Lunar
now i know how joan of arc felt
Oh, to be in Broadripple,
Not just a place but a time, the concept of it all. A place of cool fall breeze and orange leaves. Everything looks to have been drowned in sepia, a familiar feeling. A model plane influenced by that smooth breeze flies around a room, suspended by a wire. Oh, to be in Broadripple, to return to that place in time, just for a moment. To watch that airplane fly once more, the sunlight reflecting off the shiny silver shell and into unkindled eyes; Not that the spark wasn’t there, just that they hadn’t been burned.
I find it hard to watch movies now, not alone in the sanctity of my room but at a theater. I find it hard to go to the movies. My eyes are an unreliable source to me now, past the time of kindling and now ashen; nothing has felt the same. The sepia is gone, the breeze has blown out, and the plane has crashed. Not necessarily a bad thing. It is only reality, after all; Just attuned to it all now.
“Do you blame yourself?” Asks Bailey, a sentiment I’ve long thought of. How should I feel blamed? I wasn’t the pilot. If a plane falls, is it up to the passengers to land it? Maybe it is selfish of the pilot. That’s a thought I’ve crossed as well; What of the passengers then? Is the pilot to blame? Or is it the airplane? A pilot was tasked to fly it, a broken and flawed machine predestined for destruction. I don’t think the blame should be a question after, not for that. I watched two men die there, that place far away from Broadripple. One slow and evident if you cared enough to look, and one quickly and silently. Before, though, the sepia remained like a honey gloss over my eyes.
I.
The bruises on my knuckles and knees could've come from many different places; my brother assumes a few, "Fucking whore." He calls me. The basis of which is unclear; he's always hated me. Maybe it started at my birth, a long eight years after him. "Don't you dare talk to your fucking sister that way! Samantha, honey, don't listen to--" I drown them out, I always drown them out. Heavy hum-drums in my ears, that's all they are; a song softly plays in my headphones to assign their hateful words to percussion. There's nothing that makes you feel more trapped in life than living in a place where you think you don't belong. Fathers, Mothers, Brothers, Family; Their bearing over your mental health is weighty and unimaginable. Why, after all of life's tribulations, must you feel uncomfortable in that place you're supposed to call you're "safe space"? I can't say whether I deserve the words or not; Am I an evil, broken person?
"Hey, man, isn't it poetic that the sky is what we leave behind?"
"Sandy!" My attention is brought to the present with sharp words and a snap. "Seriously checked out there, dude. You alright?" I nod at my friend, taking my headphones out; the bad words are gone. He's one of the good ones, Sean, an anomaly in this town. "You're shaking, dude; you sure?" Sean lowers his head to match my gaze; his eyes bear scrutiny. Sean is good. He cares almost… intimately. A scary thought. He closes his eyes and shrugs in acceptance that I won't speak, or he understands why I won't; either way, he clasps my shoulder. "Alright, well, you wanna hop in shotgun? We're gonna swoop by Bailey's and pick everyone up." I answer with my usual nod. Sean's car is comfortable; It is old and ugly, and yet I find comfort in the tears; the softness of the yellow pads sticking out makes me feel at ease. I sink into the seat as we pull away from my house. Good riddance.
Everyone is standing outside when we pull into the driveway. Bailey hops in the back behind Sean and Eli behind me. Eli is dressed much like myself and Sean, just basic daywear, whereas Bailey is donned in a full black suit. Sean is staring daggers into the rearview at him as Eli quickly waves her hands up. "I tried to tell him, I really did--" She is cut off, however, as Sean reaches back and slaps Bailey on the arm. "Ow! Dude, what the hell?" He shouts, looking bewildered. "A suit, Bailey? Really?" Sean whispers, shifting his eyes towards me as if to communicate to him secretly. As if I couldn't see. I would have heard an argument if I didn't put my headphones back on. Thankfully I did; the entire ride, I could hear muffled scoffs and shouts between the two. Don't assume the worst already; we're all great friends generally; everything is just... sensitive at the moment.
Finally, I can focus myself back into my stupor and let the music distract me from what's coming. Am I coming off as too nonchalant? Maybe, but I don't think there is a textbook way to act in these circumstances. Funny, isn't it? How we react to things? Not me in particular but humans in general. Some people laugh when they are scared or sad, and some people call them sociopaths for it. Others stay silent and reserved when faced with stress; I've been guilty of it. I've been guilty of both. I giggle to myself as we arrive.
"Art is supposed to scare you, and I've got blood in my lungs."
A nudge of my shoulder pulls me out of my comfort, and it's Sean; He is good at that, pulling me out. He cups his hands over his ears and imitates taking headphones off, and I comply. "We're here." I smile softly and open the door, sliding myself out of the car. A field of grass and stone lay before me; Both things hold origins in the natural, but this was manmade. This was dreadful. Eli places her hand on my shoulder. "Do you remember where it is?" She asks, to which I give my nod. She responds in kind with a soft smile, a smile of pity. "Oh, also, I'm so sorry about Bailey…." I shake my head and wave my hand. He didn't mean anything bad; he was just trying his best. We walk through the grass, taking care not to step on the more tender portions of earth. It feels like we walked for ages, but we finally made it. Here we are. Bailey hands me a flower, a white rose that has been de-thorned. "I'm so sorry you couldn't be there. I made sure to save one of these for you." His family didn't want me there, and it hurt. It fucking hurts. I can feel my cheeks flush, I can tell they're red, and I know what they're signaling. The flower leaves my hands unconsensually and lands in front of the stone. "Here Lies Tyler…" I can't bear to read the rest.
Sean takes my hand in his, and I shoot him a glare. How dare he touch me? Who the fuck does he think he is? All I feel is anger. Why am I angry? I should be sad; I can't even bring myself to read the rest of the fucking headstone. Fuck. Sean reads my mind; he is so good at that, isn't he? So fucking good at reading me. So fucking good at pulling me out, so good at-- I need to stop. Bad words, very bad words. I can feel the tears and snot mixing on my face, and it's now obvious to everyone. I jerk my hand out of his, and he looks slightly alarmed before clearing his throat. “Here, take my keys.” He digs through his pocket and hands me his keychain. “Go to the car and put on some A/C. It’ll help.” I grip his keys hard. Too hard. I can feel the metal digging into my palms as I walk back to the car. Maybe this is where my bruises come from.
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