It was not Death, for I stood up,
And all the Dead, lie down—
It was not Night, for all the Bells
Put out their Tongues, for Noon.
It was not Frost, for on my Flesh
I felt Siroccos—crawl—Nor Fire—for just my Marble feetCould keep a Chancel, cool—
And yet, it tasted, like them all,
The Figures I have seen
Set orderly, for Burial,
Reminded me, of mine—
As if my life were shaven,
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key,
And 'twas like Midnight, some –
When everything that ticked—has stopped—
And Space stares—all around—
Or Grisly frosts—first Autumn morns,
Repeal the Beating Ground—
But, most, like Chaos—Stopless—cool—
Without a Chance, or Spar—
Or even a Report of Land—
To justify—Despair.
The Emily Dickinsons poem lays fresh within her mind as she stares out the tall, skinny window of her flat. Her lungs sit heavily in her chest as she finds it exhausting to take but a single breath.
The rain falls down on the world outside and creates a somewhat soothing sound to her ears, allowing her thoughts to slowly fade away, back into the void.
Her phone buzzing on the wooden table next to her seems to draw her focus away from the window as she reads the text displayed across her screen.
Can't wait to see you! I'm almost there.
Her eyes widen as realization finally hits. She's late. She springs up from the chair that now dawns a crease from her sitting for so long as rushes to get ready as quickly as possible. She grabs the clothes she already had picked out and laying on her bed, then slips on some shoes and a jacket and heads out the door.
She runs through the rainy London streets, her combat boots splashing through puddles as her breath comes out in pants, only to make it to the bar 10 minutes late. She makes it to the door and lets out a deep breath before opening the door to the pub. Her eyes scan the room, going over countless tables before she finds the one she needs and makes her way over.
" I am so sorry," She says as she takes off her coat.
" Oh, it's no worries," The woman sat at the table says, " I'm Tanya."
" Cleo."
The two women shake hands and finally sit down after their now formal introduction. Tanya sits down in the booth while Cleo sits across from her in a chair. She puts down her things and gives the woman her full and undivided attention.
" So, um..." Cleo trails, " How are you?"
" Good! Yeah, yeah, I'm good," Tanya says with a slight level of uncertainty in her voice, " H-How are you?"
" I'm okay," Cleo answers honestly, " Not my best day, but definitely not my worst."
A waiter comes by their table and brings them two glasses of water. Tanya's shaky hands go to pick up the glass, but it slips through her fingers and almost breaks on the table if Cleo hadn't grabbed it and saved her date from the broken glass. Tanya looks up at her, eyes full of gratitude.
" Th-Thank you," She says, her cheeks flushed and breath slightly labored.
Cleo notices her nerves, and it doesn't exactly line up with first date jitters.
" Is everything alright?" She asks.
" I'm just a wee bit nervous," Tanya says as she looks down at her lap.
" What's going on, Tanya?" Cleo asks once more.
" It's just... this is my first date since, um... since the Blip," Tanya says, her eyes remaining fixated on her clothed thighs.
Cleo tilts her head and leans forward to gently rest her hand on top of Tanya's, a gesture that makes Tanya look up.
" Would you like to talk about it?" Cleo asks, " I'm all ears."
Tanya nervously chews on the inside of her cheek before giving a subtle nod.
" It was my wedding day... I was walking down the aisle when I... And then when I came back... everything and everyone was gone... but I was still in my wedding dress. And my would-be-wife... she, uh... she moved on," Tanya says as her eyes become prickled with tears, she lets out a sniffle as her eyebrows furrow, " I'm so sorry for dumping all of that out on a first date," she wipes away her tears, " I don't know what's gotten into me... I've never really told anyone that before."
" There's no need to feel ashamed," Cleo says, eyes still locked on hers and hands still touching, " It's okay to talk about what happened... and it's more than okay to talk about your feelings," she gives her hand a gentle squeeze," None of it's your fault."
A smile manages to make its way across Tanya's lips as she takes a deep breath.
" Thank you... I really needed that," She says as she returns the squeeze, " God, you're easier to talk to than my shrink," they both let out a chuckle, " You don't happen to be a shrink or anything... do you."
" I'm afraid not," Cleo chuckles, " While I do have a degree in Psychology, I hardly made a career out of it."
As the date progresses and their conversation continues, the sun eventually sets and paints the night sky in its signature black color with specks of colors as twinkling stars.
Cleo keeps the conversation going with Tanya, but later finds that she's not fully present. Her mouth responds to the things Tanya says, but her mind does not take in any of the information, as if she is on autopilot.
And the autopilot switch doesn't turn off until Tanya grabs her phone to check the time.
" Wow, it's gotten pretty late," She says, " Time flies."
" Yeah, time flies," Cleo responds with a temporary smile.
Tanya sits there in the booth, her lips being sucked in from the anticipation as she awaits an invitation to extend their evening.
" So... do you live nearby?" She asks.
" Somewhat, yeah."
" Oh... that's nice."
Soon enough, the tab comes around and Tanya goes into her purse to find her wallet, but by the time she turns her head back around, Cleo already put down the cash and handed the black leather pouch back to the waiter.
The women stay seated, in an uncomfortable silence, until one of them steps forward to break it.
" Would you like to head out?" Tanya asks.
" Yeah, I would."
And so, the women gather their things and put on their coats and walk through the pub and out the door. The rain has turned into a gentle sprinkle that coats their hair in a sparkly mist. As Tanya looks at Cleo, she feels her heart leaping out of her chest. Cleo turns her head to face Tanya, and within seconds their lips collide, if only for a second. After Tanya pulls back, she looks up into Cleo's eyes and instantly regrets her action.
" I'm so sorry," Tanya says as she backs away, " I-I don't know why I did that."
Tanya continues to ramble, so Cleo places both of her hands on the woman's shoulders to steady her and make her look at her.
" Tanya," Cleo says calmingly , " It's alright."
Tanya's eyes flicker back and forth between Cleo's, desperately searching for any sign of attraction.
" Did you feel anything?" She asks.
Cleo looks at the woman, her eyes soft, yet filled with an apologetic gleam.
" I don't know, " She answers honestly, " I'm sorry."
" No, no, it's alright," Tanya says as she pulls away, " It's um... I'll see you round... yeah?", then turns around to walk away as her tears blend in with the rain from above.
As Cleo watches her leave, she lets out a heavy sigh. She hates making people feel this way. She hates not being able to feel whatever it is Tanya feels. She hates it.
Cleo solemnly makes her way back to her flat and rides the dingy elevator to her floor. She unlocks her door and closes it behind her. She rests her forehead against the wooden door as her eyes shut. She takes a deep breath, but it soon distracted by a warm, fuzzy feeling on her legs. She opens her eyes and looks down to see her cat, Ana, short for Ana Horra. From her legs, the cat scurries over to the large, grand piano that sits in the middle of the flat. Cleo finds herself drawn to the piano and drop all of her things to sit on the bench.
Her fingers gracefully and effortlessly dance along the keys of the piano as she closes her eyes to fully absorb the music, and completely unaware to the fact that her downstairs neighbor can hear her playing, not that he minds.
In fact, it's the exact opposite. He loves it.
What was once a night filled with dread and panic, is now one where he feels able to relax. He lies in his bed, ignoring the fact that his leg is currently strapped down. He lies down and listens to the piano and allows himself to relax, something he has been unable to do for a while. His mind soon falls silent as what he perceives as sleep takes over his body.
And while Steven Grant seems to be sleeping, Marc Spector is wide awake, and yet he too finds himself enchanted by the music.
So much so that he completely forgets about his mission. He forgets to untie his leg, or to remove the tape stuck on the door. He forgets it all just to sit and listen to the music to bring him some peace. Even if it's just for a little while, until the booming voice from within his head brings him back to his percieved reality.
" Come on now, Marc. Don't get soft on me."
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