A Welcome Possession, part 1

August 28, 2001

Mobile, AL

Somethin you gotta unnerstan about a place like Mobile. Mobile’s an old city, and old cities have a lot of history. Bad stuff, good stuff, all sortsa things happened in the 300 or so years since it officially became a city, and 200 years before, when the Spanish first started comin here. Bloody hunnerd years or so when France, England, and Spain all came through here claimin to own it, when the old Mobilians, as they was called by the white men, just kept their heads down and tried not to get noticed. Whole town got good at not getting noticed. Nowadays, it’s a lot like New Orleans, just with a lot lower profile. Dauphin Street district just as mad, just nowhere near as famous as Bourbon. Hell, son, we even got our own Royal street, and its just about as safe as the Big Penny’s. Some weird ass people livin here, but hey, they’re ours, even if they didn’t start here.

It’s been said that in places where stuff happens, weird stuff, magic stuff, the sun moves a lot slower. Respecting that theory, the sun crawled its way lazily up the lot, through the low rent apartments, hesitating at the blinds of one in particular, where it knew it wasn’t welcome. Throwing caution to the wind, it illuminated the living room, with an almost spiteful satisfaction, where a man lay on the couch. One eye winked open momentarily as a hand fell off the couch, knocking over an empty whiskey bottle. A glare started to form in that one eye, before it was distracted by the shrill ring of an old telephone. The eye, along with the rest of the body, rolled away from the light and noise, choosing an attempt to ignore what could not possibly be a welcome phone call this early in the morning. Nonetheless, a moment later, there was a click as the answering machine came on.

“Mister McGann, this is Deacon Roberts of the Parish of Corpus Christi. According to what I‘ve heard, you‘ve been seen at the St Edmunds in Dauphin Island taking from the holy water again. I can’t help but assume you’ve decided not to heed our warnings. Sir, Exorcism is a very serious matter, and we’ve already discussed this. The ritual is only to be performed with the express permission of the local Bishop, and only by an ordained minister. You, sir, are neither, and I hope you realize that no good can come of this course of action should you continue.”

The answering machine clicked off. With a groan, Jeremiah McGann pulled himself vertical, resting his head in his hands. He pulled the empty whiskey bottle up, looked at it, then downed the last drop that hadn’t been spilled before reaching for a cigarette. Lighting it, he finally took his feet, and stumbled into the bathroom. Last night had been hard. Normally, when dealing with possession, it’s usually some sort of mental illness that a placebo can at least temporarily deal with. Sprinkle some holy water, chant some Latin, use a commanding voice, and the possessed will usually have a bit of a spasm and get better. This one, though.

Not that he considered himself as having a particularly strong work ethic, but he wasn’t fond of doing a job half-assed. This one, though, was more unpleasant than usual. Spittle flecked on the pillow next to her head, those crazy bloodshot eyes, and that voice. She made some damned near unnatural sounds. He looked in the mirror, at where she’d scratched his face. Seemed to be closing, at least. Didn’t seem prone to infection. He splashed some cold water on his face to wake himself up, and straightened his clothes. He stubbed the cigarette out in the sink, and left the bathroom.

The door to the apartment opened, and he winced again as the sunlight assaulted his eyes, this time accompanied by the sweltering humidity. August in Mobile isn’t just hot, it’s wet. The air itself tries its damndest to drown you. The sunlight glinted off the small crack in the windshield of the car waiting for him. The loyal steed, a 1985 Monte Carlo, gunmetal with red trim, squatted like a battleship in the parking space. The door swung open, then slammed shut as he collapsed into the driver’s seat. It was time to go out looking for work. Or for trouble. Not much difference between the two these days. The engine fired to life with a cough, belching out a small cloud of white smoke from the tailpipe before rumbling into gear and clambering over the speed bumps of the apartment complex.

What has and will happen.

He'd heard the term "heart in his throat" before, but had never really felt it like this. As the battered Toyota limped into the drive, engine whining in protest at the heat from the cracked radiator, he looked at the porch light. It was on, the car she shared with her sister nestled up against the house, almost like it was afraid to leave. He knew the only way he'd made it here was the uncommon chill in the air, otherwise the car would have given up halfway. It was in no condition to make the drive, but this was worth it. One way or another, he'd know.

His mind flashed back to two months ago. At least, he thought it was two months. The world had sort of slipped by for a while after she'd left, but two months felt about right. After an evening of sending impatient text messages back and forth, she'd finally shown up at his door. A few worry lines crossed her otherwise soft features, and something strange in her eyes.

"You drove?" He said playfully, "Must be an occasion."

"I need to say a few things. It's sort of important."

His heart dropped. He knew she'd been distant the last month or so, and he'd kept trying to reach her, but she'd been pulling away. Nothing out of the ordinary, though, he had thought. She's a twin, and besides not like normal people. She'd come out of it.

"I guess I'd better sit down for this," he said, ushering her inside and to the bedroom. He took a seat at the desk, she on the edge of the bed. The thought flashed through his mind. I bought that bed because of her. Before her he'd just been sleeping on a couch, in whatever he'd fallen asleep in. After a while, he'd thought that if he was going to be making love to this special person, she deserved a bed. At the very least, she deserved a bed. Hell, she deserved a four-poster California King with fresh rose petals in his mind. But he'd have to make do with the posh futon mattress he'd found.

She fumbled with a cigarette, her hands shaking as she lit it. She hesitantly started to speak.

"I know I've been really distant this past month, and I'm really sorry. I just..." She took a deep breath. "I don't think I feel the same way anymore. I mean, I still have feelings for you as a friend, but not in that way anymore."

Struck dumb, he spluttered out a stock answer of someone in shock,"What happened?"

"Nothing happened. Really. I just, I don't have those feelings for you anymore, and I wanted to sit down and tell you in person. You deserved that instead of someone just calling you or sending you a text message or something. You deserve better."

He couldn't say anything. He tried to say something. He tried to form some kind of argument. But she'd always been honest with him. She was really, really bad at opening up, but had started to. Something didn't feel right though.

They'd agreed to still see each other, as friends. The next few weeks he'd work his work week, then would spend two of his off days stopping by to play games with her and her twin sister, having a drink and joking and laughing, stealing glances at her when she wasn't looking, playing with her dogs, and threatening to sneak in and clean her apartment. He was sure he could win her back.

Then it happened. Thanksgiving came and went, and they weren't home on Tuesday. He knew they'd left to go see family by Wednesday, and so he let those days pass. Tuesday came by, and he stopped by again, only for her to open the door with a surprised look on her face.

"This...isn't a good time. I've got some furniture coming in for delivery, and then we're going to see grandma."

"Ah.. I see," Bile rose in the back of his throat, "Should I bother checking back with you?"

"Not tonight. I'll text you."

"Are you sure? Only, you haven't sent me a message in weeks."

"I'm sure. I'll let you know."

Wednesday passed with no message. Thursday, he left the house early, went to stop for some fast food, and noticed the car overheating. Determined to see her, he poured water in the radiator, and started for her house, before the temperature guage hit red and the car started rattling. Turning back for home, he sent her and her sister the same message, with her sister replying about an hour later.

So, fair enough, totally not rexpecting a reply here, but I tried to come see you guys and my car overheated. Can you come visit? It's srsly been like 3 weeks.

Hey sorry, just got your test. Tonight's a bad night, I'm seriously exhausted.

No surprise there. I have to honestly ask, are we still friends. I want to be, but I'm not sure you guys are.

Honestly we are but we've been busy and worn out these last two weeks and kay is wanting some space.

Can you please tell her she's welcome to tell me herself. If she'd told me she needed space I would have given it. I told her before she is free to tell me anything. That still stands.

No response past that. Fine, he thought, she wants space. Perfectly normal response.

But, as time passed, he realized something. If she no longer had those feelings, it shouldn't hurt bad enough that she'd still need space, especially as little as they'd seen each other that last month they'd been together. Something didn't add up. Something was wrong. Something didn't feel right.

Two weeks later, he'd taken the risk of driving the car again. As he took the key from the ignition, his own hands shaking quite badly, he took a deep breath and a pull from the flask of whiskey in his coat pocket.

The door opened on the third knock, that look of surprise back on her face.

"Five minutes of your time. That's all I need, and then I'll go away for as long as you like, even if it's forever. "

She nodded, and stepped out into the cold with him.

"Something doesn't add up. I trust you. Implicitly. More than anyone else in the world. Moreover, I trust you to be you as well, and you don't open up. You don't let everything out. Not to me, and probably not even to your sister.

Something doesn't add up. Something stinks, and I need to know. Either you told me the truth about your feelings no longer being there, and you've been stringing me along by telling me you still want to be friends, and if that's true, it sickens me.

"On the other hand," he started, waving at her objection, "On the other hand, maybe you lied about your feelings changing. Maybe you felt like you were opening up again, and it scared you, and you panicked, shutting me out again like last time. Maybe it was that night back in September when we were drinking and your sister nearly walked in on us. Maybe you were afraid of getting close to someone other than your Kam. I don't know, I just don't know every nuance of your mind, but if that's the case..."

He shuddered for a moment, lit a cigarette, and took a deep pull before continuing.

"IF that's the case, then I'm disgusted at myself for not realizing sooner. And not fighting you, like I promised I would. I let you down, and I'll never forgive myself for that. You've been let down enough, and you didn't need me doing that, too."

He looked away for a moment. She was stunned, and started to speak, but he interrupted her.

"No. Don't answer me now. I've already arranged to be off for New Year's Eve. If you want to answer the question, I'll be where I was last New Year's. When I was with you, and I realized how I really felt and how important you were. If you want to answer that question, answer it then. Until then, I'll make no move to contact you. I'll assume nothing until that time."

He turned and walked back to the car. Before he got in, he turned back and looked at her, square in her painfully crystalline eyes.

"I hope to everything I hold dear I'm not wrong."

Jesus.

Look at that last post. That was over a year ago.

All in all, there were some really good times this last year. I told her why I asked her to come over that night, and she came over again. And kept coming over. And things were good.

Her feelings changed a few weeks ago, and unlike any other, she was upfront and honest, and told me face to face. That proves why I fell for her in the first place.

I'd like to dedicate something to her. Yeah, this is old school, and not normally my style, but Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham are fucking geniuses.

I only hope that maybe..

Just maybe..

I can get her to dance again.

Somethin' in you brought out somethin' in me, that I've never been since
That part of me that was only for you,
That kind of romance
Comes only once, that kind of love
That kind of fever dance
That you love because you become someone else in an instant

Say you will, say you will give me one more chance
At least give me time to change your mind
That always seems to heal the wounds, if I can
Get you to dance

Somethin' in you put a hold on my heart
It's hard to believe now
Here in the place that will never be dark
I remember that place...
That kind of touch, electricity of love
That certain kind of grace
That you love because you become someone else in an instant

Say you will, say you will give me one more chance
At least give me time to change your mind
That always seems to heal the wounds, if I can
Get you to dance

Damaged.

According to the Free online Dictionary (which I only consulted because I don't consider Mirrian-Webster to be a REAL dictionary, and the Oxford website is typically indecipherable), Damaged is the past tense form of the noun Damage. Or, 1. Harm or injury to property or a person, resulting in loss of value or the impairment of usefulness.
Emotionally damaged is harder to track down a definition to. Mostly because it's dependant on the person's mental state and what they are capable of sustaining before breaking.
So, it's going on two years since I moved out. Since I gave up on that situation and willingly took on temporary homelessness before rebuilding a life. In that time I've taken a chance and had one relationship fail horribly, while suffering through a crippling depression that I was only able to escape by a monumental increase in alcohol consumption.
I've also figured out a few things. I fall hard for some people, and am utterly incapable of acting on this.
I recently expressed the sentiment "I can't have what I really want, but I can get whatever I don't really need" to a trusted friend.
I used this phrase to describe the fact that I can have companionship pretty much whenever I want it. Physical companionship is easy. I then went on to say something to the effect wanting to be admired, trusted, relied upon and wanting to be able to express that to someone in return. My friend said I was describing a relationship past the "getting to know you phase and into that comfortable stage that in a good relationship leads to those cute old couples that have been together since they were old."
She's very perceptive, this friend of mine.
I don't know, though. I just don't think I can do this any more, and I should really see if there is some kind of medication that can turn off these feelings, this desire, this god awful need to feel drawn to someone.
I just wish I could tell her why I didn't want her to come over that night.

BTW..

Fuck YOU, Toys R Us..

I am NOT a fan of Heroes. In fact, it put me to sleep. 

Yet today, when i saw a rack of Heroes action figures on clearance for 4.98 apiece, I jumped on that shit. Why? Claude. 

Claude is played by Christopher Eccleston. In a ratty leather coat. So essentially, Claude is the Ninth Doctor, with a beard. PERFECT for post-Time War fun.

But NOOO..

Despite the rack that I read, it's only the "injured Claire" figures that are 4.98. Everything else is 14.99. Which is way too much for an action figure, unless it's one of those new ginchy Watchmen figures, or a fuck-off huge Transformer. 

Fuck you, TRU. 

Trust

Trust is a tricky thing. 

Experience has taught me not to trust people.  I'm not sure if I've ever blogged about my past experiences, but recent events and conversation have brought a few painful memories and patterns to the surface again. 

There are people I don't trust. This applies to about 99.9999% of the people/entities that I know. Not including myself. I can't trust myself to say no to something that feels good, such as heavy petting or a strong drink. I've come to terms with that. I'm very easily tempted, if the temptation is right in front of me. This is probably why I am such a solitary person. When left to my own devices, another drink or smoke is the worst I can do to myself. In fact, I'm quite fuzzy as of right now, due to events I may or may not discuss.

 

My very nature, crafted to perfection by events and people in my life, is to not trust people. I trust things. I trust my cellphone to make a call or text message when I tell it to. I trust my laptop to work until I cause a thermal shutdown (thanks, Iron Man PC Game..). I trust my cane to keep me vertical. Canes are easily the most trustworthy beings ever crafted. Tangents are trustworthy too, as they allow you to avoid the actual point of what you began typing about. 

People are notoriously untrustworthy. Whether it's screwing people on the couch you helped put together, secreting control over you one little step at a time, or betraying your image of them, people are experts at letting you down. Humanity, indomitable as they may be, capable of splitting the atom and feeding the hungry, are experts at screwing each other over. Whether it's betraying a sacred trust you put in them, performing below standards they claim to, or just simply not caring, they will never cease to let you down. 

So why is it that I'm considering trusting someone. This really hurts. It stings at a primal level. 

Hearkening back to a previous post, I've spent a good six years with constant reminders why I shouldn't try to be a good person. Why I should have stayed in Mobile, performing placebo home cleansings to yuppies and exorcising people's personal demons. Yes, there's a hostile spirit in your picture-perfect home. Yes, there's a demon that keeps bringing you back to the bottle. I'll help you with that, for a fair fee. 

But she's terrifying me. She actually makes me think it might be ok to trust people again. Why does she have to do this to me? She's leaving in a few months, but god damn it, she's never put any pressure on me. She's never asked anything of me. She's been there for me when I needed a shoulder to sob pitifully on, and when I needed a warm body to press against mine in the middle of the night, and if you think I'm just stating this for effect, I just went through two completely seperate emotional and physical states in under a minute typing that. 

She asked me recently.. "Did you do something to me..?" 

DO SOMETHING? TO YOU?? Oh wow. That one struck home. Trust me, beautiful straw-haired one, I COULD have done something horrible and unspeakable to you. You've left enough materials behind and lingered far long enough for me to do something unspeakably immoral, but I didn't...

I didn't. I really didn't, and I could have. And now I'm in the position of questioning, is it worth it to clutch on to this self-reliance, this lone wolf nonsense, just for a few fleeting months before she leaves?

The scales are balanced. I have to decide something, or it'll be decided for me. Do I give in, and have a few months with her, that promise to be the best thing I can possibly hope for before she leaves, or do I cling desperately to the loneliness that I've come to adore? 

This is by far the hardest thing I have ever had to decide. This was harder than leaving my wife and child. At least then, I had the option of shutting off my emotions and carrying on, despite the pain I could ignore. 

Why did she have to be so good...

"Sometimes when you reach below the practised self-portrait of a man, what you find is...nothing."

     -Bob Kelso, on an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, on killing nanites.