I hear itaround me—a crunch of gravel underfoot, the cries of clovers over-trodden.
Someone's near.
Slowly I get off my bed, tucking in Tim with my blanket.
My instincts prick, the dark pressing against the edges of the yurt.
I fumble my way by the door, my fist clutching in abated death.
A haggard sigh and a fall to the ground.
Who is it.
I reach for one of the covered light globes and step out of the yurt slowly.
It's all black now.
Lying down amongst a pile of various brown-stained broken bottles, her shadow leans against our house.
Ileane?
Catching my nerves I lie down next to her.
Is she here to rob me.
She offers me a drink.
I guess not.
"No thanks, I've got a kid to worry about now."
"Your loss, bud."
She takes a drawn sip of her clouded brewery and exhales openly; liquid spraying, air wettens, carried forth by a resignated shudder of empty breath. Scorn. Envy. Regret. It's all told by her coloured but flavourlessly bland expression; The kind you see of yourself reflected in others.
Enjoying that tasteless drink? I'd bet much on not. I deeply sink. Further into the wall, my shirt catches.
Building up my courage, I turn to face her.
Her face is red though, a full-on danger.
"So, Ileane, it was, right? You don't seem fine, you right?" My tongue asks, pointing at her.
"No, I'm just fucken great." She scowls back.
Nodding sympathetically I continue.
"Ain't we all."
My lecherous hand grabs at one of the cracked bottles of alcohol drink.
Backward.
Forwards.
Back again.
I roll it.
For amusement. Relief. Or antagonism.
I don't actually know much about her,but, she clearly needs help. And I need an adult to talk to, sorry Tim.. But I need to unwind.
"So…" I openly initiate.
She growls back.
I'll wait. You have to announce your scent as someone safe before you go in for the fluffy pets, I convince myself. My shadow staring right back up at me.
Sitting here in a drunken quiet, my mind sours with preserved sadness. Fermented thoughts stale slow, turning rot before I cork them back. Packing full my bottled case, of tin-canned joy, a bitter taste.
An hour passes.
Maybe not, but my clock resumes when she finally talks.
"I just want them to see me for who I am, not what I can provide, you know," she says, dribbling words out-between dripping gulps.
"I'm sure many guys would be accepting of who you are."
"You wouldn't understand. Have you even met those guys before?"
"Well, maybe not the drunkard dudes you hang out with, but there are plenty all over the world."
"Ouch."
"So, are you talking about yourself here? You charmer."
"No, of course not. I just met you. Can't I just have a chat with you and not wanna sex you up?"
She tuts.
"Yeah, you're too ugly for me anyway."
"See, you are looking for someone based on just their appearance, you hypocrite."
"Hey, can't a girl just want everything she wants; no repercussions?"
"Do I even need to hazard a legitimate answer to that?"
"I knew you wouldn't understand it." her hand moves swift, grabbing out, holding my bottled hand tightly still.
I speak my wisdom further, remaining unfased.
"Well. I think you want the exact same things as those guys you're making fun of. I think they have their wants and needs just as you do; and I think you just have different ways to express that need."
Blurp.
With that hand she covers her mouth.
Her face reddens.
"Hey, aren't you listening? I'm giving you real sage advice here."
"Tsk. I don't want yer advice; I want to complain about life. You're supposed to just go ahead and agree with me."
"Why?"
"Think for yourself for a second here. If you picked up everyone's burden in the world ever had, what does that make you?" She grumbles.
"I dunno. A bitch?"
"Well, if you want to be direct, yes. I was gonna say instead: "A singular boot, hollowed out for everyone else to wear, to take you where they want, on their terms, on their time." I grab at one of the broken bottles bases and look through at her with a big glassy eye.
"What about the other boot?" I ask dryly.
"Oh, it's long gone, worn out and no longer part of the set. Or it changed so much that they don't recognize each other anymore."
"And what of the wearer?" I gesture enigmatically.
"Are you making fun of my comparison? I was just trying to explain myself to you in a simple, easy-to-understand way that even yonk's arse could get."
"Well it was pretty bad.
Butt Hell - you don't need to explain yourself to me; your feelings don't have to be logical to be important to you." I scratch my elbow.
"In my life's experience, it's often those who display themselves as the most logical and apathetic to the world and the suffering of others, that operate on the most emotional impulses.
Internal regulation and acceptance of those parts of yourself are usually the first steps to controlling your emotions."
My lone finger touches her forehead.
"So, that being said, what's on yer mind?"
"Well, I like that you're listening to me. Engaging. Not many people do; they just ignore, sit quietly or agree with me or also deflect by talking about other things. That happens too. You have a way with words, so I'll tell you a bit about myself." She scratches her thigh.
"I used to be a farmgirl. It was just me, my older sister, and our parents on the farm. We were cattle ranchers, you see, bred various spirit animals for selling. I could tell you all the species bred to get you a specific flavor. We dealt with rare and exotic tames too."
"Well, that was 'til they came: some independent heretics fleeing from the demonic persecution we housed them, took them in for a couple of days since they were injured."
She clears some phlegm in her throat and resumes her story.
"What thanks did we get but two dead parents and stolen goods?"
"I never understood why our parents let them in.
Stupid, stupid choice.
They brought it on themselves. Useless bunch, fucken deserved their death they did. Those rats almost killed us too, if not for my sister saving the two of us."
"And Just like that" Poof, she gestures a hand explosion.
"we were orphaned and taken to a faraway town. In times to come, we got bullied, beaten, and malnourished too, but I was always taken care of by my older sister. She stood up and defended me."
"You see, my sister" Her hand lets go of the bottle and shields her wrinkling face.
"—I had a crush on her when I was little, okay! only one I've ever had. She was the only one who stood up for me, you see. But I knew it was wrong. I was at a dark time in my life where that didn't matter to me; all I wanted was that self-satisfaction, I thought she would provide."
"I did something to her that I regret even now. I was young at the time; Stupid. I didn't know better, I keep telling myself."
"Should I be concerned?"
"Oh heavens no. I would never! I just confessed my feelings to her, that's all. But?..."
"But what?"
"She rejected them of course. After that she slowly changed, became very religious and strict, and didn't want to associate with me any longer. She got angrier too. Then, slowly over the years, we became ever-distant."
"How did that make you feel?"
"..."
I change my question.
"How old were you at the time?"
"I was 10, and she was 10 too."
"That's ridiculously young, and was she your twin or at least you seemed very close in age? Have you ever considered that the fact she became like that wasn't because you confessed to her but because of the circumstances you were in?" I frown leaning closer.
"I, well, no, that wouldn't be it. My sister was perfect, resilient, and not afraid to stand up for me. She knew everything."
"Maybe that's all she ever let you see. Think about it—the children here at the school, I don't think any of them would be able to wander the lands with their siblings and protect them from all the threats: kidnappers, slavers. I'm sure such a job isn't easy."
"No, they're kids, too young."
"But weren't you also that age?" I counter.
"That… that was different. How to explain it… I-I… I just can't. But no, it's just impossible. She would've told me; I would've noticed if she felt that way." she responds stammering.
"You would be surprised. People often see only what they want to, and people only show what they want to too."
"The motivations of others cannot be easily read, understood, or interpreted. Especially if you think you know a person. You only had a version of her you remembered from your past; that wasn't the current her but the her you remember. You had built a vision of her tied to those memories and what they meant to you, that you lost sight of what and who she really was."
"If that was the case then how do you ever really know someone." She scoffs.
"That's just the answer, you really are never sure."
"It's all awareness. Not to make a judgment once and stick with it, but to constantly recontextualise the world around you."
You see It's often hard to reconcile the fact that people can rapidly change in the ways you least expect, and because you have already built up an image of who they are, if they don't live up to that image in your head, then you often feel discomfort, confusion, or even anger in ways you can't explain, for reasons you can't explain too but try to justify anyway."
I point in her face showing her my four fingers.
"For example, if it were me in her position, I wouldn't want you to see that side of me for various reasons:
- To protect you from the world,
- To make you more willing to follow my lead,
- To experience struggle myself,
- To keep your view of the world innocent.
You would be surprised how many conflicting ideas and motives drive people's actions, so you shouldn't feel too bad. You're not responsible for her change; she is also an autonomous individual who can make her own decisions now. And so are you."
"I, uh, never thought of it that way before. It seems so obvious now that you say it, but it still feels wrong." She itches at her nose.
"Wrong?"
"So, are you telling me that the reason I'm so lonely is that I've never found a partner or person who surpasses this image of perfection I had for my sister?
Even though I thought I grew past that childish crush, I still have that emotional attachment to her. It was that very memory of what she made me feel that I clinged onto as a comparison of what I value in others. That security, vulnerability, reliability, relatability that I could feel."
I shrug.
"Maybe, maybe not, I'm not so sure."
"That's even worse! Why don't you have the answers? You're making me think of things I've never thought of before; it's tiring."
I look away from her and apologise.
"I'm sorry."
"Tsk. So, at the end of the day, not even you, a random stranger, can help me."
She throws a bottle. It whistles briefly before shattering against the cornerstone of Shakie's well-buried grave. Glass trickles down, cutting holes into the open clover-field grassland.
Then she hangs her head in what I see, is shame.
"So then explain it to me: tell me what it is that you really want out of life then." I cross my arms gentle, non-judgmental but curious.
"I"
"..."
"I guess I don't know. I must seem like a loser to you, desperately clinging to the idea of all the things I want out of life, but unsure what it really is I'm searching for. Fulfillment, intimacy, love, surely—but I can't be fucked to make any changes to make it happen anymore."
"And even if I did receive it, as you said, now I'm not even so sure that it will reach the expectations of those feelings I had.
I could be very well too focused on the chase of hunting my prey of so-called hopes and dreams. Even if I caught it with my two hands, I wouldn't know what to do with it.
Would I prefer the satiation of eating it, or let it go and start chasing it all over again? I must be no less different than a hungry predator chasing my prey."
"That makes sense to me for the most part." I let out a deep hum.
"What? What don't you agree with?" she crinkles her nose back up at me.
"Well, the thing is, I like to think that being aware of our love for the hunt makes us a little different from those… 'other's'. Better. More humane or just different I haven't decided yet, but let me tell you how I see things now."
I pause; the next words I attach together with tremendous care, thinking carefully before I speak in absolutes.
"Dreams. They seem like an escape to me—you have them, they can carry you to your destination, yes, but also they can get crushed.
Why rely on something so fickle?
Consider this, even the best outcome to having such a wild ambition leads you to a destination. Once there you simply stop moving forward. This is complacency.
On the other hand, if you never reach your dream, your actions can falter too, losing meaning… but what they never lose is purpose.
To me, purpose is the only thing that truly matters. All actions have a purpose, but not all actions have meaning. It isn't tied to motive or result; it's a constant state of being.
Always hungry."
A small grin grows on her face, and she punches my shoulder. "You little rascal, looking down on everyone and the world like that. No wonder everyone talks mad shit about you behind your back."
The fuck? Who's talking shit about me? No, Play it cool. I mustn't lose my integrity now.
"Oh yeah, I think I heard them say a couple of things. Well, I can't remember now; I'm too bothered with other more important things."
"You liar." She punches my arm again. "Stop trying to be cool. It's all good. If you want the truth, I like this side of you, dude."
"Thanks for listening." I spitefully respond, eyes narrowing on her wet chin.
"They are right though. You won't last long in this world overthinking everything like that. I'm amazed a person like you even exists. Say, Do you want to be friends? It seems like you need some of them right now."
"Ah yes, I'm the one who's desperate for friends, but I guess a hand as good as yours wouldn't hurt me in any way."
She holds her hand out and spits in it.
I do the same.
We shake.
Everywhere I look, I see parts of myself and wonder: Are we truly as unique as we think, or is it just that suffering is a universal part of the human experience.
Either way, I hope neither of us wash our hands—just for tonight. That's all I want at this moment.
"Names Desmond Darker" I keep my grip tight.
"Irene. Jones" She simply responds by crushing my hand tighter, just before letting go.
She sputters, mumbling until she finds her words unclogged. "Oh, good luck finding that body from earlier, Desmond."
I almost Jump from my seat.
"Wasn't that your job!"
"Was til I stalked up all the wrong predators, told I should take the rest of the day off to, what was it Jiord said, re-prioritise my priorities or some shit, said that those goons weren't ones to mess with."
"I see, so do you have any advice for me then detective?"
"Detective, I like the sound of that. To you well, I think that Todd fella is super suspicious. He definitely knows something or is hiding something too—always lurking around that guy. Sends shivers down my spine. Creepy."
"I'll act on that information. Thank you sincerely, friend Ileane."
She raises her bottle at me as I slowly walk away, heading over the mound.
She continues to drink away the night.
Maybe she'll forget all this by morning. Maybe she'll forget to wash her hands by sunrise too.
If only.
If only you didn't say 'that' name to me, If only I could sleep properly, so I too could keep my end of this promise.
I take another step, in the darkness, approaching town again.
There never was rest for the wicked.