Imogen, Alaric and the end of Dave

IMOGEN

“thunk goes the head
thudsuck goes the knife
as you insure she’s dead
and forgive your wife.”

A girl walked resolutely along the side of the road, her head bowed, her footsteps measured. Were someone to look in her eyes they would see a sort of desperate calm, an intense concentration hovering on the edge of complete breakdown. Her badly dyed, spotted hair was almost too short, revealing her painfully thin, pointed pale face to the elements. If that someone to listen very intently, they might be able to catch a glimpse of her thoughts, so loud were they inside her head. The hills are turning purple in the distance, the sun is going down. I wonder why he can’t stand me, why he throws me around? I wish there was something left for me, I wish I didn’t have to leave. Someday, maybe you’ll understand, someday maybe you’ll see what I see…This dirge played over and over in her head, and as it became too loud for her to take, so loud that the cacophony obscured even her vision, her eyes filled with words and thoughts and colors, and finally the chemicals in her brain exploded in a burst of light. Simultaneously, she swerved, losing her focus and stumbling toward the middle of the road, careening out of control.
Headlights appeared at the crest of the hill and became a streak of light against the fading sky. A screech, a thump, a crash. Then, silence for one second, two.
The car veered away from the crime scene, leaving a crumpled bag of bones behind, while the boy driving turned his wide, young doe eyes to the road ahead, panicking quietly.
Later, he told people he hit a deer.


ALARIC

THANK YOU.
To my babytwin sister for dying and never knowing it. To my dad, for making me be everything I never wanted to. To my mom, for leaving my dad behind right when he needed her most. I hate this. I hate all of this music. Thanks to the record company for putting it all on an EP. I hate my life right now, and I hate that I can’t deal with it. I hate that I hate myself, and I hate that I hate myself. I’m sick of being that emo kid who might be famous someday for being in some band that wrote and performed bad music and then burned out on drugs or fame or money. Thanks to everyone who believed in me, though I’m not sure why you did. Thanks to the boys in my major, the ones who are going to be Successful Businessmen someday. You’re the only ones I really understand, and the only ones I want to understand me. This is the last attempt I’m making at music. If this fails like all the others, plummets into nothingness, into oblivion, I’ll become a business man and I’ll never look back. Here we go. Thanks to anyone who’s reading this right now, because it means you might have bought this. Thank you. My name is Alaric, and this is me giving up.
Once I knew a girl
Knew that she was meant to live
She was born at midnight, screaming loud
After I pushed my way out ahead

This girl was never happy
Could never understand
Why some other girls had moms and dads
That watched out for them- that held their hands

As the days kept growing longer
Her face grew longer, too
Until even I didn’t know her anymore,
(Though I thought I did) I didn’t have a clue.

I told myself she was just irresponsible,
That she was negligent, or unsure
But I thought she was smart, I thought I knew
Thought she had finally found a cure

And then one day she just started walking
All at once she walked away from me
Before she left she spoke to no one
She left no note that I could see

That girl-she’s all gone now
And she’s never coming back
I don’t know why she left here (I’ll never know)
All I know is that I ignored the only chance she had

Sometimes at sundown, and others late at night
While I sit alone-beer in hand
I swear I hear her whispering in my ear
Maybe she’s trying to help me understand?

Even though I do my best to listen
I know there’s really no way in
I’m too stuck in my own life and problems
There’s no way I could even begin







Hey, you, don’t forget we have a date!
Starts at seven, don’t be late
Put on some tight jeans and lace up your shoes
Get ready for a wild show
You’ve got more than just your voice to lose

I bet you weren’t expecting
Your face to get blown off right from the start
But since when did you ever give me a warning?
Could I have missed it?
The way you missed the part of the song where I offered you my heart?

You should have known you had it coming
Known that I could never let this go
Now’s your chance to start running
3,2,1…red, red, green…
Pause.
And go!

Because running away is what you’re best at
Yeah, it’s just what you do
I’m not sure what gave me the idea
That stupid idea
You know, the one that I could hold onto you?

The music’s playing louder
The band’s not ready to leave
Everybody here is dancing
Everybody except you and me
And I can see in your eyes that you’re anywhere
Anywhere but here
Anywhere but with me

Because running away is what you’re best at
Yeah, I guess I know that it’s just what you do
So I’m just really not sure what gave me the idea
That stupid, inane idea
You know which one I’m talking about?
The one that let me think that I could hold onto you







The interrogation lights are burning brighter
And now I’m starting to perspire
The detective is looming closer-
The best that money could acquire
I don’t have the answers to your questions
Even though I committed this crime
With your eyes you see right through me
Can you tell me what I’m hiding inside?

The clock keeps ticking louder and it triggers
A flashback that foreshadows of truths catching fire
The detective is pacing now,
So I know we’re getting down to the wire
I know you need the answers and they’re here!
I’ve got them somewhere
But I can’t tell you where I hid them
They’re somewhere lost in that mire

My life is falling apart
All because you branded me a liar
I’ve got nothing left to hope for
Because there’s no way to rid myself of your ire
Not much in life is worth waiting for
Not the sound of the town crier
Announcing the daybreak, announcing the hour





















Rockabye, Rockabye
Baby sister of mine
Go to sleep, close your eyes
I’ll make everything just fine
The monsters can’t get you here
Of that I’ve made quite certain
Now close your eyes and go to sleep-
I’ll just turn my back for a second-
Less!
I just need to close the curtains

And when I turn around
Please say that you won’t be gone
Even though I should have seen it coming
Knew you were leaving all along.

Rockabye, Goodbye
Baby sister of mine
Go to sleep, close your eyes
I can’t make it all right this time
You gave your self up to the monsters
And the evil, screaming demons
The ones that hollered in your ear-
“You’re unsure-you’re a bad person!”
and no amount of begging
and no amount of pleading
could have saved you from your monsters
I guess I always knew that you were leaving.

(repeat)













Honor is a funny word
Means lots of different things
Means we’re stuck like trick horses
Jumping through flaming rings
Means I’m honor-bound to follow
Walk in your footsteps without regret
Means I’ve got no choice in where I’m going
Means I already know where my path ends
I guess I could have fought it
I guess I did right from the start
But when the chance came along to stop it
I didn't have the guts
So I'm stuck here writing songs
about things I'm too afraid to change
and others I've never been able to face
I don't feel like a prince
I've never felt like a knight
but every time I come home
you holler "honor, honor!"
and you always win the fight
But still I keep on coming
keep on doing what you expect
because how could I not?
without honor, what have I got?




DAVE


I never found out why she called me that night. We never talked about it. And, anyway, I was never sure she remembered, or that she had even been conscious of what she was doing at the time. But regardless, it was never spoken of, and we hadn’t been to the park together in a long time, so it was a surprise to hear her suggest it.
I pulled off the side of the road, into the weeds I had been parking in since I could drive, and climbed out of the car. Seeing that Cindy was still sitting and staring, I went over to her side and opened the door for her. To me, it’s not so much chivalry or being a man, it’s just common courtesy, and Cindy probably wasn’t going to get out of the car without some help, so I gave it to her.
She climbed out carefully, resting her hand lightly on the car for balance, every move deliberate and slightly pained. I wanted to reach for her, to gather her into my arms and hold her there and never let her go, but she looked so fragile, with her hair just barely curling out of her ponytail around her ears and down her neck, her ears standing in stark contrast to how thin her jaw and throat had become. How had I not noticed that? How had I not noticed that she was wasting away?
We picked our way over to a hunk of cement, me with my hands jammed in my pockets, trying not to look at her, trying not to walk too close, but afraid that if I didn’t stay near she would fall and I wouldn’t be able to catch her. She walked almost heedlessly, arms wrapped around herself, head down, blank eyes staring at the ground. I could tell she was trying not to cry again, so I waited until we got to our cement hunk before I said anything. When we were both settled, she beat me to the punch.
“Dave?”
“Yeah, Cindy? What’s on your mind?”
She turned to look at me, and as she stared me right in the eyes she said the words I had been dying to hear for as long as I had known girls didn’t have cooties. I wondered later why I wasn’t happier to hear them.
“Will you kiss me?”
It took me a second. Would I what? Then it hit me. And as I carefully, slowly, inched my lips toward hers, I whispered, “yes.”
Right at that moment, I couldn’t think of a more perfect ending. Everything I had ever wanted was being handed to me on a silver platter. Our lips met, and it was everything. Everything and nothing. To me, it was an extension of everything we already were, the logical next step in what we had. She wasn’t perfect, but she was perfect for me, and the moment that this was caught up in was also far from perfect, but it also was perfect for us, for our mess of a relationship.
There was a noise, and she pulled away, startled. Though she was far from new at kissing, I liked to think that she was still the little girl I had befriended all those years ago on the inside. I liked to think that she still wanted to be a princess. I looked away from her and saw a girl sprawled on the ground. She got up, dusted herself off, and looked at us ashamedly.
“Sorry! I’m in a photography class, and a friend of mine told me about this place, and I didn’t really think there was anyone here! I’m just leaving! Don’t mind me!” She scurried off, clutching her camera, messenger bag embroidered with the initials “E.M.S.” knocking against the backs of her knees as she departed, traveling away from the road.
“I wonder where she thought she was going?” I mused aloud, and turned back to Cindy. She was still sitting in the same place, eyes fixed on me.
“Who cares?” As she said that she grabbed my shirt, pulled me toward her and kissed me again and again, until all I could think about was how lucky I was.
It wasn’t what most people considered a happy ending. For some, it might even have been a little sad. But to me, right then, it was a happily ever after, a dream come true. Cindy and I were everything I could have asked for…and more.




Elizabeth hurried away from that embarrassing encounter, wishing she was less awkward, less clumsy, less…her. She clutched her camera, carrying it as though it held the key to another world. In some ways it did. The love in the eyes of the boy in the picture she had taken was something she had never experienced, and didn’t think she ever would.

Dave

65. “This is the difference between this and that.” The difference is that this is the way we are, the way we are raised. This is what we are supposed to be-what we’re born to be. This, this here? This is everything that we know is good and familiar. It’s here and now, it’s yesterday and the day before, it’s routine, comfort and familiarity. This is everything you know to be true. It consists of that which you’ve learned and that which you know you will learn. This comes with a healthy fear of that which you will not learn. This IS the fear- the idea that that which you do not know is scary and bad. For why else do we need routine other than to avoid doing new things?
That is everything we don’t understand. It’s other cultures, other people’s routines. That is the dark alley you pass on your way home that might be a short cut-or it could be the road to hell. That is everything and nothing, things that go bump in the night and the snatch of a terrified scream that you think you hear when you wake up with a start at midnight.
That is also the chance that the grass is greener, the possibility that things could get better if you give them a chance. That is the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, today is the day that things change, today is the day that girl you have had a crush on for as long as you can remember will wake up and notice you. The faint dream that suddenly she’ll realize that her true love has been right beside her all along.
But that comes with the unexpected-it is defined by the unexpected. That is that when the girl notices you, it’s not because you scored the winning touchdown or said something particularly witty in class. It’s that small chance, that minute possibility that she just needed a ride home and you were the first one to answer their phone, and also the only person she thought she could call. The only person she thought would stand beside her after she had done something you had always considered a crime.
This is what I consider familiar. My best friend, Cindy, who I’m too scared to tell that I’m in love with, riding home with me and complaining about her dick of a boyfriend. Dropping Cindy at her house and then going home. Being greeted by three small kids, two dogs, four cats, the smell of whatever Mom is making for dinner, and Mom herself. Getting swept up in the feel of my house, the bustle of people everywhere, the constant requests for homework help and the persistent noise that fills the whole house, every corner, propping it up where its otherwise fragile bones might seek to droop. This is my Church; spending time with the kids I grew up with, doing homework in the quiet, ancient corners to escape the noise at home. This is running out of things to do and spending the rest of the night worried sick about Cindy, where she is, who she’s with, what she’s doing. And finally this is the text I get when Cindy is finally safe, at home, in bed, “good-night, worrywart.”
This is not what happened that day. That day Cindy wasn’t at school, which wasn’t so unusual. Her parents weren’t big on making her do anything, in order to do that they’d have to notice her. School was normal. Joe, my best friend, had been acting jittery for a while, but he wouldn’t tell me why, and I was a firm believer that if someone wants help, they will seek it. You can’t force them to take it. It was what happened after school that made that day so completely…that. On my way home I got a text from Cindy, “can you come get me?” Just that. No teasing little note, no slightly unkind nickname, nothing.
It was when I read that text that I knew something was wrong. When I called her she could barely speak she was so upset. I could hear in her voice that she had been crying for a long time, it had a hollow quality to it, like she had let out everything in those tears, and for her, there was nothing left to say. All she said was, “I’m at Planned Parenthood. Can you come get me?”
So of course I did. How could anyone abandon their best friend in a situation like that? True, we hadn’t been as close recently as in previous years, Cindy had started partying harder and longer and Steve, the latest in a string of skeezy boyfriends, was demanding more and more of her time. She laughed it off, but only with me. I went to one of those parties once, a long time ago, because she begged me for hours to go, and the whole time-almost seven hours-she never once smiled. Well, okay, she smiled, but it wasn’t a good smile. Not one that comes from happiness. The only smile of hers I saw at that party, and the only one I had seen recently was a little cold and cynical. She seemed to almost be laughing at herself for pretending to be happy.
When I got to Planned Parenthood she was sitting outside in the fetal position on a bench, arms wrapped around her legs, blank eyes staring straight ahead. I pulled up in front of her, my crappy station wagon grunting with the effort, and without looking at me she got in, buckled her seat belt and continued to stare straight ahead. I watched her for a second, noticed her lips trembling ever so slightly, noticed her hands clenched in her lap, knuckles white. After a second, I looked away. Her pain was etched so deeply into her body it would have been impossible for me to look longer.
The radio seemed to violate the silence of the car, so I flicked it off and as soon as I did so every tiny motion, every sound became huge and un-ignorable. I could hear Cindy breathing, and with every breath I could feel her struggle to not cry anymore. As the silence grew louder it became more and more obvious that even though she thought she had no tears left to cry, there was a torrent left inside her, waiting to be unleashed.
Finally I could hear in the rhythm of her breathing that she wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure how to start. So I started for her. “Anything you want to talk about?” it was normal conversation, how I always got her to start talking about what was bothering her.
She drew a shuddering breath. “I…don’t act like, like everything is all okay, Dave. It’s not. I’m not. I just…it…he…I…” she paused as the tears threatened to spill over.
Finally, “why?”
“Why what?”
“Just…why? Why did this happen to me? Am I really such a bad person? It’s not like I’m the only one who parties…I just…always seem to be the only one who ever has to feel the repercussions of it. It’s just…those girls are so pretty, and so perfect, and they seem so happy. I just wanted to be like them.. But they…I can’t, Dave. I can’t be what they want me to be. Why?”
“It’s God’s plan, Cindy. He just, wants us to be strong. He’ll be there to help when we can’t be, but sometimes He works in ways it’s hard for us to understand.”
She sat quietly after that, thinking about what I had told her. Cindy has never been the religious type. It’s not that she doesn’t believe in God, it’s more that she doesn’t believe in a God for her. She has no problem with other people finding solace with Him, she just doesn’t know how to herself.
The miles rolled by, and as we got nearer to her house she started to shake harder, and her breathing got more labored. As I was about to get off the highway she broke, “No. Don’t take me home. I can’t face it. The empty house, the expectant look on the faces of the clocks, the echoes. Take…go…Dave…” she started to cry tears of sorrow and pain and fear. And how could I ignore that? How could I let her go into that house, when it caused her so much pain? How could I resist being her hero?
I couldn’t. So we drove away.
“Where do you want to go?” this from me. Old habits die hard, and I just wanted to make Cindy happy, not cause drama by going somewhere that was going to make her feel worse.
She drew in a breath, closed her eyes. I could feel her gathering her façade, pasting what she thought I wanted to see on her face, and even though I didn’t like it, I had no clue how to make it stop. Once she had rearranged herself, carefully pushing the emotions she didn’t want me to see inside herself the way you sweep dust bunnies underneath the tablecloth when you’re cleaning and you’re in a hurry, she opened her eyes, and the look of determination there scared me, even though I had no idea what she could be so determined to do. “Let’s go to the park,” she said at last, not looking at me.
I focused myself on the road, willing myself to keep the feelings she didn’t want to know about inside and said, very quietly, very controlled, “okay.”
“The park” is basically just a vacant lot. I think that once, a long time ago, the city was going to build something there, but they bought all of the materials, plunked them in the nice, open space, and then forgot about it. By the time Cindy and I discovered it, there were plants growing up and around all the cement pipes, wire frames and various other building materials, making it a kind of hidden fantasy world we could escape to. Throughout our childhoods it served as a mystical fairyland, a domesticated house, a school on another planet, a battleground, a castle, and countless other things, but it was always a haven, always a place we knew we could go to get away, until.
Until one night in the tenth grade I got a call, an unintelligible call, from Cindy. A call that convinced me that she was lost and alone and needed help. That she was in need of serious help and was at the park. So I went to the park, and there she was. She was there all right, there with all of her “friends.” All of her “friends were there, and they were all talking and laughing and having a good ol’ time. Having a good ol’ time trashing our sacred haven, desecrating it with their sin. Desecrating our sanctuary with their alcohol and their joints (which Cindy had tried to convince me, several times, were “not drugs. They’re different”). They were all wasted out of their minds, dancing to a pagan beat, with Cindy’s “best friend,” the queen bee, the bitch of the bunch, Evelyn, in the middle at the top. Perched on the top of the tallest cement pipe, bonfire throwing her face into stark relief, highlighting her cheekbones and casting her eyes into shadow, giving her a skull-like mask for a face. Her fake-blonde hair danced around her, picking up red highlights, her skin glowed gold, and she danced sexually, grinding her hips against the air, shaking her breasts. With the fire and the dark and the amount of skin she was showing (wearing only a black, lacey bra and a tiny, jean miniskirt, she was barely clad at all) she seemed to represent sin itself, to be the devil incarnate.
And then. And then Cindy was there, too, throwing her arms in the air, grinding against Evelyn, removing her clothing so she was just as scantily clad, and reveling in the sin she was accepting in her life. Below them on the ground the guys danced a little, talked a little, weaved and bobbed in a drunken pattern, making their shadows dance and spin and twirl. To me, it felt as though I had just stepped into hell. It felt as though all my hoping and wishing, as though all of my praying had been for naught, because a simple phone call had condemned me to hell, when all I ever wanted to do was save my best friend from it.
And as I stood there, as I stood there and watched, I knew how Orpheus must have felt. Though we risked completely different things, at the same time, we both risked everything. Neither of us should have ever looked. But such is humanity. To sin, to err, to make mistakes- it’s what we do best and most often. My oldest friend saw me, did a double take…and then looked away. And I realized that my deepest wish, the thing I wanted most, it was never going to happen. At least, not the way I wanted, anyway. Cindy would never love me the way I loved her.