glad you came, Mary.” Despite his apprehension, this was true.

“I know flowers are never hard to find, here,” he begins, making the little joke, “but I bought that one special for you. I don’t know why, but I’ve always imagined you liked white roses, for some reason. Maybe to match your dress.” A faint smile here, and when she looks at him, he sees it almost reflected, but still mostly sees the sadness.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind today. Tonight, I mean,” he starts meandering. “It might be better if I just talk, and you just listen. At least, for now.” He sees her nod, wistfully. She’s listening, attentive to him, and this gives him a little strength, but it also makes him sad. It would figure she’d be mostly here tonight, of all nights.

“I updated your Facebook site for you,” he begins. “I put some really freaky music on it. I know you’re not into it, but I think it’d make you smile, if you were. And it’s –way- popular. Lots of friend requests.”

He knows this line of conversation is ridiculous, and just stalling, really.

She’s watching him, drifting slowly on dancing shoes, through the threshold and into the small space they’re sharing. She’s swaying slightly, as if she can hear music somewhere and she wants to dance. He knows that’s crazy, but it makes his heart ache.

“I’d sing that song for you, the one on your site now, but it’s pretty hardcore, loud.” He looks around at the cobwebbed rafters, the nailed-shut windowpane. “And this place might not be able to take it, if I cut loose fully.” He sees her eyes widen a little at this, and the sad smile again. “But I can sing more of our song,” he says, as he looks at the floor, a sudden wave shyness and still sad.

You’re lovely
With your smile so warm
And your cheeks so soft
There is nothing for me
But to love you
And the way you look
Tonight.

“People would never believe it, Mary,” he began. “That we were together I mean. For many reasons,” his voice drifted off into a chuckle, as he absently zipped up the jacket again, then noticed what he was doing and zipped it down once more. This time he looked straight into her eyes, and matched her gaze. She was close, now. He could almost feel her, even without touching. “They’d never believe what you’ve done for me, Mary,” a pause. “I hardly believe it.”

He looks away now, taking a step back and turning, looking out the window again. “Remember me telling you about my blog? The one I don’t tell… anyone about. Except you. Well, hardly anyone, anyway.” Another look of worry on his face, now. “I was reading some stuff I’d written, from before we met. I was so stupid, back then. I mean, I’m pretty stupid now, but now at least I talk to people. I can make them laugh, and I’m not afraid to sing in front of people any more. I have friends.” A nervous glance to her, then that lopsided smile. “And I’m in Choral.” He reflected, looking out the dirty window for a few moments. “Most of that is you, Mary.”

A tentative look to her again. She’s by the threshold, holding the rose, turning it over in her gentle hands. The sound of his silence causes her to look up at him, expectantly, maybe. She’s listening. “I have friends,” he repeats, softly. “I didn’t have any before. Well, not really. But I do now.” For some reason, it was starting to hit him now. He was fine, nervous, but fine. But now he was having to blink back the tears, and was barely keeping headway.

He was not going to cry. In front of a girl, much less.

“I thought about bringing them here, to our place, some of them, I mean. So they could meet you. But I have a feeling they might not understand, Mary. They’re good friends and all, but they might not get it.” A stab through his own heart, here. They’re my friends, Mary, and I love you, I am sure of it, but you can’t ever meet them.

His voice is clear in the cool air, his breath showing a bit as he sings the next verse to her. As the words pour out, his sadness is beaten back a little.

With each word
Your tenderness grows
Tearing my fears apart
And that laugh
That wrinkles your nose
It touches my foolish heart

“Melody , she would understand, maybe. She’s an idiot, that way.” A nervous laugh, here. “I think I’ve mentioned her before. You’d hate her, probably. She’s loud, obnoxious. She giggles and smiles all the time, always touching me. She’s totally opposite of you…”

A look of angst now on his young face. Opposite of you? Am I a –total- fuck-up? He thinks to himself. Harshly.

Je-sus Christ.

Mary doesn’t seem mad, at his words, though. Just sad.

She knows. She has to know. She’s smiling now; her head inclined towards him just a bit, gently urging him on. And it hurts so much more. His cheeks are wet.

“Not to say that I mind at all how we are, together. You and I,” he says with a wipe of his face. “I know you’re gentle, and reserved. You say so much through just expressions, through just being here, coming to meet me, Mary,” Casting around for other compliments, they come easily, pouring from him like the song he sings for her.

“I remember meeting you,” he begins. “Just a chance as I was walking. Well, not just a chance, like I told you that one time. I –was- looking for you. I knew about you, of course. And somehow,” he pauses here, lost again for a few heartbeats. “Somehow I knew that while I couldn’t talk to anyone else, I could talk to you.”

She’s near him again, now. Suddenly, that way she had of moving… he might look up, and she’d be closer to him. She is there now. Playful with the rose, white petals tapping gently against her pursed lips, though the sad look is still at the edge of her smile. She keeps batting the flower absently against her lips, as if taping out the moments until he gets to his point, maybe. A heartbeat or sorts.

“Do you remember me telling you about Melody, Mary?” If he didn’t start this now, he wouldn’t.

Would that be so bad? Could he just leave, and not think about this again?

Some big man he’d be, eh? Really brave of him.

No. He couldn’t do that.

“I did try to bring her around, actually,” He confesses. “Once. But you weren’t around. I sang the song, but you didn’t hear it, I guess.”

His admission scared him, a little. Mary didn’t retreat at his words, she wasn’t going to just up and vanish as he spoke to her, and so he continued, stumbling. No rhyme or reason to his words.

“She picked out this jacket for me. We were at the mall, you know, and she said she’d like to see it on me.” His face was warm now, embarrassed and slightly ashamed, sharing such things with someone else, and now sharing them with her, in a way. “She said I needed a new one, that my old one was worn out and tired, and that I was growing.”

A pause, here.

“I used to be just fine, Mary. No problems. Coming here to spend time with you. Knowing you’d be here, that you’d come when I called. You care about me, I know. We share this space, and I can feel how you care about me, really. And I know over the time we’ve spent here, sharing, I’ve grown up, a little…” his eyes down, at this, pushing around a bit of dirt on the floorboards with the tip of his Nike. “At least a little bit. I can talk to people now, like I was saying. I’m not the scared, dorky, kinda-creepy kid I was when we met.” You’ve shown me so much, Mary.” He was looking back at her now. “So much that I had inside of me.”

“I imagine things, you know,” his voice hesitant now, wandering far from what he had planned, baring that last little bit of his soul he’d kept in reserve, from her. “How we might get along if we were to ever be somewhere else together. People seeing us. How we might get along, in a group.” His face is crimson now, almost completely leaving his senses.

“I know that’s crazy, of course. I know you don’t want that or need that. But I still wonder about it, ya know? Especially now that I have these friends, and all.”

Silence for a few moments. He was letting the words sink in; he couldn’t hear anything in the musty wooden place, but the echo of what he’d said still seemed to linger, if only in her expression. Finally, he is plunging on.

“I know you love me, Mary. I don’t ever need to hear it, you know. It’s okay. But I know it, and I know you know I love you. I tell you now and then, but you can –feel- it from me just like I can from you. You just being here proves that to me. You listen to me as I share my heart, work my stupid problems out. Make me feel brave enough to face things.” He was pacing now, worked into what he was saying, letting it all out now. He turned to her, lastly. “Isn’t that what love is, really?”

“I know we’ve never talked about this, but I know about how you’ve touched others, sometimes. How if they gave you rides, or whatever. Way before we met, of course. I know that sometimes you’ve danced with guys. That doesn’t bother me at all.” His head shook, even as he ended the sentence. “I was never mad about that. Not really, anyway. I know this way, the way we’re together, is better.”

He stops pacing, now looks at her. He will let go, right now, he knows it. Instead, he sings, again. That refuge for him. Fighting to hold back the tears, now.

Lovely
Never ever change
Keep that breathless charm
Won’t you please arrange it?
Because I love you
Just the way you look
Tonight

The sound seems to echo, in the space.

“I wish I could touch you, Mary.” The tears were there now, serious, flowing wet warmth over his cheeks, beyond caring.

This was who he was, right now. In this moment, he would give anything to be able to reach out and feel this girl, touch her. Feel that smooth skin.

“I have these memories, of you and I. They haven’t happened, any of them, but I can see them so clearly in my mind, they’re exactly like memories. You and I walking, holding hands. Laughing. Talking. Dancing, even. I know these things never happened, Mary, but I wanted you to know that they were all real to me. As real as you are.” The pain was there now, he could taste it in the back of his throat, he was going to do it, he was there, and he still could not believe it. He closed his eyes, forcing more wet out, and breathed. He thought of Melody, that first time She’s touched his face, and smiled. Right before the first time they’d kissed.

The first time he’d kissed anyone, not his mom or auntie or cousin.

And then, with that thought of how his toes had curled the first time Melody had kissed him, he could do it. He wipes his arm across his face, drying it a little.

“I believed in them –so- hard, Mary. Saw them so clearly. These memories of you and I kept me going through some pretty rough times. When dad comes home, and the screaming starts. I told you how I am a baby, and hide my head under the pillow. I’ve never told anyone that. Not even Melody,” he admitted. “But as I block out the yelling and stuff breaking, if I squeeze the pillow around me hard enough, and think of you hard enough, I can block all that other stuff out. “

He pauses for a bit, just breathing, getting a grip. The continuing.

“Melody’s touching me all the time, laughing with me, Mary.”

That was it. That was really it, boiled down.

A capella.

“I wish I could touch you… I wish, I wish you would let me touch you back…” A few more quiet sobs. He had to try, one last time, although he knew what would happen. Knew in his heart, his soul.

He reached out for her, to stroke the side of her perfect cheek, untouchable cheek. She smiled at him, lovingly, sadly.

And faded away.

Someday
When I’m awfully low
When the world is cold
I will feel a glow,
Just thinking of you
And the way you look
Tonight

He ended their song. He is looking down, a few errant tears darkening the dirty wooden floor as they fall by his feet. He sniffs, moves the tip of his shoe gently over the tiny puddles and streaks them. Alone in the wooden shack, time had passed, and darkness is now on him. A cool October wind blew past monuments, over countless flowers placed with sadness and memory.

“Goodbye, Mary. I love you…”

…

ep.

Myths provide a bit of substance and definition the otherwise formless. In life, we are powerfully moved, so something must be moving us, yes? We naturally impose order on what we see, even if none exists. Something a little disconcerting maybe is that we can grow from this, from what we so adamantly believe we see. “Real” happens in our mind, and in our heart, not so often in the space before our eyes.

An awkward young boy falls in love with the ghost of Resurrection Mary, and grows a bit towards his manhood, learning from his interaction with a specter, putting so much meaning on what he sees and feels.

Mythology is our firm belief in something greater than ourselves; beings of myth love more deeply, dare more boldly and suffer more profoundly than we mortals. As a tribe we use our mythology to understand and grow; these are our cautionary tales, maps describing the path to greatness we might take a few steps upon.

This is who we are.

P.