Reality Is An Activity Of The Most August Imagination
The moon was full, bright and full and shining silver on the fields flickering past. Justin pressed his forehead to the cool glass, watching, watching as mile after mile slipped away in the pale glow. Just another night, he thought, just another endless night after just another endless day. The routine of it was mind-numbing now, no longer soothing in its ritual. No, it was no longer comforting to know that tomorrow would be exactly like today. Rather, the sheer repetition of it all ate away at the edges of his mind, fraying his nerves and shredding his control. Just another day. Just like the one would be tomorrow.
He ran a finger down the window, tracing the rivulets from the spatters of rain. Rain now, at least that was something different. And, he smiled faintly, it seemed so appropriate. For it to be raining while he sat here and felt sorry for himself for reasons which he could not even begin to explain. He hated feeling this way, hated these days he knew would come, these days where every word and every gesture grated on his nerves. And those were just his words and gestures. He didn't even want to contemplate how they felt about him when he was in one of these moods.
He always thought it would be easier, that this time he wouldn't get like this, that this time he would be able to understand what caused it and stop it before it happened. But it never was. Inevitably he would get like this, quiet and morose for no reason whatsoever. He hated it. But that didn't keep it from happening. And it certainly didn't keep him for hating himself when it did.
He shifted a little, stretching his legs out and leaning his head back. He thumped his head against the back of the divan a few times, trying to beat the lethargy from his mind. It was ridiculous, he was being ridiculous, he knew that. He did, indeed, know that. And, he bit his lip as he turned away from the window, that really didn't help. If he could just understand it, just put his finger on whatever it was that made him tumble down inside himself, then he would stop it. He hated it. He hated being quiet and cruel and saying nasty things he didn't mean. And it made it even worse when they all looked at him with those soft eyes, not angry with him at all for being surly. They could always tell when these moods struck and they would forgive him before he even had to ask. And that made it hurt more, that they wouldn't yell back. Because they should. He wanted them to get angry, to not let him get away with this. But they never did. He sighed loudly. Yet another insane thing to be angry about, that his friends were kind and understanding and knew him so well that they knew whatever he said wasn't directed at them but at himself. Sometimes he hated his mind.
"You want to be alone or can anyone join this pity party?" The thud from Chris dropping down beside him jostled him out of his stupor and he looked over to see Chris smirking at him.
"I'll have to check the list," he replied, an actual smile crossing his face for the first time since that morning. "Not every Tom, Dick and Harry can get invited to this shindig."
"Shindig?" Chris snorted. "I'm not too sure I would want to go to a shindig, thank you very much."
Justin rolled his eyes and turned back to the window, waiting for the lecture he knew was coming. Perhaps yelling at Joey hadn't been the smartest thing he could have done. The silence stretched between them as more silver edged fields rolled by. He stirred, trying to provoke Chris into speech through movement. Still nothing. He shifted again, finally unable to remain quiet.
"I'll apologize when we get to the hotel. I know I shouldn't have called him an annoying motherfucker, okay? I know I was being an oversensitive jackass and I'll apologize, okay?" He tried to keep the edge of bitterness out of his voice, but it crept in anyway. He leaned against the window against, wishing he could feel the rain on his face. Maybe that would cool the flush creeping up his neck.
"Well, he was being an annoying motherfucker. And, yes, you were being an oversensitive jackass. You know, it's really not an either/or situation, Justin." Chris sounded amused and Justin clenched his eyes shut as a wave of anger swept over him. He didn't need Chris mocking him for being so stupid. He was fully capable of doing that himself.
"Thanks for that brilliant observation. I suppose next you'll be telling me that it gets dark at night." Justin winced as the words came out before he could stop them. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to turn to see the look on Chris's face.
"You know what, we aren't going to do it this way, not this time." Chris's hand was hot as he grasped Justin's shoulder. "I don't know what's wrong with you, and, frankly, I don't think you know either. And that's okay, Justin. At some point I'll say something nasty in an interview, Lance will barricade himself in a room with his laptop, Joey will rack up a $2,000 cell phone bill calling home to hear Brianna sleep and JC will forget that food exists. We get like that. You get like this. It's okay. It really is. Yes, you sure as hell are going to apologize to Joey, but you don't have to apologize for the rest of it. You get tired and quiet and surly and it goes away. It always does. It's really not the end of the world. And I'm sick of you acting like it is." Chris squeezed his shoulder again and then let his hand drop. "That's how things are. And it's time you accepted it."
Justin nodded, letting out a long sigh as he did so. Silence wrapped itself around them again and Justin could hear the patter of rain increase. He knew Chris was waiting for him to say something, to respond with some jibe or taunt or to argue or yell. But that was what he usually did. And he was tired, so very very tired of doing what he usually did. He watched the fields slip past a few minutes more then turned, startling Chris with the suddenness of his movement.
"You're right, I don't want to do it this way anymore," he said, leaning forward and grasping Chris by the shoulders, catching Chris as he started to slip away. "I don't think I can do it this way anymore." One hand slid into Chris's hair and he tugged him forward, drawing their mouths together and pulling Chris tightly to his chest. And for long moments after that all he could hear was the sound of the rain mingling with the beating of Chris's heart.
Reality Is An Activity Of The Most August Imagination
Last Friday, in the big light of last Friday night,
We drove home from Cornwall to Hartford, late.
It was not a night blown at a glassworks in Vienna
Or Venice, motionless, gathering time and dust.
There was a crush of strength in a grinding going round,
Under the front of the westward evening star,
The vigor of glory, a glittering in the veins,
As things emerged and moved and were dissolved,
Either in distance, change or nothingness,
The visible transformations of summer night,
An argentine abstraction approaching form
And suddenly denying itself away.
There was an insolid billowing of the solid.
Night's moonlight lake was neither water nor air.