Snowbound and Irate

Dear Vinny,

I hope the rest of your winter vacation went well after you left cold-ass Icaria. Please, mark your calendar when I say this: I'm glad you came up. Things have been weird still -- hell, I'm not sure you yet believe how weird they've been. And they've certainly not gotten any less fucked-up. Oh, no possession or ghosts visiting since the last time, but I'm not sure I need that kind of mess to make it this bad. But...

Well. Let me just put it this way. As much as I freaked out at you showing up, and hemmed and hawwed, and was generally a complete mess? Seeing you helped straighten my head out a bit, even if it took a couple of weeks afterward to really do it. And it was good to see you.

And yes, the sex was bloody hot. As always. Sigh.

Anyway. Remember when I said they've been fucked up since? Yeah. I seem to have developed a twitch where I would say the single worst thing possible in a conversation, while thinking I was being funny. Or trying to lighten the mood. Or...well. You get the idea. Frankly, I'm surprised anyone wants to talk to me at all, but I seem to have pulled myself out of it. At least a bit. The bloody nose helped.

Just as an aside: if I get arrested, will you come bail me out? I may need it this semester. There are...plans. I'm tired of the people I care about being screwed over. I'm tired of them fucking with me. Maybe we're all wrong, and it's not the school staff...but if that's the case, I have even less of an idea what to do than I do now. So I'm running with this.

Yes. I know that was cryptic. It's called plausible deniability. Learn to love it.

Anyway. In news that is neither related to cryptic remarks or a sign of my impending insanity...or perhaps it is? I...have friends who would like to meet you. If you want to consider yourself invited back to visit for spring break, I think I can manage not to hide under rocks the whole time you're here. That is, of course, if you want to

(Yes, that also means I'm contemplating letting you meet them. Don't look too surprised.)

I hope your conquests have been swift and absolute, and that Miami is not too boring without me to torment.

In Exile,
William

The damn power isn't staying on long enough for me to get a proper entry written. I keep trying, it keeps dying. I'm writing it on paper for now; when things get more stable, I'll try transcribing it. Or I'll see if I can type like the wind during the next flash of light and warmth.

However, in brief:
* Not a Tropical Popsicle
* Not shaving
* Rethinking Lent for Thought-Out Reasons
* Worried
* Regretful
* Pleased with D&D
* Considering setting up a camera outside Byron's open door

More on most of these, if not all, when weather permits. I bless the world for hot chocolate; I manage to get heat in bursts enough to keep making more. People are welcome to drop by to share.

Dear Knee,

Let's start at the beginning: Yes, I know you hate it when I call you by that ridiculous nickname, and it's so demeaning to be shouted after like you were a loose body part. To which I give you the standard reply: I'm your big brother, so cope. At least I'm not rubbing mud in your hair and pulling your pigtails. You should be grateful.

I made it up to Massachusetts without any major tragedy, at least. It was a long train trip, but I think you would have liked it. Plenty of time for people-watching, certainly, and the chance to stretch your legs the whole time. A bit bumpier than a plane, and obviously longer, but the trade-offs were nice. Now if only it didn't cost so much compared to a flight, it might be an attractive alternative. As it is, at least when you're going so long-distance that it's more expensive than the regular commuter routes, it's more of a luxury that I would have expected. And Amtrak is nothing like the Orient Express.

It's been a little over a week, though, and I think I've settled into school here. First, the whole 'boarding school' thing is very strange. Maybe this is prep for dorm life, but I don't think so. It might be the age of the buildings, that lingering smell of decades baked into every brick and board, but it just feels archaic and strange in some way. Not that the students would help matters there. From what I can tell, we've an unhealthy mix of the overly-intellectual, the decidedly eccentric, and the rich elite. Really, all that you would expect from reading a nineteeth century boarding school drama. I'm just waiting for the headmaster to be a harsh disciplinarian, or a quiet bastion of compassionate understanding, and we'd be all set.

I wonder if they're offering Defense Against the Dark Arts next semester.

I've met some friends, too. At least, I like to delude myself into thinking they may become friends. There's Tanne, who I think you'd like. Anyone who turns their angsty rebellion against their rich and important family into actual social commentary that's worth making, and not just getting coked up and blowing money by the boatload in some dance club earns points. Of course, I don't know what I can say about her taste in men, given she's married one of the previously mentioned 'rich elite' -- rich elitist jock, even, just to compound the issue. And yes, I said married -- it's a long story. They always are, you know: controlling family, arranged marriages, and the like. It's just missing a fairy godmother and a prince charming.

There's also Dot. I know you'd like her -- she can't stand me, and doesn't see any reason to hold back from cutting me down to size any chance she gets. Clearly, I can never have the two of you meet, or you'd just give her more ammo with a gleeful little smile. That's all right; if I have anything to say about it, she's going to end up Homecoming Queen. As I do believe the young people are saying these days, "Payback is a bitch." Not that there's anything I really need to pay her back for, but I believe in preemptive strikes.

I know I joked about it being strange here, but Halloween was...there was a dance, but something happened. I'm still not certain what. I'm sorry to be so cryptic, but I'm trying to figure it out. And in the meantime, I had one new friend disappear after it, and another get hurt pretty badly. Everyone is avoiding the topic, at least with me, so it's that much harder to process. I know, I'm not being much better, I just wanted you to know that...if I was coming off a little stilted, you can probably blame it on that. I...

I miss you. And I'm worried. I'll try to explain when I can, but I don't know when that will be. I know, before you can even say it: I'll take care of myself, I promise. Things are just harder than I thought they would be here, for reasons I never expected. Maybe I'm not cut out for any pond but the familiar one, down in Miami. Wouldn't that be a depressing thought.

Anyway, I need to get back to work. I've got homework to take care of before the fundraising dinner tomorrow night (yes, I'm fundraising for a homecoming queen. Maybe it's a long way for a joke, but I'm enjoying the journey). I promise I'll come up as soon as I can to visit, as long as the doctors say it's all right. Don't let that Mary Lapinski push you around, you hear me?

Loves and noogies,
Bill

So I'm here, and yet I'm not. The train did what trains do for the last few hours, and eventually disgorged me and my luggage like the sea leaving flotsam on the shoreline. The vast steel monster has rumbled toward destinations further north, and the rest of the passengers getting off here have all been met by loved ones of one sort or another, or otherwise found their way to other parts unknown. I swirled about in their wakes until they were all gone, then found my way to this bench out front. There was a vague mention back in Miami of a ride, but I'm not entirely certain how much I trust that it was actually arranged in the whirlwind that was my packing before my departure.

For now, though, no one is here holding up a placard with my name waiting to whisk me away, so it seems best to clear whatever thoughts lingered after the train ride before I'm either picked up, or I eventually give the hell up on that silly thing mortals call 'patience' and go looking for the school myself. The town simply isn't that big, from what I understand, so it can't be all that hard a thing to manage.

But one thing at a time. Perhaps others would consider it silly fussiness to clear my head like this before tackling this entirely new situation, but I think of it a bit like taking a huge breath before diving into the deep end of the pool. If it keeps me from drowning? I'm not going to sneeze at it. We all have our silly rituals, after all, our empty little patterns that anyone else would look at us strangely for doing but help us keep hold of our sanity. I won't laugh at yours if you don't laugh at mine.

It's sobering, in its way, to sit here waiting to see if anyone will be coming along to rescue me. My parents, at this point, are almost literally on the other side of the globe now. My friends are all thousands of miles away. Just who would think to worry if they hadn't heard from me in days? More notably, just who would bother showing up to gather me and my luggage up? Who cares that much, at this point in my life? And please, don't suggest the crazy ex.

I suspect my shrink -- if I had a shrink -- would consider it worrisome if I admitted that I think the greatest love story of our time may be that of Susan Delgado of Mejis and Roland Deschain of Gilead. I can just see the notes being scribbled in professional concern now, bullet points on my Romeo and Juliet-esque fetish or my self-association with a too-young killer and his doomed love. I only shudder to think they might assume I thought myself anywhere near that important to the fabric of the universe, too.

By the face of my father, I'm not nearly that delusional. If a psychiatric professional is going to worry about anything, they may want to focus properly on the fact that I'm not entirely certain that love exists. I don't doubt affection, familial or otherwise. I don't question friendship. But love, in the deeply romantic sense, true love star-crossed or otherwise? I'm not certain human beings are truly close enough to the divine to manage that, to be truly self-sacrificing without at least subconsciously expecting the reward at the end of what they give. And as for fate...fate is a joke.

So Roland and Susan, imperfect and desperate and hungry for each other, and betrayed by ka in the end of the day? It's a beautiful, achingly perfect love story...and utter, absolute fantasy.

Which, given my particular track record in that regard, probably makes me a manipulative, cynical bastard. I do try not to play on love so much as a Don Juan, for all that I'm admittedly quite fond of flirtation, of the chase, of what comes at the end of that particular chase. I won't shy from the fact that I am more than fond of the allures of the female of the species. But the heat of passion, however often the ubiquitous They would like you to think was deathless love, is not and shouldn't ever be confused for that.

But we are, of course, simply human, alone even in a crowd and desperate for contact and connection we're all fundamentally afraid of opening ourselves to -- and if we open too quickly, you have the choice of being hurt by those who have been driven mad by their own desperate need, or you end up waiting for the shoe to drop and find out fundamentally that you're incompatible on some inarguable point or another. And yet we stand ready to do it again, to throw ourselves into the breach dear friends and dare to hope, even when we know it won't work. To take that last deep breath before jumping into love, hoping that this time it won't be freezing cold, or we won't hit our heads on the bottom.

Some would call that faith. I, on the other hand, can't decide if I should laugh or cry.

As I re-read the last few paragraphs, I clearly need more sleep, and not to re-read Stephen King novels to pass the time on long trips. There's a certain level of cynical bastard I'm comfortable with being, but that's all a bit much even for me.

On the positive side, however, it did help cleanse the palate. I'll leave the emo rantings for another day, secreted in this little black book of mine. For now, I feel actually up to facing finding my new home, meeting my new compatriots, and if I'm lucky, fumbling in and out of love a few dozen times while I give in to those lures again and again. It may hurt, but it's a forbidden fruit that tickles my sweet tooth every time.

I think that's enough waiting, though. I need to walk off some of this nervous energy, and hopefully, I'll stumble across someplace to get a drink on the way.