Date: Mon, 19 Jun 2000 21:10:47 EDT
From: Scotty T <thepoetboy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Mirrors-6

Yeah, it's been a while.  :) My interests have taken me offline to other
projects -- so my focus on Nifty has temporarily lulled.  possibly because
of the two story thing -- when I'm working on one, I tend to think of the
other story. :)

So, Beneath It All 3 is the next one I'll post, and I'll be thinking of
Mirrors with every word I write for it. :)

As a thanks for all of this writing I've been doing with Mirrors, I'd like
to ask you to drop an email to me -- I just want to get a sense of the size
of the audience I'm looking at here.  (I don't think it's anywhere near the
size LISA had, but I'm still curious. :) Since I haven't been begging for
email as I used to do with LISA, I'm just getting curious as to how many of
you there are.  I've been getting a good amount of email -- but . . . aw,
just email me, k? :)

So please, take a second and email me at thepoetboy@hotmail.com -- thanks.
:)

On to the story!

***

Part 6.

Self-identity.  It all comes back to that.  Whatever job you have,
where-ever you call home, no matter who you call friend, your success in
life will be measured by how well you know yourself.

Be true to yourself.  Look inside.  All that crap.

We're all flawed, whether you're ready to admit it or not.  The quest for
perfection is misguided -- but it's got the right idea.  You've got to find
perfection.

And you are that perfection.  You're already it.

Let's deconstruct me for a minute.  First off, I'm a bitch.  It's not
because I try to be mean, it's because I'm innately honest and honesty is
one of the least acceptable traits there is in the world today.  Ask me
what I think, and I'll tell you.  Flat out.  No kisses or compromises.  I'm
sorry if you're feelings are hurt, but you asked.

Ask me what I think about me and you'll find yourself facing a list that'll
make whatever I said to you look like fluff.

But back to me -- my jiffy-self-deconstruction.  I've got no self control,
and yet tuns of it.  It's a weird binary system.  I managed to work myself
up into seriously bad health just to sleep more -- I'd say that took
control.  Just as it takes self control for the anorexic to not eat, or for
the smoker to ignore the health warnings.  I mean, I defeated my body's
natural instincts -- drove it nearly to death when all of it's systems
evolved to stay alive!  That's all the body does -- it tries to stay alive.
The meaning of life wrapped up into one little sentence.

But, at the same time, I was demonstrating a huge lack of self control.  I
was letting things go so insane that I could have died -- this is the more
obvious of the two controls.  Bi-polar you could say.

Then I could go into my birthmarks -- 7 huge blotches, just a bit darker
than the rest of my skin, that form the number 7 on my chest.  Neat that
they had enough of the Alanis version of irony to perform a lifelong number
trick, but it gets old -- fast.

I've got no money sense, no life ambitions, no real friends left behind to
miss me, no drive to keep a clean home and no major accomplishments.

And no idea what started me on this tangent.  It's not part of the point.

Self-identification.

I've heard people talk about how they'd like to understand themselves.
We've all heard the old shit about having to "find one's self."  Well,
abracadabra -- there you are.

There's no necessary quest -- no long trip to find out that you're a
flawless individual that will come with some Zen-like wisdom.

You're flawed, you're mortal, get over yourself.

The search for perfection is impossible because of it's subjective nature.
We all perceive the world differently and we always will.  So just forget
it and move on.

By now you're wondering where this is leading, right?  How does this fit in
with my little autobiography?

Well, remember how I was playing Mr. Nice Guy and striving for self
improvement?

I got over it.

This isn't meant to say you should stop the quest for self-improvement.
Not in the least.  It's just saying you should be realistic.

If you're innately a bitch, then be a bitch.  It works for me.

***

Morning came with a knock at the door.  The knocking just kept coming, no
matter how tightly my eyes were clamped shut.

Eventually I opened the door.  A woman was standing there in jeans, a red
t-shirt, and an unnaturally happy expression.

"Eric?" she said.  The name was so ladened with cheer and morning energy
that I didn't want to accept it.  But I nodded and ran a hand through my
hair, letting it catch at the knots.

She looked me up and down as I stood there in my boxers.

"Well, aren't you a scrawny little thing," she said, fishing for a smile.

"What do you want?"  Short and to the point.  Just the relevant
information.

"I'm Suzie, the crew nurse."  She held out a hand; I didn't accept it.
"I'm just here to get a look at what I had to work with.  I've gotten
several letters from your doctor with his plans for your recovery and just
wanted to discuss it with you."

She stepped into the room and pulled a little cart behind her.  It held two
covered silver trays and large glasses of OJ.  And large glasses of milk --
that wierd two glass system you only see in cereal commercials.

"Shouldn't I be working with the booth crew?"

"Later, Eric.  Right now, you're mine."

I stared at her, still holding the door open as she moved the trays to the
little table the hotel had set up between the armchairs.  When she was
done, she turned to me, planted her hands on her hips and beamed.  Really
beamed.

"I took the liberty of ordering for you.  One of your files had a listing
of food preferences, so I took that and boosted it to make it halfway
healthy."

I didn't move.  Her smile was starting to falter.

"Look, it's me or some Canadian psycho ward, Eric.  Make your choice."

I let go of the door and let it close, rubbing a hand over my eyes.
"Alright, just don't expect me to be awake for another hour."  My voice was
nearly a grumble, but it wasn't to her -- I think she knew that.  Sleep had
become my pit -- my hole in the jungle floor -- the trap that held me fast.
Being pulled out into the light of day wasn't easy.  Suzie had her work cut
out for her.

"Now sit and eat."

So I did.

***

Most of the morning was spent with the sound guys, getting a tour of the
equipment.  Jake turned out to be really quiet -- but Scott was really
talkative.  Typical nerd boy -- he kept talking about the upcoming Lord of
the Rings movies, his theories on the third edition of Dungeons and
Dragons, his opinion on the whole Pluto asteroid/planet debate.  He was
great.  We clicked immediately, and he seemed happy to just have someone
who would listen.

Around noon Suzie showed up with a bagged lunch for me, she stuck around
and shot the breeze with Scott until she was sure I was going to eat the
whole thing and then wandered back out of the booth.

And while I was enjoying myself, I was just trying to make the time pass.
Tiredness was creeping up on me -- like the slow rise of the tide.

By two o'clock, I was useless.  Scott sent me on my way, and the whispering
started as I walked away.

***

The cocoon.  Blankets wrapped so tightly, and the insulated existence of
blankets.

Warmth.

Life.

Contented half-sleep.

"Can I come in?"

Unspoken words.

"Yes," I answer, just as silently.

He is there, in the room, and there in the cocoon, both at once.

"How did it go?"  The voice echoes.  Stereo.  Two.  Separation.  Double.

My eyes open, and he's sitting on the bed smiling down at me.  All of the
blankets are swirled around me, like a mummy wrap.  I smile up.

"It went well.  I left around two."

"Wore out?"

I nod, still revelling in the sensation, the blankets like a lingering hug,
the stillness of the world.

"That's okay," he says, stroking my cheek.  "I didn't think you'd make it
to noon."

I feel my hand stroking my face.  My eyes open wider, pulling back from the
feeling and see the contented look of a cocooned man in Josh's eyes.

"Get out," I say softly.

He blinks and the look fades.  It is his hand stroking my face again, not
mine.

"I'm sorry," he says.  "I didn't even realize it was happening."

"I know."

I loosen the blankets and let him in, and he lay down in my arms.

"Would it really be so bad though?"

"To let it happen?"

"Yeah."

I consider it, letting the idea float around my mind.  But the answer is
already there.  It's my mind.  My face, my hands, my feet.

"We're separate.  Always should be."  I roll on my side, burying my face in
the crook of his neck.  "When it's happening, your hand becomes mine.  My
thoughts become yours.  We lose ourselves in it.  I don't want that, Josh."
I run my fingers over his chest, feeling the muscles through his shirt.  "I
want you as you.  I want to exist as myself, to have you exist as
yourself."

"That's presumptuous."  His fingers are in my hair.  His feet rubbing
against mine -- his socks against my bare feet.  "That assumes that we are
separate, but I don't think we are, Eric.  For as long as I can remember,
I've heard your voice in my head.  It's just that until recently I didn't
have a person to put with the words."

"I'm an individual."

"We are an individual."

I breath in, holding onto his scent which for the first time is really
there for me.  No dreams, no distance.  His fingers find mine and they
entwine, locking us together like the branches of neighbouring trees.

"I think two people spend their lives looking for each other.  Marriages
happen as the two try to join -- divorce happens because there are just too
many people.  It's hard to find your true match.  But even when the two
right people find each other, they remain individuals.  They are separate
and unique."

He squeezes my hand.  "We don't know that individuality will be killed.
It's all just theory."

"I'm not ready to risk anything."

"What've you got to lose?"

I pull him into sleep -- back from whence I came.

"Myself."

***

The phone is ringing.  Two.  Three.  Five.

Josh pulls himself away, leaving a breach in the warmth.  The room is
suddenly cold and I pull the blankets around myself.

"Yeah, fifteen minutes."

He hangs up and comes back to the bed, and starts pulling the blankets
away.
  I let them go.

"What is it?"

"A late dinner.  Lance's room."

"With who?"

"Just Lance.  The others ate an hour ago."

I rise in a daze -- part of me must still be asleep.  I'm too light,
everything is too clear.  There is movement, but I can't feel my arms and
legs work.

Josh stops me at the door, pushing my back against the wall and staring
into my eyes.

"Come on, now.  Wake up, Eric."

He pats my cheek, harder.  Harder.

My arm reaches up to push him back, more controlled now than before.

"I am awake."

"You're still in here," he says, tapping his temple.  "You're still
asleep."

I close my eyes and search for open doors, closing them as they are
discovered.  Finally I open my eyes, hit by the weight and lethargy of a
tired body.  His smile spreads.

"Thank-you."

"You owe me."

"How's this?"  He leans in and his lips touch mine.  I part my lips and
slide my hand behind his neck, keeping him there.  Trailing one kiss after
another.

Finally he pulls back and raises an eyebrow.

"Paid in full," I say, before turning to open the door.

***

Lance's room is orderly.  The suitcase sits open on the dresser, a wet
towel hangs on the towel bar just inside the bathroom.  His spiky hair is
still pushed down from the dampness.  His green eyes match his smile as he
lets us in.

He leans against the door after it's closed.  Josh is flipping through
television channels.

"So," Lance asks with play in his voice, "what were you two up to?"

My throat tightens, but I show no surprise.  I'm ready to claim watching a
movie -- or we were just talking.  But lies take longer than truth.

"Napping," Josh says, finally settling on a made for tv movie.

"Then it's official?"  Lance's hand rubs through his hair against the
grain, causing soft spikes to rise.

Josh grins.  "Yeah."

"Good.  Then I didn't order the champagne for nothing."

The tightness passes.  "You knew?"

Lance's wide grin forms, pushing his round cheeks outward.  He lies down on
the bed to watch the movie.  "No-one knows JC better.  I can read his mind,
Eric."

Josh turns to me, grinning with our inside joke.  I turn away so I won't
laugh.

***

Josh is on the ground in front of the television, captivated by the movie.
I was like that once.  Bombs could drop and no-one could get my attention.
But education had made me critical -- and critics are hard to entertain.

That's the only reason I wish I'd never gone to university.  It takes too
much to entertain me now.

But Lance was doing his best.  We were lying on the bed, propped up on
pillows with our champagne.

I decide to return the shock.  "Do you ever regret not staying with Josh?"

Those green eyes flare and he looks away.  The blush spreads quickly.

"He told you?"

"No, but I have other sources of info."  I smile at his awkwardness.  "Your
eyes give you away."

He's watching Josh -- making sure that there's no movement.  Making sure
Josh is beyond hearing us.

"I've always thought we'd get back together," Lance says, finally, quietly.
"But it was pretty one sided."

"How so?"

Lance's eyes return to mine.  "I never really felt he was looking at me.
It was like he was searching me for someone else."  He rubs his eyes and
his voice goes back to normal.  "But it doesn't matter.  He doesn't look
through you like that, so I guess he found who he was looking for."  His
deep voice slides to a stop.

There's a tightness to his lips, a setness to his jaw that betrays him.

I pour more champagne and watch as Josh is reflected back at me through
those green eyes.

***

Yeah, I know, this is pretty sentimental.  You go with the moods.  You
learn to recognize the ebb and flow of your emotions and to just ride with
them.  After all, you're getting two layers here.  You're getting me
memories, and you're getting my reaction to them.

Each is really a different story, each reveals different things.  Two
stories in one skin.

***

By the time the movie ends, Lance his asleep, with his head on my shoulder.
He snores lightly.

Josh goes over to the television and turns it off, before finally turning
around and seeing us there.

"Well," he says quietly, "you two certainly bonded."

I smile.  "He's a sweet guy."

There's a fondness in Josh's smile, something more than when he talks about
the others.  My smile widens.  "He's one of the best."  he climbs up on the
bed on the other side of me and snuggles in, resting his angled chin on my
bony shoulder.  "But he's not you."

"Not many people are."

He pinches me.  I'd slap his hand away if Lance weren't there, already
dozing.

"Go turn off the light," I say, "and then we'll get some sleep."

"I don't wanna get up."

"Tough.  I'm playing coaster for Lance."

Josh turned his head and stared at the light switch.  There was a silence
and then the room fell dark.

"How did you do that?"

"Go to sleep."

"But -"

"Sleep."

***

It's another hotel room, thousands of miles away.  Another morning, light
coming through the balcony doors.  The sheets are loosely over Lance and
he's fast asleep, calm and smiling in whatever dreams were visiting him.

Josh is sitting on the edge of the bed, running his fingertips lightly over
Lance's bare shoulder.  He's just wearing striped boxers.

"James and I never slept together," he says, almost casually.

"It doesn't matter," I say, leaning back against the wall.

He looks over at me, still trailing his fingers along Lance's smooth skin.
"Yes, it does.  Because I was waiting for you."

"You mean you've never?"

"Not with a guy, no."

"But with a girl?"

He turns his head away.  "But I was waiting for you."

"It doesn't matter."

"To me it does."

I'm kneeling beside the bed, with my arms crossed on his knees.  "The
slate's clean, Josh.  Whatever you did or didn't do doesn't matter.  You're
with me now.  That's it.  The bottom line."

His eyes come back to me, meeting mine and connecting.  I smile just at
that little contact.

"I never gave up looking.  I just didn't realize it was you I was looking
for."

"It doesn't matter now.  You got me."

His grin spreads and his hands come down to hold onto mine.  "I got you,
babe."

I narrow my eyes and groan.  He laughs, loud and long.

***

Morning came for me first.  I was still between the two, with Josh behind
me, his arms wrapped around me.  James was directly ahead, lying on his
back.  His profile caught the light from the open curtain and it made a
halo in his fuzzy blond hair.

Behind me Josh stirred.  The even breath against my neck became softer.

"Where did you go?" he whispered.

"The sun woke me."

"I'll close the curtains."  His head rises up to get a clear view.

"No -- leave them.  I want to watch this."

"Watch what?"

"I haven't seen a morning in a long time.  So go back to sleep and let me
enjoy this."

He hugs me to him and we sit and watch the morning come.

***

End part 6.

thepoetboy@hotmail.com