It's early evening, just dark enough for the street lights to flicker on and bathe the world in a hazy glow that presents more as eerie than utilitarian. Such is the place upon which I drive deep into the night all by my little lonesome. A low, heavy metal sound begins to play inexplicably. My head bumps with the music, then my brain catches up with the rest of me.
It's my cell phone, ringing away in my pocket, giving quite the concert for the delight of all who stand within my proximity, even though I'm the only one listening. I turn on my blinker and pull to the side of the road. I absolutely refuse to deal with a cell phone when I'm driving. I open the antiquated flip phone and see I had a new text message. It's from my younger brother.
I open the message. "Come over," is all it said.
I press the speed dial option and hold the receiver a few inches from my ear.
The line opens. "Dude you have got to learn to text," my brother's voice comes over the phone.
"Yeah well, I don't like it," I respond and adjust my seat.
"That's only because you can't type for shi-" my brother returns.
"Ah, ah." I interject before he can finish the curse while waggling my finger as though he could see the gesture.
"Ship. I was going to say ship," he insists in a half-hearted fashion.
"Sure you were," I shoot back and cock my head to the side.
"Where are you?" my brother asks.
"I'm on my way home," I answer as I look around my vicinity. "I'm just passing the factories."
"Well forget that and come on over," he persists in his cause.
"Why?" is my curt response and I notice the fog on my window turning to water.
"Because I, that is, oh," he trips over his words. "Just come on and stop being a whiny little bi-"
I interject and waggle the finger again. "Ah, ah."
"Biscuit. I was going to say biscuit," my brother mockingly defends his choice of words. "You know, you really need to stop that. People curse."
"Yeah, well I don't," I inform him of facts he already knows and stretch my back some. "And I'd prefer not to hear it."
"Anyway," he resumes. "Just come on."
"Is she there?" my brother doesn't need anymore description to know I'm talking about his girlfriend and I take a swallow.
"She is," he admits. "But come on anyway."
"You know I can't," I reply to his seeming command while my mind thinks back to the last time I was introduced to her. It did not go well.
"Yes you can," my brother presses. "Look, you're in control. Besides if you don't I'll just fill your messages with creative, internet images of sick sh, I mean stuff."
The conversation doesn't need to continue. I know my brother and that's no threat, that is a promise. I surrender. "I'm on my way," I breathe and sit forward some.
"Good," is all he says. See ya soon. Bye."
The line goes dead. I close the phone and slide it back in my pocket. I check myself in the mirror, I'm already starting to perspire. I activate my turn signal's other direction and pull back on the road. It will take me at least forty minutes, plenty of time to suffer. I wipe the beads of sweat from my head.
"So, your younger, yet more successful brother called you over, did he?" the voice is coming from me, but it isn't me.
"Yes," I reply simply and take a quick glance in the rearview mirror at how hard my eyes have become compared to what they were the last time I looked.
"And like the trained doggy you come when called," the other voice observes and stares me down.
"Something like that," is my dismissive response as I take a turn and focus on the road.
"When do you plan on growing a backbone?" the other voice queries.
"It's on back-order," I return in jest and give a chortle.
A moment of silence, not long enough.
"You know she's going to be there," my other self carries on.
I nod. "That's okay," I lie and grip the steering wheel tighter. "I can deal with it."
"Liar. Look at your hand," the other voice points out. "You're already starting to shake."
I don't need to look, to know it's true. "I'll be okay," I further lie while avoiding eye contact in the mirror.
"Sure you will," the other voice speaks in sarcastic fashion. "Just like the last time."
"I'm not going to talk about it," I wave off the unwanted memory and take a steady breath in. "I've improved since then."
"Have you?" the voice presses incredulously. "Well, I hadn't noticed."
"You don't see everything," I challenge the quiet force that lives in me and breathe out.
"Just most things," the other voice replies to my challenge.
I have arrived at my destination, a large, tall building that houses many luxury apartments.
It even has a doorman. "Good evening sir," he greets me while opening the door.
"Thank you Edgar," I acknowledge his presence and his contribution while passing through the door. "You are a true credit to your profession.
He shuts the door and allows himself a chortle. "Why thank you kindly sir," he accepts my praise and gives a bow of his head. "Your brother is waiting for you in the penthouse. I suggest you take the elevator."
I stop in front of the door to the staircase. "I think I'll take the stairs," I make my decision known and place my hand on the knob. "I need the exercise."
"Are you sure sir?" Edgar questions my choice and stops next to me. "It is thirty floors straight up, sir."
I look up at the distance I cannot see. "Thank you, I am aware," I relay and open the impediment to my progress. "He'll just have to be patient."
"If you insist, sir," Edgar concedes to my simple demand and straightens his jacket. "I shall call ahead and let them know you will be a little later than anticipated."
"Please do," I affirm his decision and start to close the door. "And thank you."
"Of course, sir," Edgar follows up as he gives another nod of his head.
He knows better than to ask me for a tip. I make less than he does.
I walk the long flight of stairs to my brother's penthouse apartment while focusing on the slap of my shoe against each individual step. I told Edgar I needed the exercise, but that was a lie. Don't get me wrong, I could always use more physical repetition in my life, but my real reason: I need some form of action at all times to focus on when dealing with my inner voice.
The voice can be very destructive and if I'm not involved in some form of distraction I can get caught up in its influence and act out in a violent capacity. What's even more troublesome is I have a tendency to blackout during these instances and recover from the spell only in time to see the smoldering remains of the bridge I have just immolated.
In this manner have I isolated all of my family no matter how long they stuck it out. My brother is the only exception because he was gone on tour with his band during that most tumultuous period. By the time he came back I had mastered a method to keep my violent impulses at bay. I only wish such skill was mine during my previous altercations as alterations bidden by my darkness.
"You know you love it," the voice suddenly speaks up and echoes all around. "Or are you saying you liked being the whipping boy? Or have you forgotten?"
"I've forgotten nothing," I seethe and feel each slap of my foot being that of a blow against me, but I must continue all the same because I know what happens if I don't. "It is all very much still fresh in my mind."
"And yet, you blame yourself for what happened," the voice prattles on. "Never the true culprits."
"What would you have me do?" I fire back and keep myself climbing the stairs at a steady pace. "It's my fault this all happened. It's no good blaming anyone else. I'm the one who is at fault and no amount of arguing will change that."
"And yet you continue to argue with me," the voice chides me. "Why is that exactly?"
"Because I know what you will do if I try to ignore you," I relay with an even timbre as I focus on the next landing. "I know all about your bids for attention and I'd rather keep this civilized."
There is a calm that passes and for a moment I feel as though it is over.
"What are you so afraid of?" the voice queries and I wish I could determine its level of sincerity. "I mean look around." I follow the prompt. "There's no one here. If ever there was a safe zone for my particular brand of shenanigans. I mean-"
"And what do I do if I do let you out, when I reach the top of the stairs?" I issue my challenge to the logic and even flip my head behind me only to chastise myself when I find I am alone. "My brother is the last person left in my family I haven't alienated and I want that to continue to be the case."
"And you think I'll spoil that," the voice speaks in a manner that makes it difficult to determine if it's a question or statement.
"I know you will," I snip back and am glad no one else can hear me arguing with myself. "Look, this is difficult enough as is without you making it worse. So please, can you just leave off it for now, for my sake?"
Silence pervades the enclosure.
"Aren't you forgetting about the elephant in the room?" the voice prattles on and without clarification I know what it's driving at. "That oh so luscious pachyderm known as woman. And not just any woman, that woman."
"I can handle it," I lie to myself before making the necessary correction and feel sweat accumulate on my forehead. "Her. I can handle her."
"Oh, I know you can't," the voice insinuates. "But it should be fun watching you try."
I feel the other me take a step back and know I am in no danger of losing control.
I make it to the final landing and note the giant P painted in red on the door. I put forth my hand to the latch, take a deep breath and open the obstacle before me. The way opens up into a single hallway with elevator doors on the other end and a pair of double doors directly in the middle. Light is provided by elaborate, electrical sconces in between the many south facing windows.
I approach the simple porch framed by a long set of stairs and capped with a pair of railings on either side. The ostentatiousness of it all has me feeling physically ill and this is just a rental. All the same, I can't say my brother doesn't deserve it. He toiled more than most I know and even gave up a good paying job because it would have eaten up all his time. So, he passed up the opportunity to make a go of his dream.
And it turned out to be a good decision, because, after six long months of working for crap pay, barely able to afford to basic necessities, he got his break when the third song they recorded suddenly went viral and their merchandise started selling like hot cakes, as it were. As for me, I never cared for his music, but then, I've been told often enough that I don't have good taste in anything.
I file all that information away as being irrelevant to my current predicament and only serving to stoke my jealousy, which is sure to coax the voice back out. So, I climb the stairs, take another breath, and wrap soundly on the solid surface. I listen to my incursion echo throughout the hallway till it dies in my ear. For a long moment I feel silly as there is no response.
"It's open," my brother replies from within, breaking the stillness.
I stand in place, a smile spread across my lips.
Several moments elapse. "That means come in, Mister Vampire," my brother elaborates.
I knew what he meant, but I prefer people invite me rather than issue a statement of fact. I guess in that way I am like a vampire.
I open the door wide. The room is pitch black, save for the beams shining from the hall and I can swear there's something or someone there. I can only see as far as the inner porch extends to the floor. That's right two porches and still, just a rental. All is still and I'm starting to feel self-conscious and more than a little afraid, as though I have walked square into a trap.
"What's going on?" I enquire as I search the inky blackness for something familiar. "Why's it dark?"
"Shut the door," my brother calls out.
"Then it will be completely dark," I observe and continue my search as my eyes start to adjust.
"Just do it," is his impatient response.
I don't know what my brother has in store, but I'm not afraid of the dark. I close the door and it locks automatically.
My hand tenses. "Why did the door lock?" I ask as I pierce the inky depths.
"It does that," my brother responds.
"Okay, so why is it still dark?" I press, feeling a bit unnerved by the strange situation.
"It is?" my brother said, as though he's unaware. "Hold on, I'll fix it."
Light fills the room.
"Surprise!" exclaims the gathered mass before me.
I go pale. My eyes dilate. Sweat accumulates over every inch of my body. I freeze solid beneath the gaze of what has to be a hundred people. I don't recognize anyone. Then a familiar face breaks from the assembly and heads toward me. It's her, my brother's girlfriend.
I want to scream to the rafters in this massive room, till my lungs give out. I want to curl into a ball and make all the people go away with a thought. My eyes remain fixed upon the scenario that I refuse to believe is real and try desperately to change with the power of my mind. Step by step, my brother's significant other ascends the small set of stairs that lead to the front door and me.
With a smile on her face she throws her arms around me. "So glad you could make it," she says and gives me a squeeze.
My muscles tense and I swallow hard.
The embrace lasts for an eternity. Then it stops, suddenly, and I'm displayed before the assembled crowd. "Everyone," my brother's girlfriend addresses the assembled mass and keeps an arm on my shoulder. "This is Johnny's brother, Geoffrey."
There's an eruption of applause whileI tighten my toes and gnaw desperately on my tongue, both actions remain concealed from everyone.
"These," she speaks directly to me and looks deep into my eyes. "Are all the people you've been dying to meet."
Slowly my brain clicks back on and I begin to notice faces. Authors, artists, musicians, even movie stars. I know my brother is successful, but I didn't know that his influence extended this far. Also, I would have taken issue with my brother's girlfriend over the words 'dying to meet'. Sure I wanted to meet these people, but not like this. Perhaps one on one. Not all at once.
I'm led down the stairs and to my surprise find that I give no resistance, despite my sweating so bad my shoes feel completely waterlogged. My brother waits at the bottom step, but he had not been there before. At least, I don't think he was. I need to be careful, hallucinations are never a good sign with my condition. He claps me on the shoulder.
I lower my head toward his. "What the hell are you doing?" I spit low as I return to the moment.
"Ah, ah," he chides me and pats my chest. "You shouldn't swear."
"I'm going to do a lot more than that if you don't answer me," I hiss at him and stare daggers upon his person.
"Look, this is all for you," he assures me and splays his hand wide.
I don't see the benefit of the experience.
"You want to be a writer don't you?" he challenges me and squares my shoulders.
I don't say anything. I know where he's going.
"Well, you're going to have to get used to large crowds of strangers," he informs me and pats my shoulder. "Just relax and have a good time."
I capitulate. There really is no other option since my brother is involved.
One after another I greet each of the people who answered this peculiar invitation and wonder all the while why they haven't anything better to do with their time. All of the celebrities that parade before me are full of warm smiles and sweaty handshakes. The one factor I'm glad of, not a one of them is a woman. I'm not sure how bad things would get if I met a strange woman amongst this rigamarole.
At last, I find myself free of obligation which kept me locked in my private hell while everyone else was having a blast. I go for the balcony doors and slip outside. I take hold of the railing and lean my body into the night air in a desperate attempt to cool my person. The breeze kisses my perspiration and my core temperature drops drastically. All while, I gaze at the world below.
"What a sausage fest," the voice proclaims and it takes control enough to speak. "Would it kill you to admire just one woman?"
"I admire plenty of women," I defend myself and snap my head toward my invisible adversary.
"Try saying that without sounding like a serial killer," the voice chides me.
"Look, I like women and you know it," I further my defense and look out past the barrier. "I'm just not comfortable being around them in person."
"And why is that exactly?" the voice digs deeper into issues they are well aware of.
"As if I know," is my rebuttal though, I must admit, it feels good to get it off my chest, even if I'm just talking to myself and a breeze increases my ease. "All I know is that I was fine with the fairer sex till I hit puberty. After that, I couldn't even be around them. I even stopped hanging out with the couple of female friends I had. I gave them no explanation and after a while, they stopped asking."
"But all of that changed," the voice continues the train of thought. "When she came around."
"It was like a miracle," I reminisce and look to the sky as a new breeze greets my neck. "She was gorgeous. Standing between two columns as though she were a statue hewn to perfection. But more than anything, I felt drawn to her rather than repelled. This was it, the answer I had been waiting for. The woman of my dreams come to cure me of my ills." I take in a breath. "It lasted all of five minutes, the time it took me to cross the foyer to her. That's when my brother showed up out of nowhere, gave her a kiss and introduced me to Scheherazade, his girlfriend. I was so lost in the beauty of her name that I almost forgot the horror of her being off limits." I hit my fist against the railing. "That's when I remembered that it was he who invited me to meet someone special. Someone I could not afford to miss. How right he was."
All at once I feel a presence settle beside me and turn my eyes just enough to see her leaning right next to me. "I had no idea you felt that way about me," the woman of my dreams speaks directly to me while looking off into the distance before refocusing on my person.
I turn as well. "How could I not Scheherazade?" I breathe her name and feel a power within it as I stare into her dazzling green eyes.
Her face becomes quizzical. "Why do you call me Scheherazade?" she queries and maintains her gaze. "Is it perhaps because I am Arabic?"
Now it is my turn to be puzzled. "No, I'm not racist," I feel the need to defend myself, but the compulsion is not strong enough to break the heavenly vision before me. "I call you Scheherazade because that is your name."
"It's sweet of you to think so, it really is," she refutes my claim and gives a smile. "But my name is Zaeda."
Zaeda, the very name dispels the magic that encircles her and bewitches me.
"Uh oh, looks like your goddess is really just a woman after all," the voice chides me, but just inside my head. "Which means you're standing next to a girl. How do you feel about that?"
I start to feel the hold of the old paranoia and begin to retreat within myself. I back up and look around for an exit.
"It's okay," Zaeda assures me and places her hands on my shoulders. "You're fine. You just have to understand that I am not Scheherazade and I'm with your brother." She pats my arm. "But I think it would be prudent if we kept him out of this particular loop, don't you think?"
I strain all of my muscles as I feel my sense of obligation overwhelm my insecurities. "Yeah, I think so," I agree without really meaning or feeling it and grow tense inside while a long moment of silence passes. "I think we had better go back inside."
"Are you sure?" Zaeda enquires after me and sets a hand to my forehead. "You don't seem to be well."
"It's okay," I lie and take hold of the hand that would know of my condition. "It's just cold out here and it's having an effect on me."
Zaeda gives a nod and we both return inside.
"There you two are," my brother addresses us as we come inside. "What on Earth should you want for that you would go out into the cold?"
Zaeda throws an arm around him. Just a breath of fresh air is all," she weaves a fabrication and looks to me as she nuzzles her head into his shoulder. "Right Geoffrey?"
I look upon the two of them, what a pair they make, and watch my goddess disappear into the ether all the while my other self smiles mockingly from the corner of my mind. I picture it with both arms around the two in question while waggling a finger and looking at me.