Postcards From No Man's Land
Palm Over Heart
I opened my eyes, and I realized that I could see. And not just the inside of this wooden box, but Earth. It was dim and shadowed and the lights kept flickering. There was an audible buzz of the electricity popping. Beyond the door, I could hear dance music pumping.
I could see you.
I saw you clear as day, even though it was dank and dark in the very place where you were kneeling. But I saw you living, and I think it was then that I knew I was dead. I don't think I'd really ever seen you before. Not like this.
You were in a bathroom, that much I guessed. Your frail body shook and rattled with your gasping wretches as you emptied your system of all that was evil and unpure. I was afraid your bones would simply shatter.
A boy with tight pants and cool hair stood behind you. His hands were on your back, rubbing out a soothing pattern through your sweat-soaked tee shirt. One of his hands moved to stroke the back of your head, the fine brown hairs that were plastered to your neck. He murmured in your ear, but I could not hear what he said. I hoped it comforted you.
I wanted to take you in my arms, calm your earthquake-shakes. My hand, it reached out to you. Only the driest of air met my fingers.
The boy with the cool hair held two masks, their elastic bands wrapped around his tattooed wrist. I wanted to paint them, my fingers itched to produce their colors.
You were shaking. Throw them away, you said to the other boy. I thought you meant the masks. They held some sort of...evil. A wall that separated me from you. If you put on that mask, you were someone I didn't know, and I was just someone that no longer existed. We became separate people from the ones we were before.
But the boy's hands slid around your waist and into the skin-tight pockets of your jeans. They vanished and then reappeared with a bag of little pills like confetti. I knew you'd found them in my room, and I was ashamed. You had no reason to take those, they could fuck you up.
The boy's face was as frozen as the masks he carried, expressionless and fake. Where did you get these? he asked. His voice trembled like I imagined mine would if I could only open my mouth and speak.
Doesn't matter, you said, Just get rid of them.
He did, and then he helped you up. He placed his palm over your heart as the two of you walked out of the anonymous restroom and into the pounding mish-mash of sweating humans and pumping music.
His palm over your heart, making sure that you were still alive. It struck a note with me.
My heart had long-stopped beating, but I think it broke as he stroked your cheek.
I could see you.
I saw you clear as day, even though it was dank and dark in the very place where you were kneeling. But I saw you living, and I think it was then that I knew I was dead. I don't think I'd really ever seen you before. Not like this.
You were in a bathroom, that much I guessed. Your frail body shook and rattled with your gasping wretches as you emptied your system of all that was evil and unpure. I was afraid your bones would simply shatter.
A boy with tight pants and cool hair stood behind you. His hands were on your back, rubbing out a soothing pattern through your sweat-soaked tee shirt. One of his hands moved to stroke the back of your head, the fine brown hairs that were plastered to your neck. He murmured in your ear, but I could not hear what he said. I hoped it comforted you.
I wanted to take you in my arms, calm your earthquake-shakes. My hand, it reached out to you. Only the driest of air met my fingers.
The boy with the cool hair held two masks, their elastic bands wrapped around his tattooed wrist. I wanted to paint them, my fingers itched to produce their colors.
You were shaking. Throw them away, you said to the other boy. I thought you meant the masks. They held some sort of...evil. A wall that separated me from you. If you put on that mask, you were someone I didn't know, and I was just someone that no longer existed. We became separate people from the ones we were before.
But the boy's hands slid around your waist and into the skin-tight pockets of your jeans. They vanished and then reappeared with a bag of little pills like confetti. I knew you'd found them in my room, and I was ashamed. You had no reason to take those, they could fuck you up.
The boy's face was as frozen as the masks he carried, expressionless and fake. Where did you get these? he asked. His voice trembled like I imagined mine would if I could only open my mouth and speak.
Doesn't matter, you said, Just get rid of them.
He did, and then he helped you up. He placed his palm over your heart as the two of you walked out of the anonymous restroom and into the pounding mish-mash of sweating humans and pumping music.
His palm over your heart, making sure that you were still alive. It struck a note with me.
My heart had long-stopped beating, but I think it broke as he stroked your cheek.