Chapter three: Jane Rose still has tears to shed

In a drunken blur Brandon lead four people to a posh absinth filled Victorian club catering only to the freshest of people. He had both arms full of hot men a plenty and I was stuck with the trail of an a greasy gamer fiddling with his phone tweeting the entire night out with what I assume was a slew of retweets.  He was cloaked in a flannel shirt that only Kurt Cobain could be proud of. Not full of conversation this one. Not that I cared, to be honest I didn't really care.

I crawled into my mind sorting out the bits and pieces of my mind. Nothing seemed to be in place. Maybe I was too harsh on the idea on of love but my life is shattered from the aftermath. I remember the day Bert found out I was still alive. Conflicted, happiness and sadness danced across his face as his newest squeeze clung to his arm. I guess I never was his true love. I knew he only wait two years before moving on and burying my mother. It was the loneliness was crushing; I had no one in the world.

“I think it might be better if you go away,” his squeeze remarked to me. “I worked so hard to get him back to normal. I think this is just going to set him back. You know?” I looked at her with sad eyes. 

“I know you’ve had gone through quite an ordeal but I also know you care about Bert to give him space to.” The black haired diva eyeballed me for a moment. “Give him the time to process.”

“Process,” interesting would to use. “Process. And how exactly would you assume to ‘process’ this situation?” She smoothed back her hair and narrowed her green eyes at me.

“I have a Master’s degree in clinical psychology; I’m doing things that are best for him. I can help him react to this.”

“How do you expect him to react, exactly? Is there a class on it? A degree? A paper?”

Her mouth gaped filling with venom but I was not going to let this go any further. “I’m going to face a few facts here. You ONLY have master’s degree. I have doctors who have nearly four or five degrees and twelve years on you or whatever so called studies you do. Call me crazy but I'm fairly certain that they have a better bead on it than you.”

“If you think-”

“That’s’ all I do. My life was robbed from me. I wish you and Bert the best of happiness. I will not interfere but it would not be right to lie to the person I spend a marriage with. A marriage that was stolen from me as well.” I stepped in to her space glaring into her eyes. “If you were half the wife I was you'd be in the room him. Holding his hand,” She spat at my feet and walked away wiping her tears away. The plus side is that I’d gotten to her. The bad side; I’d vow to never see him again.

As I watched Brandon to continue to be himself, I noticed that he danced with joy and abandon. In my heart of hearts, at least he knew love and maybe one day…. Forget it. Wasn’t going to happen.

“Hey,” Flannel said finally looking away from his media. “You look a familiar.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” Fishing a maraschino cherry out of my dwindling glass.

“But you’re soooo,” he drawled.” Familiar.”

“Tell you what, Sober up and well talk.” He smiled as if he didn’t believe me at all but I couldn’t have been more serious. I turned my attention to the fruity drink that twirled with stir I applied to it. The people around me danced like flies looking for rot. A sense of fatigue settled over me and reality had begun to settle back into its lazy boy.

The texting wonder continued fiddling with his phone. A red light on his phone blinked and I turned away. It only seemed like the world had forgotten me in all senses. Was I even alive? Was this my hell? If so, what did I do to deserve this? Maybe that was the point, in eyes I didn’t do enough. If immortality is given through the remembrance of one’s work, I was truly dead.

“So,” Mr. Flannel began. “You- uh having fun?” He kept his phone in eyes view. I set my phone on the table and crossed my legs away from the impending conversation.

“Sure I guess.”

“Sometimes but at least Marcel is having fun with-”

“Brandon.” He shifted slightly. Conversation didn’t appear to his strong suit.

“You know, you look just like some chick.” Why did I get this feeling I have had this conversation before?

“Was she at least good looking?” I remarked wryly .

“Yeah.” Well that was a good thing.

“She nice? What happened to her?”

“She was apparently very nice.”

“Apparently? Nice gum shoe work there slick. What happened to her?”

“No one really knows.” Ah, I saw where this was going. He was trying to sloppily diving into my head. Sorry Flannel, Head’s full no vacancies. “But at least she’s alive.”

“Alive, define what you believe being alive is?”

“Living and breathing.” I chuckled underneath my breath. Gotta love people who they’ve walk a mile in your heels?

“So, you know who I am?” He beamed with pride as if his google search merited a Nobel Prize. He nodded. “I thought it was you! I kept telling Marcel it had to be.”

“So you wait a whole four hours to spring this on me? That’s rude. You talk to all women this way? Or am I just this special?” I looked onward ignoring his Segway. I knew in my core that things were moving in my world. It felt like wheels upon wheel were turning above me like little watches being twisted by some sick maker who might have been intrigued by my struggle.  The impending cloud that shrouded my anniversary created this cusp in my soul. What lie in that darkness? Was ignorance better? Could I walk away and shut it down? Could I make it disappear?

No. a voice whispered. I jumped and hit the table with a jolt. “You ok?” Flannel asked.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “My phone is on vibrate,” I lied.

“You mean the one on the table that is clearly not vibrating?” He pointed out.

“Must have thought it was in my pocket.” His eye brow crooked in disbelief. “Whatdoya want? Shit Happens.” I grabbed my phone and opened a text.

Me:  get me out of here. This is painful.

A minute flew by like century old molasses.

Brandon: busy.

Me: Do not leave me with this asshole.

Brandon:  15 min, k?

Me: No!

Brandon:  Busy. 15.

Me: 15 min? Are you kidding what’s so important that you can’t bail? This is balls

Brandon:  getting ahead.

Me: Getting “ahead” is going back home and sleep this off!

Brandon: *head

I stopped for a moment. He had to be kidding me. Was he really texting and fucking at the same time?

Me:  Are you having sex and texting.

Brandon: N. head.

Me: Head is sex. Must not be that great if you’re texting me. Let’s go.

Brandon: 3 min.

Me: Don’t be rude. I’ll see you in 3.

Brandon: NM, 20 min.

Forget this. I’m booking. “Well it was nice to meet you,” I said standing up making it a personal note not to shake hands.  “Have a safe commute home.” I tastefully left the “let’s never see each other again” part off.

“But you’ve barely touched your beer,” He whined.

“I’m really tired; it’s been a long day.”

“I insist! I hate drinking alone.”  He groaned.  I shrugged my shoulders and sat back down because I couldn’t really argue with that one. I loathed drinking alone; it brought my thought process out in the open. Nothing was scarier than my own thoughts.

“What do you for fun around these parts?” reluctantly starting this conversation.

“I’m kind of a media buff. But mostly underground gamers,” he began. “I do a lot of beta testing.” His voice started droning to the dull hum of music. Within this new found realm of silence my mind began to drift to this morning. I woke up at 3:00 am starting at my door like it was a closet to my subconscious. I wondered what was beyond the door in the darkness. “Please,” a small voice whispered. “Please, don’t.” my eyes hyper focused as I searched the door. A light hush of a flickering TV flashed beneath the door. “You’ll make him angry.” The frightened child voice said.

“No,” I rose from the couch. Where was that voice coming from? I padded softly to the door resting my ear against the wood. “Please, PLEASE!” the voice whispered harshly. It was coming from behind the door. “I- can’t get you out,” soft sobbing met with the flickering light. My hands smoothed over the door searching to open it.

“I’m going to get you out,” my hands ran even faster over the door. Where was my knob?  My fingers ran across the bottom of the door casting shadows. I tried wiggling my fingers under the door and tried to open it from the bottom.  The sobs turned to heaving. “Shhhh- sh sh,” I whispered back to the voice. “We’re going to get out of here.” I hands felt a plastic latch on the side of the door. “I promise, I promise, I promise,” I said fumbling with a latch desperate to get out.  With a third try the latch came loose and I flew open the door only to see a plain hallway. I turned around and saw myself on the couch.

Within seconds my eyes flew open to see a closed door. I felt beads of sweat gather on body forming a luscious pool.   I felt my chest heave for a moment grateful for a reprieve. My head hurt as I sat up. What time was it I thought looking down at my clock?

“3:03 am” I snapped back to the reality of the party.

“Huh?” I asked dazed. Flannel looked confused for a second.

“You just asked what time it was.”

“Ah, yes. It seems much longer. Long day.”

“You keep saying that.”

“And you keep ignoring it. I’m tired and I’m heading home.” Without another word I walked away. I was exhausted to the core however I began to realize the damage of the past can do on a vodka soaked brain. Leaving Flannel made me feel like a monster. When I looked back at him, he was no longer playing with his phone but looking forlorn at the two beers at the table.

What made a monster anyway? Were the choices that were made or the lack of choices I could never get in that type of head space? I scratched my head as a large gust of wind hit me. The door slammed behind me as I welcomed the cool silent night. They say that the insane never actually know that they a member of the insane. Is the same said about the monsters or is it a lack of caring? I breathed in the night air and tried to think about my earlier day.

Marge’s children had all grown up and been in college for a year. I regretted not being able to see them off into that part of their lives.  We sometimes spent a better half of our day sailing down a lazy river with various deep spots and high tides with waterfalls and fountains. Nothing was ever better in the world than the perfection of water and sunshine.  We settled into our tubes and went away with the tide. A sense of fragile piece washed through me as I let my worries wash away for the moment. On the second loop I noticed a lady bug caught on the edge of the pool threatened by the waves.

I clung to the edge, stopping other people behind me. I tried to get the ladybug at least to the top. At least at the top she’d have half a chance at getting away. After getting her up, I was pushed away by the tide of people. Marge yelled, “What’s the hold up?” I swam to her.

“Never mind. Thought I saw something.” We drifted in another loop and then I saw the same lady bug again but this time she was caught in the water. I stopped again and scooped her out. This time I made sure to put her well over the edge. I sailed back on. By the next loop, the lady bug was dead. Feet standing up in the air dead as a bug nail. It was only when we drifted further on with the current.  I looked to my side and there was a grasshopper, I passed by it and grabbed marge’s ankle. “Grab that grasshopper.” She looked down confused.

“It’s alive,” she said.

“I know, grab it out of the water.” She shrugged her shoulders and scooped it out of the water. “Is it moving?”

“Yeah,” she said. I let her ankle go and we floated down the river. I silently contemplated the ideas of life and death darkening the beauty of the day.  Marge made conversation and I drifted away from my dark hallway of thought. We made another pass around the river and to my surprise, the grasshopper was still moving. On the first try, no less!

Maybe that was the point, you couldn’t really save everyone and maybe some people just wanted to let go or just die.  Which of three of was I? Why was I still alive anyway? A scrape from behind me startled me out of thought and I jumped around to see a garbage can roll into the street.I've clearly watched too many horror movies. I laughed as I continued my course and walked briskly away.

"It's no red ball," a deep whisper from the shadows crept. "But I figured it might have gotten your attention." I turned my head to see a figure of a man leaning against a brick wall.