| Subject: .everything.the.same. |
Author:
Stan Uris
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Date Posted: 03/30/11 8:35:49pm
The past never truly leaves the soul. It replays like a silent film in the hearts of all who dare to repress it, begging to be reopened...to be reminiced. For some, opening that treasure trove of memories is a joyful occasion, and even the imprint of a handful of hurtful times found there are not enough to stop them. Yet for others...that trove is a pandora's box: full of hurt, shame, and humilation. To open it means to relive the nightmare of a life gone astray. And so it lays dormant, untouched and banished to the furthest boundary of the heart, it's owner praying to never have to dust off that box again.
Oh, but the past will always catch up. Always. Perhaps it will wait until it's victim is old and fragile with nothing left but the span of years left in their wake. Or will it wait patiently, choosing to visit the dying in their final hours of life...sweeping in like a cold caress of condemnation? Is it possible that we must face the pasts we hide from, the deeds we've done, when our time has expired?
And, if the things of our past are done in an act of love...will there perhaps be mercy when the box is opened and the memories flow forth?
Though he hadn't planned it, it seemed somehow right that he should arrive with the pastel fadings of twilight in the sky. Twice he'd had to stop as he walked the heartbreakingly familier streets of Cascade City, his hands on his knees, fighting away the urge to turn and catch the next flight out. He couldn't--wouldn't--do that. He needed to be here, just as surely as he needed to take his next breath. Swallowing hard, Stanley slipped his hands into the pockets of the leather jacket he wore, and turned to the alleyway he knew well. It was the one that would take him to the bar his wife used to own. Maybe still did own.
His jaw clenched and his throat felt thick at the thought of the woman he'd married. She had been beautiful and compassionate and loving...more than anything he'd ever deserved. And yet, she'd loved him. She'd bore him a daughter...a beautiful daughter. He had had a family for the first time in his life, and oh, how he'd betrayed them. So savagely betrayed them.
He stopped breifly, trying to calm his racing heart. You selfish fool. How dare you come back here? After all you've done...what if she sees you? His mind raced. Perhaps what he was doing was selfish. Perhaps it was horrible, even. But he needed to know. One glimpse of her was all he needed to let him know she was alright. And if luck was on his side, she would never even know he'd been here.
For the past two months, he had been having horrible, reoccuring nightmares of his wife--ex wife?--screaming as a dark figure came at her. In these dreams, he could never get to her...he passed through the figure as if mist. Then, he'd awaken, drenched in sweat and calling her name into the darkness.
He only hoped she still owned the bar. According to two young men he'd asked as he passed on the streets, she did. Yet he knew better than to base his hopes on the words of a couple of passerbyers.
When his dark, haunted eyes came to a rest on the rear entrance of Club Alien, his heart began to race. Cold fingers of panic threatened to grasp his heart. He moved quietly, slipping through the deep purple of the night, until he was close enough to hear the music thumping within. It was early yet, he figured, and people would begin to filter in soon. And that was alright. He would wait as long as he had to. He lowered himself, back against the wall, to sit in dirty alley. Until then, he would allow himself, this one last time, to slip away to warmth and happiness of the times he'd had right here, in this very establishment. Here, he opened his own pandora's box.
____________i will holler you home______________
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