Robert’s Reality

    Rosalyn leaned in the corner made by the intersection of a wall and a row of lockers. All around her, she heard the chatter of early morning high school. Little snippets of conversation—much of it not even in English—and none of it particularly appealing.

    Two cheerleaders in skimpy uniform walked by, not noticing the shadow in the corner, loudly gossiping and laughing as one stopped at her nearby locker. Rosalyn pressed her head against the cool tile wall.

    “But can you believe her? I heard she’s actually dating him.” one cheerleader said and flicked her razor-straight blonde hair over her shoulder.

    “Shut up! Robert? Are you for real?”

    “Uh, yeah. I saw them in the playground after school.”

    “That’s, like, so kindergarten!”

    “I know! I tell you, what that girl needs is a makeover and a good trip to the mall.”

    “And to dump the fag.” The first cheerleader peered in the mirror in her locker and put on some lip gloss. She tossed the gloss in her locker and closed it. They went down the hall, still laughing and gossiping.

    Rosalyn didn’t move. Her hands were tight fists. Makeover, indeed! A lady didn’t need to be painted to feel accepted, unlike those tramps!

    “Hey, Ros.”

    “Huh? Wha—oh.” Rosalyn looked around and gave a halfhearted wave in return, not recognizing who had called.

    “Are you all right? Where’s Robert?”

    Rosalyn took in the speaker fully. “Oh, Jolie,” she mumbled, recognizing the girl before her. She wore a black shirt that bore in white print the phrase: “People like you make people like me need therapy.” Her hair was dark brown, dyed to red at the tips, and she wore a safety pin necklace.

    “Oh, he’s sick today.”

    “I’m sorry.”

    “It’s all right. I’m just thinking…”

    “Well, suit yourself. You really don’t look happy. Is it just ‘cause Rob’s not here, or is there something you should tell me?”

    “Why do people have to talk about other people?” Rosalyn replied abruptly.

    “Because people aren’t inherently noble. Because it makes us feel better—and what else would we talk about, anyway? The weather?”

    “But why to they have to be so mean?” Rosalyn hung her head.

    “Welcome to reality, Ros. Life’s no fairy tale with a cute meaning. Never has been.”

    “You’re wrong, Jolie. Happy endings do exist.”

    Jolie shook her head. “The only ending is death—and I don’t think that fits your ‘happy’ criteria. Ros, maybe it’s time you stopped playing pretend like a three-year-old and just accepted life as the hell it is. You’re in the twenty-first century. You’re in high school. You’re not a noble lady; you’re just an obstinate bitch.”

    “You know I don’t like that language.”

    “Sorry. But it’s just a word, you know.”

    “Leave me,” Rosalyn muttered and slid along the wall, crumpling into a heap.

    “Look, Ros, you’ll be a lot happier if you learn to accept that bad things happen and your knights never existed—real knights were just as rude as guys are today. Sometimes you’ve just gotta go with it. You’re just asking to be hurt, for someone to take your little glass unicorn vision and dash it to the cold, stone floor of reality. If you’re just a little callous, nothing’ll hurt you so bad. And if you ask me, you and Rob are hurting each other by playing to your fantasies. The real world’s not like that.” Jolie walked away, leaving Rosalyn to her misery.

    Still in his flannel pajamas printed with dragons, Robert sat by his window. School would be getting out about now, he thought. He had a fountain pen and some craft parchment in his hand while a bottle of Tylenol and a thermometer sat on his windowsill.

    He saw movement outside his window. “My sweet lady!” he gasped and clutched the windowsill, knocking the bottle to the carpet. “Oh, precious Rosalyn, stop and stay a while. Your knight misses you.” Robert knew she could not hear him, but still he prayed. Yet she did not even look his way. He looked down at the parchment. He’d started a tender letter, but, lacking words, had drawn some gallant pictures in the margins.

    Rosalyn was no longer in sight. Carefully, writing around the drawings, Robert finished his letter and folded it. Then he stumbled back to bed and buried his face in the pillow until his mom came to take his temperature.

    The next morning, Rosalyn walked past Robert’s house, continuing along her way to school. Robert glanced out the window as he pulled his sweater over his arms. “My lady?” he gasped aloud. He took up his backpack without further thought and ran out the door without so much as a farewell to his mother in the kitchen. “Rosalyn, wait!”

    “Does time wait? If I tell death to wait, will it for my pleasure?”

    “Rosalyn, what’s come over you?”

    “It’s what’s come off me. Do you know what? There aren’t really any knights or ladies or dragons. Not one. Just—just death and darkness and despair. Each pitiful soul clawing each other to get a little more for itself before it rots to nothing. And for what?” Rosalyn stared at her feet.

    “For glory. For honor and all that is wonderful! My lady, you must not lose faith.”

    “Faith is foolish.”

    “Why do you scorn me, my lady?”

    “Because you are a deluded little boy, Robert. Grow up and see the world—watch the news for once in your life and see what really happens. Death, war, politics, scandal…”

    “We are above all that, my lady.”

    “Why? Because of ‘true love’?” Rosalyn sneered, still looking down.

    “Exactly. Because we know better. We have a better world before us, and if we can spread it—our reality can become the reality.”

    “Like I said, you’re delusional, Robert. True love doesn’t exist. Nor does chivalry and all that other idealistic nonsense.”

    “What is this about, Rosalyn? Is it because I wasn’t there yesterday?”

    “No, Robert. It’s about the future. I want to get into a good school and I want to be able to support myself. I don’t know about you, but that’s plenty for me—it’s all we can hope for in this, this purgatory.”

    “Purgatory for those who don’t believe, those who don’t live.”

    “If you don’t start seeing reality, Rob, what future have you? No one wants to hire someone who’s certifiable. Colleges want people who can think, not dream. You’re fooling yourself. And I’m done with you fooling me.” Rosalyn sped ahead and Robert was forced to skip to keep up.”

    “Rosalyn—my lady—wait. Please.” Robert reached in his backpack and found the letter he’d written the day before. “Rosalyn, I don’t know if this is the right time, but I wrote you this…” He held it out to her, hopping alongside her.

    Rosalyn seized the letter and cast it to the ground. “The demented dreams of a diseased mind. Leave me be. No—you know what? No, it’s just over. It’s not you—wait, yes, it is you. You and your insufferable fantasy. Give it up and have the courage to see reality, Robert!”

    “Reality? To see a world with no hope? There, my courage fails me.”

    “Then I said it was over. Don’t wait up for me.”

    Robert stopped, allowing Rosalyn to walk away. “As my lady wishes…” he murmured. The letter blew against his leg and he picked it up tenderly. “What evil hath o’oertaken my dear lady?” he asked himself when he knew she could not hear him. He put the note in his pocket.

    Robert walked home that day in fearful solitude. And the wooden swords waited, forlorn. Untouched by either him or his lady. Sitting in his bedroom decorated in medieval blades and fantastical posters of dragons and wizards, Robert stared at his pile of homework. How could so ordinary a task seem so heavy? What was a knight without his lady to whom to dedicate his victories—even the small ones, such as conquering the mundane daily tasks of schooling?

    The phone rang, and Robert dragged himself to answer it. “Hello? Is Robert there?”

    “This is he.”

    “Oh. This is Rosalyn’s mom. Do you know if something happened to her recently? She doesn’t seem herself; I’m worried about her. I figured, you’re her boyfriend—“

    “Was.”

    “Was? You mean—is that why she’s sulking? Because you broke up?”

    “I don’t think so. We broke up because she’s sulking. She was talking about having to face reality. I don’t understand.”

    “Well, I don’t like it. It’s not like my daughter. Can you talk to her?”

    “I tried, ma’am. And that’s when she dumped me.”

    “Please, Robert. She trusts you—or at least she did. She’s saying there’s no point in doing her homework. I got a call from her English teacher that she wasn’t paying attention in class and—and she’s taken down her posters and everything.”

    “I don’t know what I can do, though. She’s shunned me—she has to come back on her own terms. But—should I come anyway, just to see what I can do? I—I can try anyway. What sort of knight would I be if I didn’t.”

    “That would be wonderful.”

    Robert looked around at the room after he hung up and doubted. He was surrounded by what? Spectres of dreams! Yet—what was the true lie? That reality had to be grim or that there was hope that dreams might come true? “Arm thyself,” Robert advised himself. “It may be dangerous.” Reality was naught but a nightmare. Nightmares were best remedied by waking up.

    It was not a far walk, but it was certainly a familiar one. Robert had with him a bag containing his “practice blades”, a collection of weighted wooden swords that he and Rosalyn used most often so as not to frighten anyone. He wore a thin burgundy cloak to keep off the autumn chill. One of his wooden swords was tucked into his belt; in some peculiar way, stalking down the sidewalk as he was, one could actually believe him to be a knight of legend. He knocked on Rosalyn’s door courteously, standing with perfect posture. Upon seeing Rosalyn’s mother, he said, “May I go straight to her, unannounced? I think surprise is what she needs.”

    “Of course.”

    Robert dropped his bag and hurried up the stairs as the hem of his cloak swirled. He heard music from his lady’s chamber. She sang to it. “…Don’t talk of love. Well, I’ve heard the word before; it’s sleeping in my memory…” Robert crept forward, pushed open the door silently. He stood there, framed poetically in light, awaiting confrontation. “…I won’t disturb the slumber of feelings that have died….I am a rock, I am an island…” Rosalyn still sung, sitting on her bed immersed completely in song.

    “Oh sweet angel’s voice raised in hellish song,” Robert said, smiling.

    Rosalyn stood and whirled around. “What are you doing here?”

    “A mission, sweet lady. A quest, if you will.”

    “Delusions! Get out!’ Rosalyn advanced on him, hand raised to strike.

    Robert stepped back and drew the wooden blade, stopping her at its point. “You do not know how this pains me.”

    “A wooden sword? See what foolish games you play! You threaten me with a toy!”

    “Do not doubt that I could hurt you with it, blunt though it may be—and do not doubt that I will, if I must.”

    “Get out of my room, Robert. I didn’t invite you.”

    “Your mother did. Now stand down before I’m forced to do something I’ll regret.”

    “Dude, Robert, this isn’t that serious.”

    “Not serious? You’ve frightened your mother! That’s serious, my lady.”

    “I told you I’m not your lady!”

    “Sit down!” Robert pushed the blade into her, so she staggered back. Rosalyn stumbled away, collapsing into the desk chair. Robert looked at the room to see what he had at his disposal. Tape was all that adorned the wall now, wherever Rosalyn hadn’t been able to pull it up from aged posters. But there was the little television, antennae resting at odd angles. “You want reality, Rosalyn? I’ll show you what you fancy it to be.” Robert stormed the television and turned it on, flipping the channels. He found a news program and turned up the volume.

    “In further news, a man was shot today at a local gas station…” Stock photos and suspect sketches filled the screen, and scenes of yellow tape and uniformed officers. “…An apartment complex burned this morning, killing three and hurting over twenty other people…” Images now, again framed in yellow tape, of a charred, skeletal building.

    “Look, Rosalyn, this is your precious ‘reality’! Is that what you want of the world? Rape, murder, senseless killing and violence. People who can’t tell a pistol from a sword, but they’ll use them just the same to kill their mother?”

    Rosalyn glared at Robert. “What’s your point? That’s real. You saw it. The news doesn’t lie. Those people are dead—they didn’t get any glory, they didn’t get a last stand. Children lie burnt in the street and no one cares. That’s reality! There’s no knight to save them.”

    “And do you think that’s really all there is to life?” Robert turned off the set abruptly. “Death and depression? Who on Earth gave you that bloody impression? Rosalyn, look around you and see things as they really are!” Robert swept to the window and pulled the blinds. He grabbed the back of Rosalyn’s neck and forced her close to the window. “Look outside, Rosalyn! That is not your precious ‘news’. Look outside! What do you see?”

    “A bloody suburb. Let me be!”

    “I see a playground filled with happiness. I see a backyard where every day new life is born, unbeknownst to you. I see happy people, people out for a stroll, knowing that life goes on so comfortingly,” Robert said. “I see a world that cries out, ‘live to be better and the world will strive to be better with you!’ You cannot tell me it is all darkness.”

    “Well, I know I don’t see any of your fantastic dragons. Do you see one person in armor, one person in a gown?”

    “Do you see one person shot dead? Rosalyn, there is no reality. Reality is a fantasy. The news—those are stories. That’s why they say ‘the story at eleven’. Life is naught but stories—but it’s up to you, Rosalyn, to write it. Tell me honestly. In which would you rather live?”

    “I don’t want to live in a bloody fantasy!”

    “Oh, you can’t fool me,” Robert smiled, releasing her. “Everyone wants to live in a fantasy.”

    “But it won’t do us any good.”

    “Aha! Us! I see—you do care about more than yourself. You do care about the dream.”

    “You can’t choose life. Life chooses you.”

    “That’s not the Rosalyn I know. Push away the demons, Rosalyn. See what you really are.”

    “And what am I? Tell me Robert, what do you see?”

    “I see a lady in hiding. I see a lady who has been hurt and who needs a dream to heal her. Rosalyn, you’ve never been one to believe in fate, or in dismal fatalism. Why now?”

    “I told you. Play-acting won’t get us the good jobs, it won’t get us anything.”

    “No, but idealism will. The hope our vision of the world contains will get us everything. If we hold our own, we will be respected. Join me again, Rosalyn. It is our duty to those burnt children—we must make the world into our fantasy.”

    Rosalyn stared into Robert’s eyes. They sparkled with the dream. He really believed it. “For the children?”

    “It is our fantasies that give us the strength to go on, Rosalyn. And fantasies get stronger the more they are believed. If those children have a fairy tale to cling to—they’ll survive. Only then. Yes, reality’s a flame, and we must throw ourselves into it—but why not have some armor? I know my knights don’t exist—but my lady does. Reality’s what you make it, Rosalyn, and I choose to make it wonderful. It’s all in what you call it.”

    Rosalyn stared again. Her eyes glistened and she looked away, blinking. She rubbed them. Robert lifted his wooden sword and turned it ceremoniously, offering the hilt to Rosalyn. She looked back to him and forced a smile.

    “Now I believe you owe me a duel?” Robert offered. “Two, I think?”

    “Yes,” Rosalyn nodded and sniffed. She took the sword, spun it in her hand to test its weight and stood. She pointed it at Robert’s chest. “Go, sir knight.”

    “My lady! Thou hast returned to me!”

    “Yes!” Rosalyn stepped forward and pulled Robert closer. She kissed him. “What does it matter to us what some girls at school say—for I am a lady, am I not? And you a knight?”

    “Is that what’s bothering you? Did someone make fun of you?”

    “Not…intentionally,” Rosalyn said. “We can spare them this offense.”

    “Certainly, my lady. Come, the field of honor awaits.”

    “And afterwards we can fix up my room again. I want sweet dreams tonight.

    “As do I, my lady.” Robert kissed her hand as they walked out of the room