Date: Mon, 08 May 2000 01:30:27 -0700
From: Leon <leon@mac.com>
Subject: And The Years Go By So Fast - part 1

Whew! My first story. So, readers, welcome to "And The Years Go By So Fast".
This story involves Darren Hayes (from Savage Garden). It doesn't imply
anything about the real Darren Hayes, or any other celebrities mentioned.
You should be of legal age in your region - read at own risk.

Some will argue that SG is not a boy band, but I think the story qualifies
for the category. I also plan to include other (real) boy bands in future
installments, for more than mere "guest appearances".

May 8th is Darren's 28th birthday. Happy Birthday with this first chapter!
:)
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And The Years Go By So Fast : part 1
by Leon


I couldn't sleep.

Even though I made sure I ate before five p.m. , stopped taking in any fluid
by eight, and turned the lights down an hour before bedtime, I just couldn't
sleep.  Yet, once you're in bed long enough, it makes you too drowsy for
anything.  So I tried to be patient, switching from one position to another
while I tried - unsuccessfully - to shut down my brain.

Sincerity's got nothing to do with one's chance of success, I thought as I
failed to drift off from my third attempt at the fetal position.  Feeling
like a beaten rooster, I flipped my blanket off in one swipe, and got out of
bed.

After a mindless stroll around the house in my boxers, my boiling mind began
to cool down; I was able to convince myself that I should give it another
chance.  Slowly, I walked back into my bedroom, and slipped into bed.

Once the lights went out, I tried to concentrate on the clouds of light and
shade that seemed to lurk beneath my eyelids.  That did the trick. Bit by
bit, everything came to a halt.  Every single occurrence of unrest began to
fade, one by one, and stopped at a freeze frame just before they disappeared
into the night.  I drifted off before I had a chance of declaring to myself
that it was happening.

The dream came just as unexpected as the sleep that I had finally earned.
Like the reversed playback of a spacecraft being sucked and compressed into
a black hole, my dreams always seemed to seep into the world from a wall of
infinitely dense darkness. The plot varies from one night to another.  Once
it was a microburst carrying me off an escalator and then throwing me back
on the ground. Some other night, I've also seen a pilot sitting in front of
the business class cabin on a plane, taking it down the runway with an
enormous steeting wheel. I'm always completely caught inside them, so that
if you asked whether my dreams are monochrome or color, I couldn't tell you.

But the colors didn't matter.  This time round, there was nothing. Just him
and I, and the endless stretch of emptiness beyond our shoulders.  Between
the blanket, the sheets, the pillow and the ceiling, we slowly melt into
each other.  Words were never exchanged between us; they were lost from the
civilization as our muscles contract and relax, in response to each other's
exploration.  Everything came together seamlessly. No bad breath, no issues
with techniques.  It was perfect.

However perfect it was, I don't think I ever saw the end of it.  Somehow the
world I thought I knew dispersed into the backdrop, and I woke up in my old
bedroom.  With part of my mind still caught in the dream, I lay immobilized
in bed, slowly inhaling and tasting the air before they filled my entire
being and rushed back out.  The random soundtrack, so far hidden in the
background, gradually grew back into its full strength, and I realized that
it'd come from the TV set. I propped myself up, just enough to stare into
the furiously flickering images that would lit up the room for a split
second, but suddenly break off like a temperamental child.  Despite the
strain the screen is causing on my eye, my mind was still occupied with the
dream I had.

If you wake up someone during rapid eye movement, he would recall the dream
with all its details.  That's what I've heard.

And I recall virtually everything from the dream.  As if one of the fairies
sneaked in and played with the focus, what had been blurred suddenly
brightened up into a real, decipherable sequence of images.  As the
weatherwoman cheerfully reiterated the seven-day forecast, I let the images
loop in my head.  Images of my arms pulling him into a snuggle; of the way
he stroked my hair as we moved together in lust; of the way we looked into
each other's eyes after our first kiss.  All of a sudden, the last mystery
in the story came through, and I realized who he was.  Without making a
sound, I sat panic-stricken in silence.  The weatherwoman has disappeared
beneath a pile of ripe oranges from the supermarket, but I stayed frozen as
I tried to deal with the facts.

The loud, blunt phone rings seemed much louder in the middle of the night,
sending shiver down my spines. Before I really had a chance to think, I was
all over the room searching for the phone. When I found it, the first thing
I did was to hold the receiver against my ears, upside down. It was quite a
struggle.

"H-hello?"

"Morning, Eric! Sup?"

How would I know? "N-n-not much. Who is this?"

"It's Darren, your evil twin. Don't recognize Aussie accents no more, mate?"

My brain suddenly kicked in and I desperately tried not to think about the
dream. "Oh, I haven't had a good night's sleep is all. Where are you now
Daz?"

"Somewhere over the Pacific. This eighty year old bird is flying me over, so
I can arrive at your door in a cabbage...NOT !"

"Uh-huh." I laughed, still unsure of his whereabouts.

"Eric, I'm on a plane right now, in two hours I'll be at your local airport,
and you're supposed to pick me up."

Did I promise him that? I didn't even know if I were fit for the drive. "Oh,
oh, oh. I-I-I'll be there."

We talked some more, with me remaining on auto-pilot.  I stayed still by my
bed where I found the phone long after Darren hung up, until some collective
screams - supposedly for Justin Timberlake - snapped me out of it.

I walked into the kitchen to make some coffee, and get my breakfast nuked.
On my trip to the bathroom, I walked pass the clock/radio, whose display was
persistently flashing from a power outage two days ago.  I stared at the
bars of LED, until I tore my eyes away and hurried off into the bathroom.

I thought love would never come again. Before today.

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e-mail me for any comments! leon@mac.com