Fixed and Consequent

[Desdenova]

<font face="Helvetica">The argument ended when the father seized the slender left wrist of the son, lifting in a fluid movement to put a plaque of silver before the boys eyes.

A moment stopped and cold in time. The eyes of the father burning frustration for being as helpless before that piece of metal as the boy, steeped in sorrow for having to face his only son to that harsh reality once more.

The son, oh, he'd forgotten it again. And again and again and again. Forgotten it and there it was again, sneering argent reminder.

Tears burned. Blinded. Tearing his wrist from his fathers grip felt like a knife across them both, yet that time, he couldn't fall into the comfort, the shared pain, of his parent.

Everyone has to grow up. It would be years in the struggle.

Your sister can't go with you this time, Des, you know that.

I don't want her to. Don't you understand? I've taken enough of her life, of your lives, I want to live my own life.

The mother, the father, they both watched him so carefully. As they had all his life. What freedom they could give him was his.

It wasn't enough.

Not even what more the elder sister could grant, wasn't enough. It was freedom forever with the quiet of a guardian never out of arms reach.

It wasn't freedom.

I can do this. Please. Let me go.

A plea without pleading. The son taller than his father now, thin, wiry, a deceptive strength of both body and will. The mother seemed so tiny, so active.

The elder sister a gamins game of curves and chilling smiles. The younger all eyes, eyes as strange as her brothers but more lively.

He thrust his left arm upwards. This time, he showed it to them himself. No more forgetting. No more would he be managed by it, he would manage it. Even if they kept him there. They could, he knew.

The pup was only a month or two old. Tiny bit of fluff and nonsense, white Maltese with her heart of a star. Laying in his little sisters lap, she began to bark.

Barking regular and intent as a metronome, just as he knew he was seeing it before him. Water, then spots of hazed color. All discussion ceased. All movement ceased.

Everything.

He forced himself to sit, dropping to the floor, dark head lowered to his ankles. Waiting.

Inane thoughts spun lucidly in the eternity of instants.

Not now, why now, not when I was trying to find my own path...

Yet in the morning, on the same kitchen table, there rested the acceptance for the internship at the observatory. A credit card, his name, his parents account. The reservations for two months stay at a rooming house. The number for a small experimental lab nearby.

Because of the dog?

Because he stopped hiding from the bracelet...?</font>

[Desdenova]

First Entry, eighteen fourth.

I started this a bit late. A lot late. I suppose I should recap as I remember. It wasn?t easy, convincing Mom and Dad I could do this. Get my own place, work, on my own. I suppose I didn?t want to pick this up again because I didn?t want to document my own failure. It?s been several months, now, though.

I had, I know, a bad habit of forgetting my condition. I didn?t really. I just tried to pretend it wasn?t there. That it?d gone away somehow in the spaces between. I still look at the Medic Alert bracelet and wonder that, if I just threw it away, if everything would go with it, and I would be as normal as I pretend to be.

I know that?s silly, it?s a fancy I?ve had since I was old enough to realize what that bracelet meant.

I guess I must have proved my sincerity to take care of myself. Mom and Dad just stopped one night. The next morning, there was a Visa in my name on their account, a few phone numbers and addresses. Mom just asked me if I wanted or needed help getting there, and I really wanted it, I probably needed it, but I said no.

I know it wouldn?t have been too late to turn back and say I did need help, but I was so afraid that I would and she?d be crying that I didn?t. I?m not sure if that?s growing up or cowardice. Jacqueline?s left home already, a long while ago, but that was all so different.

I make them both cry so much, I have, I mean. They try not to do it in front of me, but I know. I hate that. It?s not me, it?s the condition, but it really doesn?t change things, does it? Their tears are in my name. I can?t dry them.

Then I did it again, leaving. I wanted so much to be independent that I did it again. When I realized what I?d done, I was too afraid to go back. I can feel it there, still, when I look at Mom. I don?t know what to say. I don?t want to make her cry again. I should have done it all differently. But I only know that in retrospect.

Pride. Fear. Anger. I know it?s not justified. It?s there. But who can you be angry at when there?s no one to blame?

It?s so hard to be grateful for what I have when I know it?s so little. It doesn?t ease the sting when someone stares at me in disbelief and says ?you can?t drive?? when all I can say in response is ?no, but I?m alive.?

But on another night, it?s everything. I am alive, it can be so hollow or so full. It just depends on how I feel. I get so jealous to see other people and they don?t even realize how much they have, how fortunate they are, how blessed; then I remember those that didn?t make it alive.

All I have to be is happy. I know that. I believe it. I know my family accepts me any way I am. No matter how this would have turned out.

There?s more, I know there is, past quietly and placidly existing under my parents roof. I wanted to find it. I want to.

[Desdenova]

Is he blind?

A logical question, so many asked it. Eyes with pupils seeming forever fixed open, lightless but not dead. Not blind, though with drawbacks and advantages alike. Movement tracked easily. Details in daylight faded away.

Born differently, you never know that there is something different until it's pointed out by others. Until then, like any other child, parents can do anything. It was a strange moment stopped in time when they couldn't.

They could make everything else happen. Almost.

Running through the cemetary with the other kids, was it like the other kids? Called out to play at twilight, tag, hide 'n' go seek, kick the can, hoops, marbles...

Games kids hardly ever played anymore, with Tonka, Mattel, Sony, and so many others vying for a childs attention. Laughter always sang from the shadows of the dark graveyard. Lights winked, fallen stars, fireflies in a climate that had never seen their like.

Wishing on the stars, watching the lady in the moon, and listening to the kind whisperings of the old, old man when he drew pictures in the sky, dot to dot pictures and told their tales. A constellation so distant that you needed the eyes of a lynx, and with his eyes it was a thread of jewels in a short strand, the Lynx springing from dark to light.

A sighting, as if a brush of soft pelt across his hand in the night. He could only follow.

Not even the stars remained the same after he knew he was different. Years in a single passage of 365 days, years passed without him in them. Waiting research that never could give a clear answer, yet bringing him inevitably into the fascination of such study. The time had to be passed somehow while time passed him by.

To begin all over again knowing too much. From the playgrounds of a cemetary to the schools. Strangers and alive. Another prodigy uncertain of how to deal with those of their own age, but determined to learn.

Is he blind?

A blousy old woman ran the rooming house. Clean and decent, housing, as such places will, a strange collection of beings. Nothing was outlandish here. A new degree in chemistry and the right contacts brought him to the Four Winds.

They knew he wasn't blind.

[Desdenova]

Journal entry 2, eighteen fourth

I was offered the internship at the observatory, but it doesn?t pay. It?s all volunteer work. I wanted to work at the Four Winds, too, a lot, but I hated the thought that I could walk in and they?d hire me the moment I said my full name.

I don?t want to be there because of who I am. I want to be there because of what I am. It bothered me a lot. It bothered me enough that I didn?t apply there for over a week, which meant I had to use Mom and Dads card.

I got a room at a little boarding house. Spirits what a place. It was literally a loony bin run by the patients. Mrs. Bleecher is the sweetest thing in the world, but she?s insane. She can?t distinguish between reality and fantasy, but I came to discover that this is very common in RhyDin.

I know, Mom and Dad and Jacqueline told me all about it, but seeing it for yourself really is something else.

It was clean and decent; however, my room was inhabited by the meanest, most annoying sack of ectoplasm I have ever run into. I could not get through to him at all. Every night, he whined constantly; every time I was out, he tore the place to shreds; he tried to possess me; he was in general the worst roommate anyone could hope to have.

The other ghosts couldn?t stand him, either. They didn?t even empathize with his ire at the living, that?s how bad he was. He finally tried to strangle me while I was sleeping, and I was so fed up that I dealt with him. I?ve never done that before. Dad always said I would run into ghosts like that, but I suppose I didn?t really think of what that would mean.

I don?t like it. It was easy, but I don?t like it. I spent two or three weeks drinking gin straight like the lush Rocky was before I finally could banish the influence. That scared me too, that influence, but Dad was right. It was only temporary, it didn?t give me predilection to becoming an alcoholic.

I only kept what was useful, and there wasn?t much there, sad to say. Rocky tended to hysteria, obsessing over people, hideously needy, manipulative. He wasn?t a suicide, remarkably, but was killed by the angered young man he had last been obsessing over.

I could see it was the only way to keep Rocky off of ones back once he started in with his weird mind games, so really, I didn?t even have the inclination to avenge his death. Logic overrules much more than I ever dreamed.

So all that was left was a brief urge to drink gin and the realization that changing my name would allow people to think I was someone else, no matter who I look like.

I talked to Mom and Dad about it. They agreed. So I changed my identification. Mom?s maiden name is Jones, I use that now. Desdenova Jones. I practiced for hours, my signature. So I wouldn?t accidentally sign my real name. I did, a few times, but it wasn?t too hard to redo.

People don?t really look at things like that, anyhow, and if they do, many times, they still see what you told them they would see.

I met a lady. I don?t remember her name, but I don?t think I?ll ever forget her. She was one of the languid women that come through the Medieval Tavern in droves. Very beautiful, very elegant, very cultured, very boring.

I don?t like to go inside, and she didn?t seem the sort to want to be outside, but she came gliding out to chat with me. She seemed nice. She was intelligent, but she kept asking me about my plans for the night. She told me I looked like a bright and healthy young man, that I must be quite strong. A lot of flattery, really, and inquiries about what I really wanted.

Finally, she told me that she had everything I would ever need for five hundred dollars. By this point, if she was any closer to me, she would have been in my jacket. I gave up moving away from her, she just followed. But I told her I have insurance, which I do, Blue Cross, and she started laughing. A lot.

She was a lot nicer like that, because she had a real laugh, not the weird pigeon cooing sound she?d been making, but a really loud guffawing. She finally said no, she wasn?t selling insurance, she was a prostitute. Which kind of surprised me, I think she?d sell insurance better.

I told her I was sure she was worth more than I could afford, which I hope is a compliment to prostitutes, she thought it was sweet, or seemed to. I think she did, because she stopped following me so closely and just sat back and talked a bit. She really was much nicer like that, I think she could probably get more business, I suppose, as herself, but I?m not really an expert in the subject.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 3, eighteen four

You?d think after all I?ve been through, how many times I?ve sat on a razors edge waiting for test results and knowing already they weren?t going to come out like I wanted, that waiting for the Four Winds to call back would be a breeze.

But I realize now, it was a lot different. This wasn?t a test, it was me. The sum of me. Everything I?ve learned, how well I come across, and I know I don?t, really.

Someone laughed and said Bea had all the personality between she and I, and that really isn?t that far from the truth. It?s just that I couldn?t very well set Bea in my lap to charm the interviewer.

He was a nice man. Barnaby or Barnabus or something; he wasn?t a vampire, but he had the whole tormented by inner demons and morose part down quite well. He alluded of his tragic former life before coming to the Four Winds, but he started laughing when I said I just didn?t want to be an undertaker.

I don?t think he realized that Dad and my sister are. He was a lot more interesting after he stopped being what he was for the straights, too. I?ve noticed that about a lot of people.

Everyone wears masks, Jacqueline told me. That even I do. She said my mask was so perfect because I was so afraid so often that I probably didn?t even realize it was there at all.

I don?t know. I have to hide some things. That?s just the way it is. I met another woman here, in RhyDin, who virtually introduced herself as a witch. She was fascinatingly ill equipped if she actually is one. Perhaps she meant she was a Pagan.

She tried to look past a mask that wasn?t there, and came up with a few things that rather amused me. Reading words that would never be written, or, as Jacqueline said, seeing what she hoped might be beyond the quiet young student facade.

Which would be a quiet young student.

Can shyness and social inexperience be a mask?

I got the job. The pay isn?t too bad, and the hours are nice. They just ask for at least thirty hours a week from me, and they really don?t care when I clock in or out as long as I give them that thirty. They put me under Matilde West, she?s a middle aged woman, divorced with kids.

Matilde set me on my first project. Mainly, explosives, which I enjoyed quite a lot. Sometimes, I will hang out with the other younger employees, but they smoke a lot of... They smoke a lot, and I can?t identify half of it. Apparently, young Miss Fern is keen on genetically engineering cannabis. I get contact highs just walking by her lab.

I don?t usually have to work the cash register in the little apothecary, which is nice. The man that?s supposed to do it full time is usually tearing drunk by noon, and quite vulgar, which upsets me. So Matilde usually lets me off. She likes to work the counter anyhow, since she?s ...Pretty much a good match for the Wicked Witch of the West. It?s funny when the born again Pagans come in and see her behind the counter.

But, having a steady job meant I could finally look for my own place. The rooming house was nice, but they were still looking after me. Taking care of me. That wasn?t what I wanted.

I started working with real estate agents. The first one was a young woman who kept showing me beautifully scenic lots without houses. At night, so I couldn?t even tell if the ground was stable. She seemed to have a serious problem with regulating her tempature. She would stop the car and start unbuttoning her blouse, claiming she was hot. Then she would insist she was cold but just stared at me when I would give her my jacket.

I suggested she see her gynecologist and discuss the possibility of early menopause, and she slapped me.

The next agent was no better, male, older, and constantly insisting we stop at bars before looking at anything. He got into a knock down drag out fist fight with some man he was calling ?Baby? before Baby threw the first punch, and I decided I would take my chances with the newspaper.

While I was walking to the observatory, however, the ghost that exists on the bridge caught up with me. She?s very sweet, I like her. Her name is Anna, if you give her a ride, she?ll direct you to where she used to live and then disappear from your back seat. One of those.

I told Anna what had happened, and she said well, no one lives where I used to live anymore. So we went there, except the place had all but fallen into its own basement. I told her it must have been longer than she thought, but she was very upset by it.

I asked her where she was buried, and the next day I walked there before work to find her grave so I could clean it up and leave some flowers for her. That usually cheers most ghosts up.

It was a little cemetery, it?s very old, and it?s not been in use in a long while. Anna was probably one of the last buried there. It was, frankly, a mess. I was shocked. The caretakers cottage was there, and in good shape. It actually looked like it?d been abandoned in the middle of the night, and never returned to. Everything was still there.

Including everything in the pantry, which was far more terrifying than anything the dead could come up with. I took the jars to Fern, she was delighted. She probably made some new form of LSD.

I found the holding company that was supposed to keep the cemetery in perpetuity, and the lawyer just stared at me and said ?you want it? Fine. Take it.?

Ten minutes later, I was standing outside of the office with a folder, deeds, agreements, tax bonds, title, transfer of deed, and... everything. I really don?t know what happened. What else could I do? I took it all to Dad.

Dad has the most marvelous poker face in the universe, but he failed to use that with me. He laughed. Hilariously. Fate was determined I keep a hand in the family business. I told him I wanted more little brothers and sisters and would enlist Alice to my cause. Two kids whining has more power than one, after all.

Dad does buy old cemeteries in danger of falling through the cracks, as it were. He usually makes deals that ensure that they pay for themselves, of course, he?s not that altruistic, but he wouldn?t dump one for not being able to work some deal with the local community to keep the cemetery well kempt.

I have no idea how that works. Dad straightened out the paperwork, though, and said it was a pretty sweet deal all said. What it means to me, though, is that the fund pays me a certain amount monthly to keep up the grounds, and I?m sure it?s in Mom and Dads estate now, but technically, it is mine.

It?s a disgraceful mess. There was a reflecting pool, it was pretty much a swamp. The two will o? wisps that live there, Ogopini and Gus, were upset when I had a dredger run through it, but I had the dredger leave their little lair be. They?ve become loyal and affectionate friends.

Almost too loyal and affectionate, they misconstrued Fae?s visit and led her right into their lair. Fortunately, however, Fae thought it was funny and of course, she didn?t drown.

I?m getting a little ahead of myself. I suppose it doesn?t matter, I sometimes wonder why I keep these at all. It?s embarrassing to go back and read my older journals, but I promised Mom I wouldn?t erase years ago when I first started to keep them. She said that eventually, I would be very glad I didn?t.

I suppose I?m borrowing hindsight. I try to keep all of my promises, this one is not too difficult to keep. Most of my promises have been like that. I never gave it a second thought. But I?m getting ahead of myself again.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 4, Eighteen Four

I met Fae, and I met Zane. Fae reminded me so much of Mom, it was scary. And sometimes embarrassing, because I don?t think she much saw me as a son. Zane doesn?t remind me of anyone I know already, but she almost always could make me laugh, but she never set out to do it. Which is probably why she can do it.

I broke my ankle, and Fae fixed it. It hurt, though, her healing. It triggered a mild seizure, but she either didn?t notice it or didn?t remark on it. Either way, she didn?t go hysterical that I did so. That was one of the nicest things anyone?s ever done for me.

After I got the cemetery and house, I found a lady I really had only met once telling me she would go shopping with me and she would pay for everything. That really scared me. I hardly knew this woman, she was old enough to be my mother, she had a daughter, and here she was, virtually setting up house with me.

I asked Fae about it, and she said it was common. Some people feel they can one way or another buy your affections. She said I should just let the woman buy whatever she wanted for me and continue about my business as I liked. That was a little too creepy for me, though I do think I am sufficiently mercenary to do so, the lady apparently was experienced enough in this sort of ?courtship? to know how to get her intended's address.

No, thank you. I don?t need anything so badly that it would entail having a woman like that on my front step. Especially since she thought it was so awful I was living in a graveyard. I don?t see what?s bad about that. I admit, it?s in bad shape now, and probably will be for a while, but it once was very beautiful, and will be again.

The strangest thing was that when this woman saw me talking to another young woman, she became angry. I try, and I try far too hard, I know, to see people who are becoming more affectionate than friendship can account for as friends anyhow. Yet still. I hardly knew this woman. I was no more anything to her than anyone else.

She left, I haven?t seen her since. I dread writing at all about her in the fear she will pop up again and start making the dreadfully maudlin comments about all whom she has loved leaving her.

How can she love someone she doesn?t know? It just doesn?t make any sense. If I am one of those horrible men who has broken her heart, I?m sorry, but that?s all I am. I didn?t want or ask for her love. I just want friends.

It is very easy to strike up acquaintances with the women here. I thought it was nice, but alarming. It was always alarming. How many times have I made friends with a girl only to suddenly find her boyfriends fist in my face, after all? Those are some old journal pages I don?t want to see again.

The worst part of that was never the fist. It wasn?t even when Jackie would swoop in like some avenging angel and beat the snot out of the boyfriend. It was the way the girl would always turn away from me.

It was always more important to have even the most idiotic bone head as a boyfriend, a lover, than it was to have a friend. By the time I started to see the people I went to school with growing out of it, I just didn?t want anything to do with them.

I suppose that?s harsh, but so is a cracked jaw for talking to someone about that nights homework. Some apologized. Some tried to pretend it was just kid stuff, and others insisted they didn?t remember. I just don?t care. Loyalty is more important than anything else, and mine was rewarded quite literally with the back of a lot of hands.

Perhaps I need to do the growing up and forgive and forget. Realize that there was some strange hormonal thing powering their outbursts, which it probably was, but I just can?t. Maybe it?s because I?ve never felt that.

I can?t fathom that much of a loss of control. I see it all the time, now more than ever, and it repels me. I suppose in the repelling there is a fascination, though it?s like picking through a puddle of slime.


I met Lola, she?s like a corvax, but not. Her skin rips open to show the wings, feathers, but I don?t know if she has other forms of raven. She was undergoing some sort of oestrus cycle.

I could smell it, of course. People with noses less sensitive than mine could, a few were-wolf sorts, mainly. It was... I really can?t see how anyone can exist like that. She seemed in control of herself, thankfully.

I have to remind myself that they are different beings, though it still confuses me. Most weres take great pains with their human appearance, they use it to their advantage, and yet one sniff of pheromone, and it?s all gone out the door.

[Desdenova]

Journal entry 5, eighteen fourth

Lola is nice, though, I like her. She gave me a shadow in the form of a dragon for Christmas, I named him Flinx. He and Bea get into a terrible lot of trouble together, and have a wonderful time with it.

I was glad it was a shadow, because Dad?s got that phobia of dragons. Even after all these years, but I suppose you don?t just get over being bitten in half by one. He doesn?t mind so much when they?re dead, of course, and he just snorted a bit at Flinx. But he laughed a few times when Flinx was playing in the tree.

I sometimes wonder a lot about what Dad really feels about me. This. I know he loves me and would do anything for me, but I sometimes feel like I?m an utter betrayal just by what I am. I don?t want to be a mortician. I don?t think I can carry on the family name.

I?m a mage. A wizard. The very thing that got Dad stuck in that dragons mouth however long ago. What yanked Dad out of his life and into a literal hell.

I have to keep that hidden to begin with, that?s just the way it is. Even so, I don?t even do anything in the house, out of sight. I took courses in chemistry to match alchemy. So it would be more normal for Dad, really. Though the chemistry helps the alchemy and vice versa.

I just don?t like knowing I?m more trouble than I have to be. I wonder what kind of a son Dad really would have wanted, if you could just go and pick out precisely the child you dreamed of. Jacqueline is, has always been, exactly perfect.

Maybe a male Jacqueline. Interested in the family business, self confident and outgoing, brilliant, stylish, sensible. No magic. Healthy.

Sometimes I wonder if that?s not why I?m always nagging for more siblings, but I?m sure they?re afraid that whatever happened to me is genetically linked to my sex. There?s been no proof of that, but there?s no proof of anything else, either.

I just wish I was brave enough to ask. So many things, but I never have the nerve. Jackie always seems to know when I?m upset over something, sometimes she waits until I say, other times she speaks up, and she says, Des, we?re family. There?s nothing in the world you can really hide from us.

So Mom and Dad probably already know all this, and maybe they?re just waiting for me to be able to bring it up. They do that a lot. Builds character, I suppose. I suppose mine wants a lot of building.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 6, Eighteen Fourth

Sometimes, I feel like I?m documenting the people I?ve met. As if maybe that?s going to define who and what I?ve been. I guess it does, in ways.

Dr. and Dr. Geemis are in charge of the observatory. They own it, run it, everything, though it is supported largely by a grant from a large university. It?s smartly up to date and it?s well away from any light pollution.

It was kind of annoying that I was set to doing what I?m already good at, which is reading and interpreting charts. It?s good on one hand, because I do get a fair amount of money from drawing astrological charts, and those are the charts I need to define the astrologies; but it?s irritating on the other hand, because I want experience with other facets of the science.

The Geemis?s are Barbie and Ken. That?s not their names, but they should be named that. It?s Debbi and Brent, which is close enough. They look like Barbie and Ken. They try to act and talk like a couple of Star Trek Vulcans, and then they fight like Punch and Judy.

They fight a lot. Loudly. Screaming. Throwing things. I can ignore it for a while, I?m usually the last one to walk out in disgust, but it?s incredible to me that they would let their personal issues follow them to work like they do.

They even got into a fight when the university had sent over people to see what they were investing in so heavily. I thought, finally. Someone will take those two aside and explain that you cannot get anything done like this.

No. The people sent out sat down with the Geemis?s and had a group therapy session.

It actually helped, but that meant that the Geemis?s were in their adoring mode for over a week straight, and I decided that I like it better when they?re fighting. Every time I looked over at the VLA controls, it looked like a pair of dogs humping.

One night, Angel, he blew a fuse and was stomping out bellowing in Spanish as I was walking in. He grabbed my arm and marched off with me, right to his church, and I had to sit in a pew and watch him lighting candles and praying for an hour.

The strange thing was that he was praying for me, which I really didn?t understand until Theresa explained that the Geemis?s were fornicating on my desk when Angel came in.

I didn?t ask why Theresa was just watching. I really don?t want to know. I don?t want to know why the Geemis?s didn?t care that she was watching, either.

I definitely prefer it when they?re fighting.

I met a paladin, a lady, older. I had to be very careful with her, because though she was fascinating and all, she was also a Christian paladin of yore. Magic was, of course, evil in her eyes.

That gave me so much to think on. It kept me dwelling on my relationship with Dad, though I know, he?s only religious in his own way.

She was conscripted or consecrated to slaying vampires, which was fine with me. I made her some hand bombs, I made sure I didn?t go technologically too far past what she knew already.

She was one of the few older people I?d met here, and I can?t remember her name, I?m sorry to admit. I know she had a crush on one of the other knights, it was sweet to see. She didn?t lose her dignity over it, and when I told her she looked pretty in a dress she wore, she blushed a little.

I don?t know what happened to her. Horam thinks she?s dead or returned to her place.

Horam is a minotaur. But I?m getting ahead of myself with people again.

I met Cam. I met another girl whose name I can?t remember, but she seemed to follow me everywhere for a while and she didn?t like Fae. I met Greason and Raven. Actually, I met a lot of people, mostly through Fae, and I don?t always remember their names.

There are a lot of gay males here. A lot. Even growing up in Hollywood and then spending a long time near San Francisco did not prepare me for just how gay these males are. I think they would embarrass even Queen Kitty LaBombe.

I remember her funeral. His funeral, really, but that?s not what he presented to the world, so it was her funeral. It was sad because her family didn?t even bother to send flowers. On the other hand, it was one of the biggest funerals that even Dad had ever seen.

Kitty was only in her forties when she passed away, but it wasn?t AIDs or anything like that. She had muscular dystrophy, complications from that finally killed her.

That didn?t keep her down. Death didn?t. Nothing could. Kitty?s incredibly vivid. She would laugh and say yes, hell yes, some nights, it hurt so much just to sit up she thought she was going to die right then, but she still got up and dolled up and went out on stage.

She had pulled off her own veil and was trying to get to her club less than a month after she was buried. I don?t think that surprised anyone. She was disappointed that the condition finally had run its course, though the moment she realized there wasn?t any pain, I swear the entire graveyard lit up like a beacon.

Kitty and the old man that doesn?t remember his name always were my favorites.

Though that?s getting away from what I was thinking. You just can?t get any more flaming than Kitty, and she would be embarrassed in RhyDin. Even dead, sometimes it?s just Vincent, and it?s funny how quiet and gentle he is when you realize he?s Kitty.

The ones in RhyDin, they just don?t seem to understand very much about the entire culture, I guess. It?s not really a seperate thing, it can?t be, I mean, it?s not like they?re from Planet Gay and have no earthly contact with the breeders.

Most are really under the impression that they?re not only more glittery than Lisa Frank sneezing on the Cockettes, but that they?re dangerous somehow. A lot are skinnier than I am, most are shorter, and meeting them, it?s amusing to watch them deciding I?m obviously a victim.

Some are weres, some are vampires. Some are other things that inevitably choose to make themselves as unattractive as possible, and it amazes me that people of actual good looks will assure them they look fabulous. That?s usually women, and I wonder if they?re not just taking proxy vengeance on the head cases that design fashions for them.

They seem to fall into two classes. The ones who are openly playing predator, and the ones who are trying to be fluffy. The predatorial ones inevitably get sulky and creep off when confronted, the fluffy ones will whine constantly if they are not immediately accepted.

Actually, I suppose it?s about the same thing.

It?s fairly common, too, to find people who think you should immediately warm up to them because they?re so nice. I don?t think it?s very nice to insist that other people stop being what they are just so you can prove to the world you?re that nice.

I keep running into that. It bothers me. Not because I think I should change my ways, but because others think there?s something wrong with me because I don?t care to touch people I don?t know well. That I need to know them before I?m open with them.

It?s hard to think that someone is nice enough to get to know when they?re whining and complaining that I?m not accepting them as a long lost brother or sister in less than an hour.

The worst part is knowing that brother or sister is really the last thing they want. I don?t believe I should sacrifice myself, what I believe and what I feel, for people who are that selfish.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 7, Eighteen Fourth

Then I met Eliza and her boyfriend, Mite. And one of her ex boyfriends who wanted to kill her or something. The fact that he was still breathing should have told me more than it did.

Because I thought, I really did, that she was like me. She wasn?t, and I suppose that?s really all I should say about it.

I just didn?t, I still don?t, understand. Friends help each other, that?s what I?d always thought.

I can?t, I won?t keep a promise if I feel like the one that asked it of me is only using that promise to keep from getting real help. I tried to keep those promises, but I couldn?t.

Jackie said that I shouldn?t, and no one should ask me for my silence, either. If someone needs your silence, they should be paying a hell of a lot for it, and never do anything that knowledge of would silence you. It was a hellish lesson to learn.

When I was in high school, everyone was whispering about Dorsey Flannery. Dorkus, a lot of the kids liked to call him, which I thought was pretty stupid. He was a dork, but that wasn?t his name.

I wrote all about this, a lot of things, before, but it?s like Mom said. Sometimes, looking back over time brings things more clearly to light. That the glare of the sun can blind you until you let it fade in your mind enough to see detail.

Dorsey was mean, his parents didn?t care, it?s practically a case history writing itself. He couldn?t compete in his bullying against the senior students and it shocked me at the time badly when I came in to school to hear all the kids whispering that Dorsey had his dad?s gun and was going to blow away Mike Henkle.

I remember writing about it. I was so stunned. My hands shook for days. I couldn?t go back to class for over a week. It really scared me.

What scared me, I know, was not that some idiot would or could randomly bring a weapon to bear like that. It was that all those people knew, and all they had to do was speak up. They knew. All they did was hiss and whisper to each other about it.

No one had the courage to tell someone that could do something about it. They all played into a bizarre game of victims, accomplices, denial, and cowardice.

A lot were excited about it. It was terrifying, how stupid they all were. Here was an entire grade, practically, unable to act because they were sworn to secrecy. Fourth and fifth hand, in some cases.

I never knew what I would have done, because Dorsey dropped the pistol out of his jacket right in front of the history teacher. I wasn?t there, but I was told that they thought she was going to drill him full of lead when she picked it up.

I never knew what I would have done, if I had been told before it was discovered. I thought about it a lot. Made up a lot of heroic and dashing escapades for it. It was all fascinating in its own way, but I never knew what I would do.

I?ve been spiteful and mean to people who?ve broken their word to me. I?ve expected no less for a broken word, that?s why I try to never break mine.

I know, now. I know I would have spoken up. It made me feel terrible that I had spoken up. It was worse. I broke a promise to someone I cared for. I had no other choice.

I didn?t really know her then, but no one I did know was there, and Cam was willing to listen. She?s so much like Jackie, it?s almost scary. She even looks like Jackie.

Cam told me there wasn?t anything wrong with what I?d done. That a real friend will know when to break a promise. She said that a real friend wouldn?t cut you down for what you?d done. They wouldn?t ask for silence in the first place.

I was beginning to feel everything I?d learned was a lie. It was good to know that it wasn?t.

[Desdenova]

Journal Entry 8, Eighteen Fourth


I was invited to a Halloween masquerade. Five, really. I went as Harlequin to the first one. I didn?t want to unmask, after being Harlequin for an evening... It was so hard to just be me again. No, it was easy. It was heartbreaking, how easy; I couldn?t find the flame again.

Maybe the mask is me. I put on the mask, and I was someone, something, else. Harlequin doesn?t worry about seizures, work, partial mobia syndrome, anything. Harlequin never spent nine or ten hours with his skull opened up, never had surgeons and doctors discussing the oddities of his case until he wanted to scream, never...

Harlequin was never me.

I wanted so much to be what didn?t want to be me, it?s so strange.

When I think of it now, it?s not like I?m remembering what I did that night at all. I wasn?t me until midnight. It?s like I?m watching an old movie, and the actor was so incandescent of life, the film couldn?t hold him.

Incandescent. That?s it, exactly. Light, life. Burning but eternal. Ironic. It?s so ironic.

?Call me Desdenova, eternal light?.

To be that, without a mask, without a costume... I wish I knew how. ?You have all the time in the world? Mom says. Maybe I do, but I still look up at the stars from here on the earth; a little silver chain holds me anchored to a hard reality.

I had to leave soon after midnight. Bea started barking, but I was already seeing my aura. It?s big glassy bubbles of colored light. There?s some real irony. It?s so pretty.

I knew I wouldn?t make it home, so I went to the Four Winds. Fern came in after me, she knows the look on my face, she says, but she wasn?t able to get to me in time. I smacked into the counter on my left cheek. I hit it so hard, I woke up sometime the next day in the hospital.

I wonder if it was a price to pay. If I had somehow been touched by Harlequins precense, and... I don?t know. Harlequin isn?t like that, I know. It just felt like another big heaping serving of irony.

Take off the mask, and do a facer into reality.

So, for the rest of the parties, I dressed as Eric, the Phantom of the Opera.

Zane made a little angel dog costume for Bea. It was so cute, I put it on her I?m embarrassed to say how many times and took dozens of photos. Sometimes I tell people I?m destined to be one of those creepy people who carries their dog everywhere and dresses it up.

I do, actually. I laughed when Cam got disgusted with another would be boyfriend and insisted that she was going to get a lot of cats and be a crazy cat lady.

At Zanes party, oh Spirits. Horam dressed as a bull fighter. El Matadore. He?s a minotaur. A huge, warrior, prejudiced, mean minotaur. I blamed the results of a brawl on Horam to a cop. I don?t know what was funnier. The fact that Horam would have been pleased with the audacity or that the cop was new and didn?t believe me when I said it was a minotaur.

Horam danced with Miss Tyg a lot. And really well! Miss Tyg is usually a very large white tiger, and she?s terribly nice and very comforting, but she decided to take her human form, and dressed up as a goofy bunny. I thought Horam was going to choke when she unmasked.

I teased him about it until he started throwing salsa at me. Zip, one of Zanes friends, was there, but he?d made himself into Mr. Hyde. He?s a vampire, a Tremere, I think, and for a leech, he?s all right.

I met Zip when we were watching one of Zanes would-be suitors making an ass of himself. I wasn?t sure if I would meet him. I?d heard about him. I knew exactly how far I can throw him. It was useful to know.

I got into a mock arguement with him, Eric versis Mr. Hyde. It was hilarious. I suppose once I put on a mask, it?s just that easy to be what it is.