Part 6: A New York State Of Mind

“I see you found the photo album, I forgot I still had that dumb thing.” 

Harper’s eyes shot open, his vision trying to focus itself. When his muddled mind finally regained control over his eyes, the image of Madison standing beside the couch, holding the album, greeted him. He must have fallen asleep holding it. She laughed. A cold and spiteful sound. “I meant to throw this away ages ago. It just reeks with regret.” 

She held it, weighting it, smelling the scent of nostalgia and pent up emotion emanating from its pages. It reeked of young angst. A smell that had faded a long time ago yet still remained. Harper watched it bouncing in her hand remembering the photos within. “It was a simpler time, Madi. We can’t keep thinking about that.” 

She scoffed, the album suddenly becoming still in the air. “Simpler for who? You, maybe. God knows it wasn't for me. I’m not sure we can stop thinking about it, really. The very fact that you want to is just weaponized ignorance.” 

He watched her take a step towards the trash can. Eager to stop her, to keep her from throwing away their past, he began to fumble with his words. “Look, maybe you're right. Maybe it is ignorance. Maybe I’m just a fool wishing for the old days. It's a terrible thing, yes. But, if Cami were here, she would-” 

Madison froze, her thin fingers now gripping the photos with all of her strength. They too did not want to let go. “But she isn't, is she?” 

Harper was taken aback by the harshness of her tone. Did she blame him for what happened? “Look, Madison, I don't know what to say…” 

“Then don't say anything, like you always do. The last time you didn't say something, Cami didn't come home. You might as well keep up your streak of ruining lives with silence. Would be a shame to let that go, huh?” 

Madison got to the trash can but couldn’t even lift the lid. Her hand had become that of frozen steel. Her joints cracked but could not move. Harper held his head in his sweating hands, trying to find something to say. It was impossible. His mind was clouds. Full of wind, thunder, and fury and yet not a single drop of rain to spare for the forest fire before him. Madison turned, her flames licking the ceiling and burning his nose. “Three words, Harp. It would have taken three goddamn words to keep me from leaving. It would have taken three entire syllables to save a life.” 

Harper lifted his eyes to find Madison on the verge of crying. Growing increasingly frustrated, his nails began to dig into his knees. “The words. The words. Three words-” 

“They are as follows: I. Love. You. Is that so hard to say? Do you even know what they mean? Because I don’t think you do. Not anymore.” 

Harper shook his head “Those are the hardest words in the world, Madi.” 

Her voice slapped him across the cheek. “Hard enough that you couldn't stop Cami from walking home alone that night? Hard enough that you couldn't stop me from dropping everything and leaving? Hard enough that you couldn't say it to me even when it actually meant something?” 

Still reeling from her words, Harper looked up at her trying to find a new way to say sorry. The right way to say sorry. Maybe, if he could just do that, she would be able to forgive him. Before he could, she shoved the album onto his lap. “You can keep the damn thing. I don't want it.”

The van to which was alluded previously, was a seemingly ancient Toyota Townace that Silas lovingly called "Em". With a right side steering wheel, an ugly orange-red paint job that was chipping at the seams, and a dented trunk with a bumper sticker that read: ‘Powered By Hopes and Dreams’ in a comic sans font. It stood out on the road in a not so pretty way. While Silas seemed to adore the thing, Jo saw nothing but rust and four wheels. He promised it was safe and that it had "Saved his life" whatever that meant. Everyone else seemed to have their doubts. Beggars can't be choosers and so, with that slogan ingrained into their minds by Silas over the time they had travelled together, they piled into Em and began their road trip for New York. 

Within the first ten minutes Jo found that, by the grace of God, the radio worked. Even if the volume button was slightly unreliable. As did the crusty cassette player but the only tapes in the car were sixteen total hours of gregorian chants. Since Jo didn't want to be killed, tossed out of the van, or both, she decided to defenestrate the tapes, one by one, without Silas noticing. With the tapes successfully released back into the wilderness, everything felt strangely normal. It was like travelling with a family of sorts. However, given her father’s aversion to going out, her mother’s carsickness, her older brother’s general absence, this was far better than any road trip Jo had ever taken. It was only when they stopped at a gas station, to get snacks and use the bathroom, that Jo realized just how ridiculous the whole situation truly was. Like crashing off a high, this realization hit hard and hit fast. It was in the back of the store beside the energy drinks that this epiphany brought Jo to her knees. Her head started spinning, nothing made sense anymore. It was the same thing that happened at the university but worse, so much worse. Desperately, she gasped for a breath of reality, of stillness, of the feeling that the ground was sturdy enough to hold her world. Subconsciously, her legs buckled and she collapsed. Having witnessed this whole event, Elara rushed to her side, concerned. “Mistress Thatcher, art thou in good health?” 

Jo shook her head trying not to eject what little was in her stomach. Sensing her panic, Elara closed her eyes as if she was praying. In a voice deeper than should be possible for any human in existence, Elara spoke again with astonishing clarity, her mouth moving out of sync with her words. As if the voice knew what she was about to say before she did. “Mother, help this woman for she burns with an incurable desperation for understanding. The world tumbles below her mind. Calm this storm in her soul.” 

Every light in the gas station flickered for just a moment but, when they came back on, Jo felt a sudden feeling of peace. She looked at Elara who gave her an ever so slight smile making her seem almost pretty in a rugged way. “What was that?” 

Jo could hear the exhaustion in her own voice as if a large strain had been lifted off of her shoulders. She knew that the problem was not gone but it had almost become smaller. The same exhaustion was present in Elara's voice as well.“A gift, my gift. My purpose manifested.” 

 Wobbly legged, Jo stood using the tall woman as a crutch. When she was fully on her feet she looked at Elara once more. Something in her face… She isn’t what she seems.

“What are you?” 

Elara laughed “Return to the iron chariot with me, young mistress. I shall tell you my tale.” 

Legs still weak, the unlikely pair began to hobble back to the van. “I am what mortals call a star child. Born of the heavens.” 

Jo stopped for a second. “Mortals?” 

Elara nodded, still facing the van. “It is prophesied that, when I die, the world shall also perish. So, by that logic I shall live for as long as this planet lives… or die alongside it.” 

Jo shrugged and continued to walk. Feeling her begging to slip, Elara held Jo closer, arm wrapped around her side. “I came to earth a very long time ago. Sent by my mother, Citalá The Golden One of Monoceros, to protect a civilization from a Wyrm named Li’ Wen. I thought this to be an easy task. With the power of a star and the will of a people who believed me to be their savior, I was sure to overcome the threat. Only then would I truly become a star and earn the glimmer in my people’s eyes…” 

Elara stopped both talking and walking. Her eyes stared into the horizon, a look of horror painting her features. “A- are you ok?” 

Jo could feel her shaking beneath the armor. Fighting to remain upright, to remain strong, Elara shut her eyes. Behind them was the image of the Wyrm. Fierce, thoughtless and ruthless, only the lust of wretched malice lay within its cruel eyes. She could see it clear as day rising above the mountain on the prophesied day, unholy dark fire streaming from its venomous mouth. According to the prophecy, the Wyrm was to destroy the entire city. Elara was willing to fight fate itself to prevent this even if it took destroying herself alongside it. She was determined to become a star. She was going to win. No. Matter. What. “Overcome it I did. The wrath of the heavens rained down upon the beast, decimating its whole being. I felt the fury of the old gods flowing through me as I destroyed every fiber of the Wyrm that had plagued the lands. When I had rended it asunder, gore scattered across the furthest mountain, I turned back to the city with victory in my eyes. I saw nothing but destruction. The prophecy came all the same. I had not bested fate. Rather I wielded its terrible axe and cleaved that which I sought to save. I had become nothing but a glowing dot in the eye of oblivion. I cried to my mother pleading with her to fix this but she gave no response. No sympathy. Nothing.” 

Elara, regaining control over her body, continued to walk to the van. “I couldn't live with my actions at the time and so I fled through hills and fields searching for forgiveness but, just as before, found none. Silent fear ruined me and, with all my power, I willed to leave that realm. This was when Silas found me. Alone and lost in eastern Massachusetts.” 

Jo almost fell into the front seat as Elara climbed into the back. “That’s horrible…” 

Jo looked back only to find Elara stoic as usual, her face as solid as stone. “Are you-” 

“I’m fine.” 

“What do you want, Beau? I’ll pay this time.” 

Both Matt and Beau stood contemplating the array of chips taking up the better part of an aisle. Matt could feel the disgust radiating from Beau as he was eyeing a bag of sour cream and onion Lays. Just to spite him, Matt grabbed the bag adding in a “Mmmm, sour cream and onion is my favorite.” just for effect. 

Beau cringed. Matt could almost hear his best friend’s thoughts. He was thinking something like “Chriss, he really is insane”.

Defensively, Beau took hold of salt and vinegar with the intent to ward off the evil of Matt’s choice. Matt took a playful step toward him. “What? You don't like sour cream and onion?” 

As Matt spoke, a sly smile crept across his features. Beau moved back in response. “The last time one entered my mouth, it exited almost two minutes later. So… non. Get them away from me.” 

Just as Matt prepared to continue the light jabs at his friend’s pickiness, the lights within the gas station flickered for just a moment before returning to normal. The pair froze for an extended second in surprise before Silas rushed by with a strangely concerned purpose. Matt looked at Beau who dropped the chips and grabbed the empath’s arm in response. “Allons-y, mon Ancre.” 

With his sarcastically enthused exclamation, Beau dragged his companion in the direction which Silas had run to earlier. As the front door approached, they were joined by Moss hobbling along with Misty on his shoulders. In her hands was a plastic bag with a green dinosaur decorating the front. The group converged upon the van to find Silas talking to Jo in the front seat and Elara asleep in the back. “What happened, Jo?” 

Silas tried his absolute hardest not to sound frantic but to no avail. She shook her head and looked away. “Just a panic attack, I’m fine.” 

Silas nodded distractedly. “You’re not a stranger to those. Did anyone get water? Moss?” 

Misty walked over to him, handing him the plastic bag which was full of water bottles. Silas gave thanks for Moss being the responsible one in the group and quickly opened the one that was slid into Jo’s hand. She laughed “I’m fine Silas, seriously-” 

He shook his head and raised her hand to her mouth. “Not until you have some fluids in you.” 

The cool liquid slid down her throat as she admired the kindness in his eyes. Is he like this to everyone? That would make sense why everyone stayed with him. I wish I could just… no, that's stupid. Get that thought out of your head right now, Jo. You need to get back to- uh… Clint… yeah, him.

Once the bottle was drained he held her shoulders for a second longer before letting go. “Let's get back on the road, sooner the better. We will likely have to stop to sleep since this van moves slowly so it would be best to make use of the time given to us.”

Despite the nagging feeling that she should separate herself from Harper she simply could not say no to going to lunch with him. Maybe she did like his company. Even if he was a prick. 

“So, um, how do you like it here?” 

Harper was never very good at small talk. 

She spoke over her prosciutto and burrata sandwich without looking up.

“Fine.” 

Apparently, neither am I.

 Harper nodded. “How was writing? Get more done than you did in West Virginia?” 

He laughed but she knew that he was trying to distract her. Maybe a distraction wouldn't be a bad thing. “I will be honest with you, I left my motivation and drive in Morgantown. I tried and tried but nothing was very good. Until Jo kinda just popped back into my head.”

Harper held his afternoon coffee to his lips. “You were always better at starting things than ending them anyway.”

“How about you? Have you written anything good since I left?” 

Harp contemplated the trees of Central Park across from the Bluestone Lane Café where they sat. “Not really. I did get down a one hundred something page fantasy novel made of short stories but I guess my heart wasn't really in it because I never did any revisions and just kinda let it rot in my ‘Work In Progress’ folder.” 

He chuckled. “You know, we used to look up to you back then. ‘The Woman Who Made Anything Sound Good.’ Frankly you were amazing. You could write pretty much anything and it was bound to be better than anything we could come up with.” 

Madison laughed. She remembered those days with a rather nostalgic appreciation. He was right. They even told her so, her friends that is. There were still times that she thought about calling them or anything but she shut herself down everytime. If they wanted to hear from me they would have reached out. 

“Yeah, those were good times.” 

Another minute of silence slogged by before she spoke again. “So, you got anyone special?” 

Madison took another bite. Harper recoiled for a second and shook his head. “No, I can’t… I- I haven't tried honestly. Just… no. How about you, Madi?” 

She sniffed, still chewing. “No.”

Harper finished his sandwich and was now messing with the wrapper, tearing it to shreds with his thin fingers. “Funny, we always predicted you would be the first to get married.” 

Madison almost spit out the last bite. “Are you kidding? We always thought you would be the first. God knows I could never hang onto a guy. I couldn’t even hang on to you…” 

Although the last sentence was mumbled, Harper heard every word. He stood, offering his hand to Madi. So it has come to this.

“Come with me.” 

Madison took it with a skeptical look in her eyes. “Where are we going?” 

Harper pulled her off the steel chair and slammed 52 dollars onto the table, full check and twenty percent tip. “On a little walk.”

For being a hunk of junk, Em was moving rather smoothly down the road. Discussion and jokes within it moved in stride with the pace of the wheels, it was almost like they were a real family. Jo was thankful that everyone felt like talking because it meant that she had no time to be alone with her thoughts. There were times when she chimed in as well. Mostly to hear about people in their old worlds or to hear their stories. When Matt volunteered to tell his story everyone groaned except Jo who was amused by the fact they were even slightly annoyed. They told her that he told his story far too much. However, just this once, they were willing to let him prattle on simply because there was someone in the van that hadn’t heard it before. He smiled, took a deep breath, and began with a question. “So, I’m an empath, right? Do you know what that is? I mean, what it’s really like to be- ya know… this?” 

Jo shook her head in response. Unfortunately, empathy had never been her strong suit. Even when she tried, that connection was hard to form and was often just a flimsy piece of string holding open a door which the wind threatened to close at any moment of inconvenience. Her therapist had often used that metaphor. Metaphors are bullshit.

Sure, she had seen empaths in movies and tv but she was willing to hear it from a person with real experience. Experience that she never had. Once he had shifted into a comfortable position, which included his head in Beau’s lap, he began his tale. “Being an empath isn't touching someone and feeling their emotions. I believe it is most comparable to being in a room full of scented candles. Basically, when you are in the room, you smell all of the scents at once but when you move closer to a specific candle you start to smell it stronger than the rest. That's what it's like for me except the scents are emotions and every person is a candle. Touching someone is like sticking a candle up your nose and inhaling it. This is important because I fell in love with someone very special: Khali. She was special in the way that she was absolutely numb. Like numb numb as in absolutely nothing. In a world of emotion, Khali was a black hole. This is what drew me to her because I didn’t feel overwhelmed by her. Turns out not all good things are meant to be because she was doing the exact opposite of me and actually chasing down emotions. She would do anything to try to feel something. Drugs, games, and… well, harm. All of those were on the table for her. One day she told me she wanted to chase a different thrill. So, I took her to an amusement park. Well, she told me that she wanted to take the ferris wheel. However, when we got up there on the top, she tried to jump off but I stopped her. There was only one emotion that she felt that day: disappointment. Still, she went home just as numb as before. That next morning I read that Khali had burned down her house in which she lived alone chasing the ultimate thrill: death. Then I kind of just…snapped. I started to wander about downtown rambling. I spent so damn long processing other people’s emotions that I couldn't even understand my own. The scent of emotion was so strong that I actually passed out on the sidewalk just outside of an asylum into which I intended to turn myself over for examination. Beau found me sleeping in downtown Baltimore on the sidewalk behind the walk in. Here I am now, trying to work it out of my system like a drug addict. Beau is doing a lot to help though.” 

Jo sat for a second, mouth open, trying to process that which she had just heard. When at last she felt that it had been processed enough, she was hit with the thought: That's the sort of thing that only happens in books. 

This was shortly followed up by: Duh. 

Then something very peculiar came to the surface of her mind. “Do you all have a mental compass to each other? How do you just stumble upon other no longer fictional people? It’s almost… too convenient.” 

The car was quiet as they all mulled over the question. It was one that they had never questioned before, it was just something that just happened. At last it was Misty that spoke. “Maybe it's planned. By the great author in the sky. Maybe our ears hear them and no one else can.” 

They all looked at her, astonished. She looked up from the drawing in her lap “What?” 

Moss laughed, shaking his head. “Sometimes you are so much more amazing than you know.” 

Misty shrugged and went back to doodling like she hadn’t just placed wisdom beyond her years into their hands in nary a blink. Silas signaled right to get off the interstate as night was beginning to fall. “Maybe she’s right. What if all this is planned by the ‘great author in the sky’ or something?” 

Jo shrugged “What difference would it make?” 

“That's a fair point. However, if this did happen to be the case in any capacity, what would that mean for us? Would it mean that our paths are always set in stone? Likewise, if that were true, then us as people would be stuck in whatever our path is. Hell, even if we aren’t, we might still be stuck by our own devices. Begs the question if people can really change at all. ” 

Jo knew that Silas was only speaking nonchalantly, with an absent minded drone accompanying the words, but it was what he had said that bothered her. Could people really change? 

It made her mad. Perhaps more angry than it should have. Being stuck in one way or another had been the reason she ran away in the first place. Something about the rage ignited a fire that spread from her mind all the way down to her heart. The heat made her determined. Determined to prove him wrong. At this point it wasn’t a matter of winning but rather that of pride. 

Harper didn’t know exactly where he was going but he had a general direction. For every question from Madison on the topic of destination, came a shrug and a deflection. “Where are you taking me? Seriously, Harp.”

“You’ll see. Just… Please trust me, ok?”

“Alright, fine.” 

Eventually she stopped asking and allowed herself to be nearly dragged through the city. Two hours later, they reached the point that Harp was trying to find. As they walked through the open iron gate, the sun began to set through the clear evening sky. Golden light shown between nearly three million tombstones scattered along the hill side. The very sight was enough to create quiet in even the most irreverent souls. Calvary cemetery had been used in numerous movies and shows for this exact reason. Some of which even Madison had seen despite not watching many movies at all. Despite it being such a big deal in New York, Madison had actually never visited it before and now she was starting to think she should have. Weaving between epitaphs and elegies, families and loners, worn out pillars and pristine plaques, Harper finally stopped and stood almost as still as the stones themselves. In front of them lay a smaller stone. Squat and unimpressive against the magnitude of the veritable monoliths surrounding it. “Her family was originally from here, and I suppose so was she. I wonder if she had any say on where she was to be buried. Probably not.” 

Madison stepped around Harper and knelt to read the headstone. Brushing away leaves and debris she could read ‘Camilla Marie Florence - bestfriend, girlfriend, daughter, beloved child of God’. She felt tears on the verge of falling, she couldn't believe she didn’t know this was here. There was so much she wanted to say but no way of saying it all. Or anything besides, “Marie…” 

Harper knelt beside her, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Her grandmother’s name.”

Harper could see Madison’s mouth moving but not another word came out, just silence. “Her mom contacted me a couple years back and told me where she was buried. I only visited it twice but it had been much too long. I find it hard to believe that she is here. It feels as if she is both closer and more distant than ever. I don't think six feet has ever felt this far before.” 

Madi nodded but kept her eyes on the name. Her voice fought its way through the gaps between ragged breaths. “You were here? Why didn’t you visit? Why… why didn’t you tell me?” 

Harp brushed his hand across the stone, landing it on Madi’s. “I was scared. I was afraid that you would blame me for this. I was scared that it would be like the day after graduation all over again. I didn’t want to do that to us… to you, ever again.” 

As they began to stand the tears began to fall creating darkened spots on the light gray granite. “I-I never…I-”

Her words were cut off by a sudden embrace. It had been so long since Harper had held her so close. “I’m sorry Madi. I was wrong. I let her go. I will never let go again. I promise.” 

Somewhere in the night Madison could hear the faint echo of ‘I Love You.” bouncing between the bad memories. Even that, which had seemed so dark before, was beginning to fade with the sun.