Post by Lantlas on Apr 14, 2006 3:40:57 GMT -5
With the Mapquest results in my hand, I scanned the numbers on the mailboxes. My heart was in my throat, almost hoping the right number would never come up. Finally, after two seconds of searching, right there in black letters with gold outline... "412". 412 Reno Avenue, that's where the search result had led me, and that's where I found myself. Looking around at the age-old architecture, imagining what this town must've once looked like. Brick buildings and handmade designs, exclusive to the genius who built the house himself, I'm sure.
Before I intruded into someone else's life, most likely for the last time, I stepped back out in the middle of the street. It wasn't a busy street, so I didn't have to worry about cars appearing out of nowhere. The last thing PCW needs is the headline "Elf Wrestler Killed by Phantom Car." The moon was full and shining bright in the night sky. A few cirrus clouds floated by, turning dark and blue around the edges. The circle of light around the moon was brighter than usual, and I wondered how many people were staring at that same moon, living their own separate lives. I looked around at each of these individual houses, thinking how each one of them housed a life, a story...
What was going on under this full moon? People were being born, people were dying. People were getting their hearts broken, people were meeting the love of their life on a bridge with a swan floating by in the pond. Some people were walking hand in hand down a gravel path in the mountains. Some were curled up in their bed, wondering when and if their parents would come that evening. How many lives would be made and lost tonight? How many people are looking up at this same moon, wondering if anyone else is looking at the same time? Are some wondering if their long lost love is looking at the same moon as well? Our minds can barely comprehend just how many people are living separate lives under this solitary moon. The stars shine in the sky, representations of balls of gas that existed thousands of years ago. Light that started traveling long before streets were paved, houses were brick, and bathing was a daily ritual. What happened a thousand years ago at this very moment? A thousand years ago, did someone stand in this very spot and wonder if the brightness of the moon was a message from the gods? It must've seemed so very frightening with such limited knowledge of the world and everything around them.
I wondered how many of the stars were really other planets. The universe seems so very infinite, another concept no one can truly wrap their minds around. Distant galaxies with distant planets, probably have very similar people looking out at our galaxy, observing the light sent forth thousands of years ago and wondering if they're the only ones out there. Some would wonder if our lives aren't merely the sequel to lives from other planets. Perhaps the earth we live on is nothing but the walking condemned. Looking around at the shattered planet and all the lives that seem to be ruined every single day, it's hard to imagine the interpretation of hell being any worse.
Someone once told me long ago that they believed clouds were wishes. Each time someone wanted something so bad, it added to the little puffs of white in the sky, and when there was a clear day, everyone was content with how things were. Reality eventually sank in for this young girl, as she found the hard truth. Clouds were merely water vapor. If clouds were wishes, the sky would always be dreadfully overcast, and the ground would likely be covered in fog most hours of the day. Those who have what others would kill to have a taste of, can't satiate their greed and need other things. Sometimes they don't even know why they want something, they just do. They don't like it, they throw it away, but they have the money so it doesn't matter. Less than ten miles away, a teenage girl is digging in the dumpster for leftover scraps from a restaurant. Those two probably pass each other on the street every now and then. The rich, greedy woman probably passes the girl and thinks how she should get a job, clean herself up, and find a man with money. The girl wonders how so many stupid little things can matter to the woman. She wonders how so many people seem to have this belief that the more possessions you have, the happier you'll be. Which one of these people is happier?
"Who the hell is that," I heard a voice interrupting my thoughts. Someone had spotted me. I guess it must've looked suspicious for a blue-haired wanderer to be out in the middle of the street rather far from the main part of town. Quickly, I ducked back towards the sidewalk, and made up my mind that this wasn't the right time or place, and I began returning to where I'd come from, following the Mapquest directions in reverse.
"Came all this way and won't even knock on the door, huh?" The voice of the one and only Terry L. Sonada, the Schizoid Neko, the one I'd found plaguing my soul for the past couple of years. Finally, I'd managed the courage and strength of heart to pay a real visit. No email, no "return-to-sender" letters, no falsified realities by an overactive imagination. This was the moment of truth, and even standing as big and strong as I did, I questioned the weight pressing down on my knees, making me feel like the weakest creature alive on this planet. After a good forty-five seconds, I finally turned around. The door to 412 Reno Avenue was open about halfway, and there she stood, not having changed even the slightest bit since the last time she walked out of my life. I slowly and very carefully walked up the concrete sidewalk, for fear that I would trip.
After what seemed like an eternity, I reached the doorway and stood only inches from her. Heights certainly hadn't changed, as I still towered over her. It was a funny feeling, to be so deathly afraid of something so much smaller than you are. A long stare, almost as if contemplating the next critical move, she finally stood aside and allowed me to walk in the door. The sound of my hard boots hitting the wood floor echoed down throughout the old house, and I found my way to a sofa. I sat down, and almost fell through it. Quite bouncy and soft it was, probably wonderful for falling asleep in the middle of the summer. I noticed her hesitance to come near me, and her decision became sitting on the other side of the room. A lot of awkward silence, as I cracked my knuckles and pet the little dog. That poor little thing had to be almost twenty years old. I could tell from the clouds in her eyes that she had to be nearly blind. For some reason, even after all this time, that little thing seemed to adore me.
"I still think it's weird, she usually hates men." I almost responded, but realized how many different ways saying I wasn't exactly a man could be interpreted. No sense in creating a state of confusion, things were awkward enough. Finally, after a sigh, she looked over at me. So many questions were in her eyes, but she was choosing her words carefully. "I hope you haven't come here to try to win me back or something," she finally stated. "You know as well as I do it's in the past."
"I just came to visit for awhile. We kind of left things on bad terms, intentionally or unintentionally. Nothing more than a friendly gesture. It's nice to get away from where I've been for the last few months."
"I suppose this was inevitable. It was bound to happen sooner or later."
I looked around the room, and noticed the pictures. A tall, dark-haired man holding a little baby was the one that caught my stare for the longest amount of time, as I recognized all the other family members. She picked up what I was looking at, but was almost reluctant to explain who it was. "Rose is almost a year old now," she quietly informed me. I could only assume Rose was the name of the baby, given that the soap opera guy wouldn't be named Rose unless I found him in a certain part of town. As a master of asking the obvious questions, I had to find my clarification.
"She's your daughter, I take it?"
"I wasn't expecting it, but I wouldn't trade her for anything in the world. Chris is a wonderful father."
I nodded away, imagining in my head how wonderful this life must be. In my head, I saw her sitting with the baby across her lap, remarking to a total stranger how big she was getting. The stranger could only smile, as there's nothing else you can do with someone with so very pure of intentions. With such cruelty in the world anymore, with everyone being in such a hurry to get to the next place, they don't take the time to talk to each other anymore. Perhaps that's part of the reason there's so much unhappiness; no one takes the time to say "hi" to their neighbors anymore. In fact, most people don't even know who their neighbors are. They see them as nothing but threats to their property value and people who might try to outdo their weekly yard style. Why is everything in this world a competition? What happened to block parties? What happened to your nextdoor neighbor's watching out for you as if they were your own family? My thought process is interrupted by a change in the scene I'm observing, as I see her rise to her feet. Through the crowd, a tall, dark man is peering above the rest, searching for his little girl and the love of his life. He bends down to his knees as she places her on her feet, helping her walk into his arms. With a smile brighter than the full moon out this evening, he took her in an embrace, then with his other arm, held the beautiful mother around the shoulders. A perfect family moment, and for once, I saw pure happiness. The moment may not have included me, but it didn't have to. The only thing I'd ever wished was for her to be happy, and even if it wasn't with me, I couldn't feel anything but magical just being in the presence of something that special. Finally, bringing my own mind back to the present, I looked back in her direction. "A lot has certainly changed in the last couple years, hasn't it?"
"Everything that has happened was meant to, I suppose," she replied. I noticed there was no more resentment in her voice, no more sorrow in having no hope for the future. She had her future. She no doubt held the artist job she'd always wanted, she'd found a more-than-adequate father, and was able to kiss her own daughter goodnight before she fell asleep in the arms of a loyal, dedicated husband and father. Almost paradise, and all the bitterness that had been consuming my soul was slowly beginning to drift away. "I'm sorry about the way everything ended up, but it was for the best. It was just progress towards you finding the one you're really supposed to be with forever."
My optimism is pretty damaged from the lack of luck I seem to have in that realm of the world. The kindness behind what she said made me forget about the sinking inside of me for just a little bit, and I finally began to realize that even the people who've hurt you the most probably didn't intend for things to happen the way they did. Forgiveness is almost an afterthought in the minds of many, and bitterness overwhelms and consumes you. Staying mad about something only brings you down in the end, and there's nothing progressive about it. Sometimes, it's just time to let things go. To let it be, to accept that things aren't the way they once were. Although my heart was still clinging to what once was, I knew there was no way around accepting that this is what it had come to be.
"I don't know you anymore," I quietly voiced. "And that's okay."
"Yes, it is."
"Nothing that has happened was by accident, and it's a blessing for things to be the way they are for you. I only hope I can have a small taste of what it's like to be this happy someday."
"You'll find it eventually."
There was nothing more to be said, and at the same time we both rose to our feet. There was still a bit of awkwardness, given that it had been quite a while since we'd been in the same room. As she opened the door, she shrugged and reached up to hug me around the shoulders. "See you later," she whispered. I walked out the door very slowly, and looked back out of the corner of my eye to see the door close.
"Goodbye, Terry."
Walking away, I looked back up at the full moon. The understanding that I was alone in this world, at least at the current time, had finally set in that it was only until I found what was right for me. After all, things weren't really all that bad. My third Pay-Per-View appearance was just around the corner, and it would be the first time I'd headlined a PCW Pay-Per-View. I was a perfect eleven-and-zero, and the fans were starting to stand behind me. Hostile Takeover was quickly approaching, and for once, I found myself quite mellow about all the things that were being said by my bitter opponents. I realized that bantering on with Anthony Douglas over who was the idiot in the situation was a never-ending battle. It was time to let him believe what he wanted to, for it was useless trying to convince someone that bitter, sad, and lonely that a reality exists outside of the one he's created so that people will feel sorry for him. His anger, his tirade of wanting to end the lives of his fellow humans would be his downfall. No matter how many times he'd try to end my existence, I still will not sink to that level. Let him call me fake, let him believe this is all an act. There's no convincing him otherwise, and he'll find his place in PCW once this is all said and done. By then, I'll be long gone and headed towards the top of the PCW mountain.
I realized that right and wrong could so often be viewed in different perspectives. Jason Willard could be the hero of his children for doing what he believes is right, even though I still couldn't fully understand what would drive someone to senseless and unprovoked violence, and worse yet, how love, children, and all of this could co-exist so peacefully. Once again, it really didn't matter. It was just letting him believe whatever he wanted to, whatever helped him sleep at night, and whatever made his day easier to progress. The fact was, he did provide for his children, he didn't abuse his wife, and no matter how much hell I would give him for the defeat he suffered, he was a top notch competitor, and will, like Douglas, find his place in PCW before it's all said and done. By then, I'll be long gone and headed towards the top of the PCW mountain.
The opinions of others really didn't matter to me anymore. I could be the mockery of the entire world, but at the end of the day, it's still who I am. I live among a group of people who are not my own, but I still manage to co-exist with most of them. One of the Elven race, one of only two I could ever find... alone in commonality, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Being a small number in a big group of people definitely has it's advantages sometimes. Looking at the situation, what Willard, Douglas, and Nightmare thought of me really didn't matter at all. Outside of keeping my contract, what the Captain thought of me really didn't matter either. Whether the Prophet thought highly enough of me to consider me on his level, irrelevant. What Ian Brody thought of my hair and how well I performed at last week's Trauma... meaningless. At the end of the day, he writes a column and I perform in the main event. Not another thing in the entire world matters more than that to me.