Sleepless Chapter 13: Strange Ghosts
Something in the ether makes itself known.
January 2018
San Jose, California
My phone buzzed next to my face causing me to rise from my unintended slumber. I rose from my yoga mat I slept on to see the overhead light in my room very much still turned on. The smaller light read “Red Ninja,” the name I had for Jason since high school.
“Yeah what’s up man.”
“Are you bartending tonight?”
“Yeah, I start at eight.”
“Do you need a ride buddy?”
“Yeah, a ride would be great actually. I’d really appreciate that.”
“Then let me in buddy boy.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I’m right outside.”
“Oh, okay.”
I left my room to go to my front door and let Jason pop in, and when I opened the door, I saw him in a particularly intense mood.
“Hey buddy boy thanks for letting me in!”
“…”
“You look like you could use some caffeine, could you use some caffeine?”
“Yeah, I could use some caffeine.”
“Good thing I got you a bang,” said Jason. tossing a “blue razz” bang energy at me.
“Uh, thanks man, I really appreciate it.”
“Well come on man, let’s go!”
“Oh, shit, yeah, let me just ready really fast.”
“Okay, I’ll come with you.”
“Why are you hyphy all of the sudden?” I asked while changing into a maroon pair of jeans and a lavender button up shirt.
“I had three bangs today, I feel amazing.”
“Yeah, you’re like at a 10, and you’re going to need to give me a second to get on your level.”
“Yeah okay, for sure for sure.”
“Did you work out today?”
“Yeah I pulled 365 today.”
“Oh fuck yeah, why didn’t you call me?”
“I was just kind of on one you know?.”
“Yeah, I do honestly. Practice this week was an onslaught.”
“Yeah man, you look fried.”
“Yeah, Jerome is beating my ass. Dude just works me to death every time.”
“Why aren’t you wearing black for work?”
“Cause I’m not supposed to anymore remember?”
“Oh that’s right, you’re Mr. fancy bartender now. Moving up in the world.”
“Yeah jackass, I still feel broke as fuck.”
“Come one man, let’s go, you’re going to be late.”
“Alright, yeah, just let me grab my hat and my boots, and we’re square.”
The two of us ran out the door and jumped into Jason’s black Honda Civic before speeding off from Willow Glen to Downtown San Jose.
Downtown San Jose is a hellhole. The big wigs of the city like the McHenry family have done much to improve its material facades and communal gatherings, but they can’t seem to blot out the dark principality that looms over that place. There’s a shadow that follows your every step when you walk there, and if you’re spiritually aware, you’re on your toes the entire time because of it. Let your guard down once, and you’re damned. I can promise you this.
“You know Turnstile dropped a new track today?” I asked Jason.
“Oh yeah?! Well you better play it buddy boy!”
“Jason, please.”
“Okay, okay, okay, you right, you right, you right.”
“Also, I can’t put it on, I can’t access the aux.”
“Oh right, what’s it called?”
“Moon.”
“Oh, sick.”
The sonic waves emanated from Jason’s stereo, and we heard a signing voice different from the band’s frontman leading us to question who this mystery man was. But the deeper vocals, long drawn out soothsayer-like notes, and manic guitar riffs all came together to create a track that warned of an impending cataclysm just beyond the horizon.
“That was fucking sick,” claimed Jason.
“Yeah, that was something,” I replied.
“Hey, by the way, did Celine really come out of the woodwork again?”
“Yeah, she has a habit of that.”
“Is she still with that one guy?”
“Yeah, apparently. But she keeps messaging me for whatever reason. She’s on some continental tour with some play she’s doing.”
“How many times has she come out of the wood work?”
“Since I left England? More times than I can count. Within the past year? Like at least once a month.”
“And you’re not down to go back to her?”
“No, of course not.”
“When’s the last time you actually saw her?”
“Almost three years ago now, in San Francisco that one day.”
“Oh right before you started dating Felicia?”
“Yeah, don’t remind me.”
“I’m not sure what’s a darker timeline, you getting Felicia pregnant or you getting Celine pregnant.
“Definitely Felicia. I at least loved Celine at one point.”
“Yeah Felicia is a pretty big head case for a Christian girl.”
“Yeah, I’ll say.”
Jason pulled up on Santa Clara street before turning left on the corner of the block my bar was on.
“Thanks man, I really appreciate it.”
“Oh no no, I’m coming in for a drink. You owe me tons of drinks for being your soccer mom, driving you around and making sure you’ve eaten enough food.”
“Uh, okay. Yeah, I’ll see you in there.”
I walked up to the dark wood, “New York style” cocktail bar called Five Points, a place where up until very recently, I was a perpetually drowning barback. There were 500+ bottles on the back bar, five total wells, and a cocktail menu the size of Texas. Barbacking shifts there were harder than some of my kickboxing sessions, although recent training was giving those shifts a run for their money.
I clocked in behind the bar for Will, a more seasoned bartender to tell me that I’m on the third well, with only three open in the main bar and one open in the back room speakeasy called “The Bowery Room.” Will is about a half inch taller than me with a slightly wider frame, black hair like Clark Kent, and glasses to match. He is half white and half Mexican, with a combination of features that sometimes had him mistake for being East Asian. Will was supposed to start as a barback like me, but being 32 years old, an ex-marine who we combat in Iraq, and a former executive at Tesla, Sid, the guy who gave me my job thought it would be best to put Will through the bartending training gauntlet up front. Every Tuesday was me, Sid, and Will. It was a slow burn of us all getting to know each other, but to this day, I don’t think anyone besides Jason knows me better. They know the best of me and the worst of me, and both Sid and Will are the big brothers I never had.
I walked past well one and well two where Christiana was posted up. Christiana was a seasoned bartending veteran who joined the staff at Five Points a couple months after Will and I joined the team. She had been working for Apple for a year before realizing she wasn’t made for the desk job in big tech, and she was instantly everyone’s favorite. She’s a very pretty girl who is the same age as Will, roughly 5’8 with a curvy, athletic build, dark brown hair, a great smile, warm and friendly energy, and a fun-loving brand of hospitality. There was an odd dynamic between her and myself, as on paper she would have been the epitome of my type, but at this point in my life, I was on a sworn oath of chastity that was going on four years strong that evolved into intentions of becoming a monastic after what would hopefully be a long fighting career.
Something in my brain shifted with this decision. The majority of the time saw me delete this aspect of life from my brain. Things grew narrower in my mind, quieter, and more grounded. I was able for much of the time to see women beyond any kind of primordial need to procreate, and it was genuinely liberating. Will was confused about how I preferred going to the gym over chasing women, and after pondering the question, I told him it was due to no longer reliant on an external, highly variable stimulus but leaning on a praxis that was solely beneficial and self-contained.
But truth be told, I liked Christiana as a person a lot. I enjoyed working with her and hanging out with her, despite a good half dozen of her drunken advances including her groping me behind the bar. No one has sympathy for me in this incident. But provided she was sober and respectful, we were going to keep getting along great.
“Hi friend,” said Christiana.
“Oh hi friend,” I responded.
“How was your day?”
“Practice fucking murdered me, but I’m good, I’ve got sparring tomorrow.”
“Sparring tomorrow and Church on Sunday?”
“Always. How was your week?”
“It was good, I did a lot of yoga and went on a bit of a bender last night.”
“I heard, where did you go?”
“All over the city. I could totally see you working up there.”
“Well, if Sid and Soosh, I’m making a b line straight there. I’m not sticking around after they’re gone.”
“You’re going to have to drop your little chastity act if you start bartending in the city dude. Way too many pretty girls up there are going to be trying to get at you.”
“It’ll only make me tighten the grip on the discipline.”
“Naw you’re gonna cave dude, part of me would even cave for these girls.”
“Well, I’m definitely not going to cave, but I’d be super down to work at Trick Dog or 15 Romolo.”
“I could totally see you working at 15 Romolo.”
“Fingers crossed. San Francisco living in six months. What’s Will’s deal by the way?”
“Oh you know, he’s doing that thing where he’s insisting on taking the service well and then acting like a grumpy martyr because of it.”
“Oh yeah, so the usual.”
“Hey buddy boy!” yelled Jason, slapping his hands down on the bar in front of my well.
“Jason, please.”
“Naw bitch, you owe me some drinks!”
“Hi Jason!” said Christiana.
“Hi Christiana!”
“How are you?”
“Oh you know, I’m goooood, I had a good shift at Whole Foods today and had a good workout, now I’m here to get drinks from this beefcake.”
“Okay cool, I’m going to go back to my well, bye friend!”
“Honestly man, she’s so hot.”
“Yeah, says you and everybody else.”
“Oh come on, even you know it.”
“I can’t confirm nor deny.”
“Dude, Christiana is hot.”
“Jason, you know me. I’ve crossed
into a different kind of life.”
“Yeah yeah whatever, make me a drink biiiiiitch.”
“What spirit do you want?”
“Tequila.”
“Oh boy.”
I made Jason a drink that I made on the fly a couple weeks prior:
Phoenix Durango:
1.5oz Rye
1.5oz Reposado Tequila
.75oz Cherry Heering
2 dash orange bitters
1 dah aromatic bitters
Served up
Garnish: Orange peel
“Here you go man.”
“What’s the name of this one?”
“A Phoenix Durango.”
“Oh fuck off.”
“Look man, I have to name all the new cocktails I make. If you got a better name, you let me know.”
“Holy shit, this is actually really good.”
“Yeah, it’s just a spin on a recipe Soosh showed me.”
“I see I see.”
Jason downed the rest of the drink in one go.
“Let me get another one.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah bro, I’m having a ten out of ten time. Pour me another, I’ll go slower this time.”
“Alright, just drink this glass of water first.”
Jason kept his word and nursed his drink for about an hour before finishing the job. When he finished his second stirred cocktail, he asked for something shaken. I poured him a take on a Paloma with elderflower liqueur and some other extras I can’t recall when a tall and very voluptuous woman with short blonde hair, a low cut top, tattoos and nose piercing came and sat down next to Jason.
“Hey welcome to Five Points, here’s a menus for you, let me know if you have any questions.”
“What’s this he’s drinking right now?” she asked.
“Oh this is just something special he made for me since I’m his best friend and soccer mom,” said Jason.
“What do you mean you’re his soccer mom?”
“Well my buddy here, my best friend is a broke fighter, so he makes me custom cocktails in exchange for me giving him rides to practice and making sure he’s had enough food.”
“Well Mr. fighter man, I’ll have what he’s having.”
“You got it.”
“So tell me, what’s your name? I feel like I’ve seen you here before,” she asked Jason.
“Oh my name? Yeah my name’s Jason. I think I saw you at Whole Foods a couple times.”
“Oh that’s right, you’re the cute cashier who rings up my groceries.”
“I didn’t realize cute was in my job description.”
“Well I think they should update your name tag then.”
“What would your name tag say?”
“My name’s Katie,” she said while seductively shaking Jason’s hand and staring into his soul.
“Well, it’s good to meet you Katie.”
“We’re going to need another round Mr. Bartender,” Katie said to me without leaving Jason’s gaze having just downed her drink.
“Uh. Sure.” I replied.
Three rounds for Jason in an hour and two for Katie inside thirty minutes begot more rounds and more flirtations. Flirtations begot kissing, and kissing begot groping. They reached a velocity that was animalistic and unspeakably erotic.
An hour passed without any signs of slowing down despite the Friday night crowd forming around them. In the first lull, Christiana came up to me nearly pissing herself laughing.
“Are you seeing this dude?”
“Well yeah. I didn’t realize how hard it is to not look directly in front of you for an hour straight.”
“They’re really going at it.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of insane. She’s saying some intense shit.”
“What’s he saying?”
“Christiana, I damn near fucked up a whole round of drinks from my shock at how smooth he’s being.”
“Damn dude, I didn’t know he had it in him.”
“Honestly, me neither.”
“He wasn’t like this in high school?”
“No, I can’t say he was.”
“That’s wild bro.”
Will walked over to my well facing the back bar having no clue what was transpiring behind him.
“Hey Will, how uh, how’s your night going?” I asked in a bouncy manner.
“Peachy. Hey, do you have any Picón over here?”
“No, I’m out. Uh Will, have you not noticed anything?” I asked in a teasing tone.”
“Yeah, why the fuck are you so chipper all of the sudden?!”
“Dude, turn around.”
Will reluctantly turned around and witnessed the outrageous display and cracked a grin and chuckle.
“Okay, that is actually very funny.”
“Yeah, I thought you’d like that.”
“Okay, I need to get back to the fucking tickets.”
Katie and Jason reached a fever pitch where I couldn’t see either party’s hands anymore. Both pairs of hands were both below the bartop, and I saw Jason’s entire body jerk in surprise multiple times before Katie went to the bathroom. Jason threw his arms on to the bar with his head in his hands while staring at me in a telegraphed expression of drunken and absolute shock.
“Uh, you good man?!”
“She’s saying some nasty shit Arthur.”
“Yeah, I can hear it all man. What’s the plan here man?”
“I keep trying to take her somewhere, and then she tells me she’s doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to do. But then she grabs my crotch, and I’m just so confused man.”
“Look alive, she’s coming back.”
They went at it for another thirty minutes before he finally asked for the bill. I could only comp two of the nine total cocktails he had, so I had to slip him a bill of over $100 to which I felt guilty and responsible for. Jason frantically signed before calling an uber and making an exit from the bar with Katie.
With my view in front of me finally unobstructed, I saw three of our old high school classmates sitting in a booth on the other side of the short length of the establishment. The three of them sprung up and walked right towards my well.
“Arthur is that you?” asked James, the filmmaking prodigy I graduated with.
“Yeah man, it’s me.”
“Holy shit man, you’re fucking jacked.”
“Thanks man.”
“When the fuck did that happen?!”
“When I was in drama school, I started training Muay Thai, so I dropped out and now I’m working towards making a career out of it.”
“Dude that’s fucking wild, hey was that Jason Rhodes?!”
“Yeah man, that was him.”
“With that fucking bombshell chick?!”
“Yeah man, that was him.”
“No fucking way.”
Jason came back to the bar briefly to grab the wallet he left on the bar top to be greeted by James.
“Jason!” yelled James.
“What’s up man! I’m really drunk!” replied Jason before running out the door.
“Holy shit that really was him!”
“Yeah man, the very same. Are you still making movies?”
“Oh yeah man, I finally went to NYU, and now I’m moving down to LA.”
“Thats sick man, congratulations. I always enjoyed your work.”
“Thank you man, I always enjoyed yours! Are you really not acting anymore?”
“Yeah, that whole world wasn’t for me. I enjoyed the process, but the industry itself was not worth starving for in my book.”
“That’s fair man. So you’re just fighting now instead?”
“Yeah man.”
“And that’s worth grinding for?”
“Absolutely.”
“Wow, that’s some cool shit man. Wow, you’re so different now. Well we gotta get going, but it was great to see you man!”
“Yeah you too, Ihope to see you around.”
The rest of the night was dull in comparison, and I raced through closing procedures to be finished by 3am due to sparring practice being at 10am, a practice that would last for two hours. Will was kind enough to drive me home, allowing me to be asleep by 3:30 and up by 9am. However, I did not wake up at 9am.
An hour before my alarm, I felt a buzz near my head once again, and once again, my phone read “Red Ninja.” My mind went into a racing sequence that remembered that name meant it was Jason calling and that the last time I saw Jason, was when he was running off with a bimbo from the bar.
“Hello?”
“You fucking asshole why would you serve me all those drinks???!!!”
“AHH. Jason?! What happened?!”
“I don’t know uh. I went to the Fairmont, and I think I paid $200 for the room.”
“Why would you go to the Fairmont?”
“It’s the only hotel I know!!”
“Wait what actually happened?”
“Uh, so we went to the hotel room, and uh, we had sex for like an hour, and I couldn’t finish. So then she was worn out and went to sleep. Then we woke up in the middle of the night and had sex again, but I came inside her cause I didn’t have a condom. Then I was freaking out this morning cause she wanted to go back to my place, but I live with my parents. So I just got out of there even though she wanted a ride, and fuck, I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you mean you don’t know what to do?”
“What are you doing right now? I really need my best friend right now.”
“I mean, I have sparring practice in two hours.”
“Can we go to Denny’s, and I’ll drive you to practice after?”
“Uh yeah, sure man.”
Jason pulled up to my house ten minutes later and I hopped back into the Honda Civic seeing a completely different man from the night before. He was distraught, disheveled, and depressed. I could see the alcohol and regret dripping off of his face.
“Are you good man?” I asked stupidly.
“I’m. I don’t know man. I just. I don’t know.”
We rode in silence for ten minutes to Denny’s before sitting in our usual booth. Denny’s had been a thing for us since high school.
After ordering his usual, Jason sunk into the booth with his head in the corner and a thousand yard stare.
“Jason, what is it you’re actually worried about?”
“What if I got her pregnant? What if she had an std?”
“Well, if we’re being honest here Jason, she doesn’t strike me as the type of girl who’s only done this once. She’s likely on birth control, and if she isn’t, I would imagine she’s reaching for the morning after pill.”
“But what if she isn’t on birth control, and what if she doesn’t get the morning after pill?”
“Well, then there’s a much grimmer scenario at play.”
“What? Her keeping it?!”
“No, she’d probably get an abortion.”
“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”
“Honestly man, I don’t think it will come to that, but you should definitely get tested.”
“What are you doing today besides sparring?”
“Just another bartending shift at 8pm.”
“Can we hang out the whole day after practice and leading up to your shift? I just. I just really need my best friend right now.”
“Yeah, of course man. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know, get some food and watch anime?”
“I have no way of watching anime on the tv at my house.”
“We can go get an Amazon fire stick to watch Netflix on from Best Buy.”
“Alright for sure, we can do that man. No problem. Wait, hang on. Jason, was this your first time?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve been a virgin all this time?”
“Yeah.”
“Jason. Fuck. Fuck man. I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“You didn’t want your first time to be something a bit more special than this?”
“Maybe when I was younger, but as time went on, I guess I just stopped caring about that.”
“Are you sure man?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.”
Staring at Jeremy eat in the most depressed manner possible made me realize my grave error. I was supposed to be an Orthodox Christian, or at least an inquirer, and here I was compartmentalizing and detaching to such an extent that I was encouraging and helping facilitate fornication. I had a hand in a dimming of my best friend’s soul. This was undeniable. If I was a real friend, I would have tried to keep him sober no matter how awkward that may have been. It was in this instance I realized how much of a tightrope this profession was. I had to be nearly perfect to not compromise myself as a Christian and to not in any way assist in the compromising of others. It was in this moment that I began my slow but sure hatred of this profession.
We finished our somber breakfast and rode to the Alameda district of San Jose, just West of downtown. Rixavox Martial Arts was on Race street in a strange, lime green wooden building, but it was the home of Heavyweight World Champion kickboxer, Jerome Turcan. Jerome, a 6’2 Frenchman of clear farmer’s stock from Provence had fought in the precursor era to the golden era of K1 Kickboxing: the electric ruleset of punches, kicks, and knees with no elbows and no clinching always within three rounds of three minutes. It was always an electric sprint of a fight. He made it to the final of a legendary heavyweight tournament in the 90s, where he lost to the greatest kickboxer of all time, Rob Kaman. But Jerome didn’t lose before knocking him down. The logo for Rixavox was a silhouette of Jerome’s pose after knocking down the storied Dutchman. He later moved to America and became the head striking coach of the American Kickboxing Academy, a gym that has perhaps created the most successful MMA team in the history of the UFC. Turcan had a falling out with Head Coach, Javier Mendez, and many I knew from AKA told me that the golden era of that gym was when Turcan was still there. And now, he was my coach.
Jason and I walked into the narrow, padded space with a floor ring and heavy bags at the very back, and I was greeted with the same “larger than life” gregariousness as always.
“Arthur! It’s about time!!!”
“Coach, I’m literally early.”
“I’m waiting on you my friend!! Early is on time!! One push up, run, one squat, run, one burpee, run, and repeat and go up all the way to twelve!! We’re going to work hard today!!”
“Oh yeah Coach, real quick, this is my friend Jason. He’s just going to sit and hang out until we’re done.”
Jerome standing tall and wide with his hands on his hips, jolly grin, and mess of grey French curls extended his hand for a handshake with an unstoppable “Joie de vivre.”
“Ah! Good to meet you Jason, welcome to Rixavox!”
“Good to meet you,” said Jason before grabbing a seat on a plastic chair by the window leaving Jerome slightly confused by his flat energy before bouncing back and jumping on the mats to start the session.
The whole class went through warmups and into shadowboxing reps in front of the mirror before Jerome came up to me and asked me if Jason wanted to join in to which I tried deterring him from asking. Not reading my body language and cues, Jerome walked over to Jason and asked, “hey man do you have any workout clothes? You want to work out with us?”
I tried getting Jason’s attention to find a way and signal to him to say no, but Jason didn’t put two and two together and nervously said, “well, I do have some shorts in my car.”
“Great man! Go get them and come join us!”
Jason threw punches and kicks while sweating alcohol and staring at me with the greatest degree of utter discontent. “Hung over”did not even begin to describe. He was collapsing on himself in what must have felt like a marathon to him. This wasn’t a Zumba class. This wasn’t orange theory. This was torture.
I wrapped up my sparring, and we managed to get out of the gym to grab Chipotle for lunch and then go straight to Best Buy to pick up the firestick and head back to my house.
“Sorry you got wrapped up in practice.”
“You’re all good man.”
“I mean, I did try to warn you.”
“Yeah, that was my bad, I shouldn’t have said I had shorts.”
“Yeah, Jerome is kind of like that.”
“Yeah, I feel like they were throwing too much at me. Like, maybe I should just learn how to jab first man, instead of like, throwing a headkick after a knee or whatever.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
I felt as if guilt himself was a third passenger in the car.
“So uh. So it’s your day man. What do you want to watch?”
“You still haven’t seen Cowboy Bebop yet right?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Yeah, we’re watching Cowboy Bebop.”
“Dude, come on.”
“Nonono, it’s my day. You’re finally going to learn that Cowboy Bebop is better than Outlaw Star.”
Suddenly, we were both sixteen again.
“It is not better than Outlaw Star.”
“How the fuck would you know man?”
“Cause it’s not some weird jazz space anime.”
“Cowboy Bebop isn’t actually about jazz.”
“I don’t know man, it just looks like kind of stupid.”
“Arthur, it’s my day, so we’re going to watch Cowboy Bebop.”
“Alright, alright, you’re right, you’re right.”
“Thank you.”
The first four episodes of the series were anthological but introduced characters that were integral to the story, and I was beginning to see the subtle brilliance that Jason had tried to convince me of for years.
“The fifth episode is one of the main story episodes.”
“There’s a main story?”
“Yeah, and it’s amazing. Do you like the show so far?”
I was happy to see the Jason I knew and loved coming back to life.
“Yeah honestly, it’s pretty incredible.”
“I told you you’d like it. Are you ready to admit it’s better than Outlaw Star?”
“I mean.”
“Come on.”
“I mean, yeah, I guess it is. It just has an underlying depth that Outlaw Star didn’t have as much of.”
“You know you’re a lot like Spike right?”
“In what way?”
“Aloof. Elusive. Cryptic. Brooding. Martial Artist. Good taste in alcohol. Sometimes kinda reckless.”
“Yeah, I guess the shoe fits.”
“Are you ready for the next episode?”
“Yeah for sure. Do you want a drink? Oh. Wait, sorry man, that’s probably a bad idea. My bad.”
“You’re good man.”
I sipped a neat pour of Power’s Irish whiskey out of a mug I got at a Kills concert a year prior. It was highly uncharacteristic of me to be voluntarily drinking outside of work.
I watched beautifully drawn violence and discord unfold on my television for twenty minutes until I saw the first showdown between Spike and his darker half, Vicious.
On the balcony of a Gothic Cathedral, Vicious crouched over Spike with a katana pointed at his chest while Spike held a pistol to Vicious’s heart.
“You should see yourself. Do you have any idea what you look like right at this moment, Spike?”
“What?”
“A ravenous beast. The same blood runs through both of us. The blood of a beast who wanders, hunting for the blood of others.”
“I’ve bled all that kind of blood away.”
“THEN WHY ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?!”
Vicious grabbed Spike by the face and threw him at the stained glass window causing to free fall staring at the sky with somber, melancholic expression, as a flashback engulfed his eye and psyche:
Rain.
A view of a woman in a window. A blonde in a long skirt and white apron, with a drape and its shadow covering her eyes.
An empty kitchen with French wooden chairs.
Gunfire.
Gothic spires.
A black rose in a puddle of rain.
A cross.
A bar.
A pool table.
A slender silhouette purely dressed in black leather with cascading blonde hair turning her head to show a cold, razor-like expression.
A red rose in a puddle of rain.
Spike and Vicious back to back, grinning to each other in a gunfight.
The blonde woman tearing rose pedals apart, letting them fall out of a third story window.
Vicious grimacing with a gun to the blonde woman’s head.
A blurry point of view, stumbling on a blackstone, Gothic street in the rain. A door opening up the block with the blonde woman exiting from it.
A shocked expression on her face before the point of view collapsing on the ground and a frame of Spike face down on the street.
Spike’s vision re-emerging.
The blonde woman with her back turned and singing softly.
Spike rustling in bandages in bed, trying to see his caregiver.
The blonde hearing his rustling and turning to show her eternal, all-knowing face.
Her leaning over his bed looking over him with stoic, inquisitive concern.
His finally loving eyes.
Her mythologized smile breaking across her face and radiating a warmth that was only ever rumored to be real.
The kind of smile worth fighting to see.
I stared at the screen immobilized, frozen.
This was too familiar. This was far too familiar.
This was the thing that tore my life in half. That only had my life become something that happened before and after this Heaven and Hell.
This Gothic England.
This city of blood and soot and smoke and stone and steel and rain.
This unlikely love that no one saw coming and never stood a chance.
This intoxicating, fatal tragedy.
This assassination of the heart and worship of this death locked in frozen repetition for eternity.
This love that I measured all love by that made everything else pale in comparison that made everything else feel like monotonous, soul-sucking trash and dirt.
I was bleeding out in my living room something I could never stop bleeding out.
It found a way to take material form, this entity in the ether that would never let me escape.
“Arthur.”
“Arthur.”
“Arthur, are you okay?” Jason asked.
“No. No, I am not okay.”
_______
March 2020
Dublin, California
The same scene flashed on my screen with that blonde woman beyond time and space wrapped in my arms and buried in my chest.
She was real.
As I swore she was.
The screen cut to black.
She lifted her head from my arms to show me her face. Her cold face breaking into humanity. Tears streamed down her porcelain skin from her haunting, hazel eyes.
“Is that what made you hold on all these years?” asked Celine.
“Yeah. It did. Not just this. Everything. Everything did. Everything that ever cut to my bones reminded me of you. I could never escape you. I could never leave you behind.”