Feb. 13th, 2007

not_that_spike: (contemplating space)
With every day that passes, he's more and more restless: it's beginning to feel like last summer to him again and that... doesn't sit well. It doesn't sit well at all, and it makes sleeping without her that much more painful. Shit, it's like walking around with an open wound for everyone to see, and it's really starting to piss him off. The truth of the matter -- that he misses Beth and Junior -- is neither simple nor trivial, and it's so much bigger than words can hold.

They're not off on some vacation. For all he knows, they could've been shot by amazons. And the worst part is that he can't do a damn thing about it; sitting idly by has never been his thing. In the days since they left he's pushed himself to all kinds of limits: limits in sleeplessness, in staring at the front door to the bar, in pacing, in working out, in cleaning, in moping, in smoking.

Since that first night, though, he hasn't been drinking. The last thing he wants is for Beth to come back through that door and find him passed out with some tequila bottle in his hand: that would be a waste of time. But he's tried almost everything else, and he's running out of ideas. He's not quite desperate enough to go kicking the front door yet. Last time that happened, he saw Vicious and he wonders if maybe that was when time started jumping around for them: he's not sure. All the details are kind of fuzzy and elusive, almost like a dream. But the idea nags at him: who says time is something constant and predictable? It sure as fuck hasn't been for them.

Who the hell knows. If there's any door-kicking, it'll be once Beth and Junior are back here safely.

If they ever get back, a voice nags in his ear but he shakes it off: he has to have faith. Hell, he waited three damn years for Julia. And here it's only been about three days. It's just... now, there's more at stake.

A lot more. For the first time, he resents Earth. He resents Earth and all its shit: they should have been able to have Venus but instead they got separated again and that's not fair

(no one ever said life was fair)

and maybe it's just his destiny. Maybe if being separated from Julia didn't have to play out again... well, fuck, he's the one who messed with the grand space/time continuum by bringing Beth to his world; maybe she has to bear the responsibility for leaving him now. And that, he thinks, is such complete and utter bullshit he can't even believe he thought of it.

(Enough.)

Yeah, that's enough: if he was back on the Bebop he'd fuel up the Swordfish and take off on her right about now, just to see where he'd end up. But he's not on the Bebop and he doesn't have the Swordfish and right now, he doesn't want to run away.

He just wants his Beths back. It's just that the longer they're gone, the less it seems like they might actually return. So what else can he do? He can't stop waiting. Picking a book off the shelf at random, he lies on the couch where he's slept (more or less) every night and lets the book fall open.

Between going and staying the day wavers,
in love with its own transparency.
The circular afternoon is now a bay
where the world in stillness rocks.

All is visible and all elusive,
all is near and can't be touched.

Paper, book, pencil, glass,
rest in the shade of their names.

Time throbbing in my temples
repeats the same unchanging syllable of blood.

The light turns the indifferent wall
into a ghostly theater of reflections.

I find myself in the middle of an eye,
watching myself in its blank stare.

The moment scatters. Motionless,
I stay and go: I am a pause.

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not_that_spike

June 2009

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