Wavedancer, part eleven
May. 12th, 2009 12:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valis2Intro/Index of all parts | Read with the commentary
The sink contained the dirty dishes from this morning, and the rack held the dishes I'd washed before going to the cove yesterday. I began to hang the clean coffee cups on the rack as Mike came in and closed and bolted the door. He turned towards me as if to say something, but then seemed to reconsider. Instead he switched off the foyer light and walked into his kitchen.
I finished hanging the cups but then just didn't feel like putting the rest of the dishes away. I flopped down on my couch after turning the lights off on my side of the house, and my mind was abuzz. My eyes wandered in the darkness, and I couldn't seem to calm the restless flow of my thoughts. I draped one arm over my eyes, trying to relax, but ugly memories kept surfacing.
I got up in the near-dark and walked to the coffeepot. I poured the last out into a cup I took at random from the rack and put it into the microwave to warm it. There was just enough light spilling through the foyer from Mike's kitchen for me to see. I watched the glowing numbers count down and I remembered that he didn't have any more charters left, which explained why he was still up. I stopped the microwave before it hit zero and pulled the cup out. It was heavier than I expected, and as I looked closer I realized with a sharp pang that it was my father's old cup, one of the few possessions of his I kept. The many times he forgot it outside and I discovered it later filled with rainwater and coffee grounds swirled inside my head.
Slowly I became aware of a shadow on the floor, and I noticed that Mike was watching me from his kitchen. The low florescent light on the counter illuminated him from the side, and his hair seemed to glow, leaving his expression fathomless in shadow.
He took a tentative step forward and I focused my concentration on drinking the coffee as I turned to look straight ahead out my kitchen window at 'Dancer, sitting silently in the moonlight. He walked across the foyer in bare feet and leaned on the counter next to me. He'd taken his shirt off again, I could see, though I avoided looking at him directly. "What's wrong?" he asked.
The question seemed to fly into corners of my life best hidden, and I became upset. What did he expect me to say? What should I tell him? That I was feeling regretful for the way my life turned out? That I was sometimes sad that he was just a friend now and nothing more? "I can't get to sleep," I said, fixating my attention back to the 'Dancer, my one surety.
He leaned closer then, and reached out to touch my arm, but I saw the hesitation and cursed myself for entertaining such ridiculous emotions leftover from a naive first love. I clenched the cup tighter in my hands and it abruptly shattered.
I couldn't even react. The pieces hit the counter and I was so stunned that all I did was stand there with shards dropping through my fingers.
Mike swore and turned on the light above the counter, rolling off paper towels with his other hand. He pulled up the trash can and unceremoniously wiped everything away. He noticed coffee dripping from my hands and looked back at me. He swore again. "You're bleeding, for crissake." He pushed me towards the sink and ran water over my hands. A shock ran through me as his skin touched mine. The water felt incredibly cold after the hot coffee. Suddenly I was angry.
"I'm fine," I snapped, and I pulled my hands away, savagely tossing the rest of the coffee cup into the trash. I grabbed a paper towel and started to dry my hands. It came away streaked with blood.
Mike was silent for a moment and then he set his jaw. "You're not fine. I know something's bothering you, and I know it's not insomnia."
I turned to face him. "If I say I'm fine, I'm fine," I said angrily. "And I can't believe you would presume to know so much about me." The words seemed to pull themselves out of me, and with a terrific shock I recognized the tone as my father's.
"I've just lived in the same house with you for three years, that's all." I could tell that I had hurt him. Even as he tried to glower at me his eyes revealed a twist of plain.
"Just go away," I said unhappily. "I can take care of myself."
"That's right, you don't need anyone," he added nastily, stalking to his side of the house.
I refused to over and apologize. I sat down on the couch again and tried to calm down, but it was useless. Sleep was near impossible. Over and over again the end of that summer replayed in my mind, over and over I felt the death of my childhood dreams. The light was still on in Mike's kitchen when I finally fell asleep.
The next morning dawned cold and pale, and I readied 'Dancer for my morning charter. There was no sign of Mike, which surprised me since we usually ate breakfast together, even when he didn't have a charter of his own. Then I remembered last night's conversation and winced.
Conclusion
Read this section with the commentary
The sink contained the dirty dishes from this morning, and the rack held the dishes I'd washed before going to the cove yesterday. I began to hang the clean coffee cups on the rack as Mike came in and closed and bolted the door. He turned towards me as if to say something, but then seemed to reconsider. Instead he switched off the foyer light and walked into his kitchen.
I finished hanging the cups but then just didn't feel like putting the rest of the dishes away. I flopped down on my couch after turning the lights off on my side of the house, and my mind was abuzz. My eyes wandered in the darkness, and I couldn't seem to calm the restless flow of my thoughts. I draped one arm over my eyes, trying to relax, but ugly memories kept surfacing.
I got up in the near-dark and walked to the coffeepot. I poured the last out into a cup I took at random from the rack and put it into the microwave to warm it. There was just enough light spilling through the foyer from Mike's kitchen for me to see. I watched the glowing numbers count down and I remembered that he didn't have any more charters left, which explained why he was still up. I stopped the microwave before it hit zero and pulled the cup out. It was heavier than I expected, and as I looked closer I realized with a sharp pang that it was my father's old cup, one of the few possessions of his I kept. The many times he forgot it outside and I discovered it later filled with rainwater and coffee grounds swirled inside my head.
Slowly I became aware of a shadow on the floor, and I noticed that Mike was watching me from his kitchen. The low florescent light on the counter illuminated him from the side, and his hair seemed to glow, leaving his expression fathomless in shadow.
He took a tentative step forward and I focused my concentration on drinking the coffee as I turned to look straight ahead out my kitchen window at 'Dancer, sitting silently in the moonlight. He walked across the foyer in bare feet and leaned on the counter next to me. He'd taken his shirt off again, I could see, though I avoided looking at him directly. "What's wrong?" he asked.
The question seemed to fly into corners of my life best hidden, and I became upset. What did he expect me to say? What should I tell him? That I was feeling regretful for the way my life turned out? That I was sometimes sad that he was just a friend now and nothing more? "I can't get to sleep," I said, fixating my attention back to the 'Dancer, my one surety.
He leaned closer then, and reached out to touch my arm, but I saw the hesitation and cursed myself for entertaining such ridiculous emotions leftover from a naive first love. I clenched the cup tighter in my hands and it abruptly shattered.
I couldn't even react. The pieces hit the counter and I was so stunned that all I did was stand there with shards dropping through my fingers.
Mike swore and turned on the light above the counter, rolling off paper towels with his other hand. He pulled up the trash can and unceremoniously wiped everything away. He noticed coffee dripping from my hands and looked back at me. He swore again. "You're bleeding, for crissake." He pushed me towards the sink and ran water over my hands. A shock ran through me as his skin touched mine. The water felt incredibly cold after the hot coffee. Suddenly I was angry.
"I'm fine," I snapped, and I pulled my hands away, savagely tossing the rest of the coffee cup into the trash. I grabbed a paper towel and started to dry my hands. It came away streaked with blood.
Mike was silent for a moment and then he set his jaw. "You're not fine. I know something's bothering you, and I know it's not insomnia."
I turned to face him. "If I say I'm fine, I'm fine," I said angrily. "And I can't believe you would presume to know so much about me." The words seemed to pull themselves out of me, and with a terrific shock I recognized the tone as my father's.
"I've just lived in the same house with you for three years, that's all." I could tell that I had hurt him. Even as he tried to glower at me his eyes revealed a twist of plain.
"Just go away," I said unhappily. "I can take care of myself."
"That's right, you don't need anyone," he added nastily, stalking to his side of the house.
I refused to over and apologize. I sat down on the couch again and tried to calm down, but it was useless. Sleep was near impossible. Over and over again the end of that summer replayed in my mind, over and over I felt the death of my childhood dreams. The light was still on in Mike's kitchen when I finally fell asleep.
The next morning dawned cold and pale, and I readied 'Dancer for my morning charter. There was no sign of Mike, which surprised me since we usually ate breakfast together, even when he didn't have a charter of his own. Then I remembered last night's conversation and winced.
Conclusion
Read this section with the commentary