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So I ran. I’m good at running- running’s easy. Running meant not having to face his questions. Not having to form answers I wasn’t sure I had. Not having to look him in the eye and tell him that I couldn’t be his dreamgirl anymore. I needed to be real. So I ran. ***** He doesn’t see it, does he? He doesn’t see what he’s done to her. He tells her to take a step back, they take a step back. He tells her she’s all he ever wanted, and then says sorry, selective amnesia, what’d I say? His hormones go into overdrive and suddenly he’s ready for a relationship. He tells her she’s the only one and then trots off into the rain to kiss some girl he barely knows. And then- here’s the fucking irony- he claims it wasn’t his fault. Asks her to just have faith. And she did. That’s what amazes me, astounds me. She did. He doesn’t see her- and I’m beginning to think he never has. He’s a leader, all right- he’s got the self-absorbed control-freak thing down cold.
Come here, stand in front of the light The sandy desert floor makes the running hard. Once I’m out of sight, I let myself slow down. The impact of what I’ve just done is beginning to hit me, and I begin to shake, but I don’t cry. Strange- but somehow, I’m not surprised. I realize the truth- this day’s been a long time coming. It feels like some giant weight’s been lifted from my shoulders- or maybe from my eyes. The rosy distortion of seeing myself only through someone else’s eyes for so long, perhaps? I begin to run again, and it feels so easy. I begin to run and I feel like I’m flying. The road’s just ahead and I reach it and keep running. Running away from whatever life it was that I’d left in the cave. I feel strange and different and more like me than I’ve ever felt before. It’s exhilarating. It makes me feel alive, and I don’t ever want it to end. ***** We walk down to the Jeep, the four of us, and I show tremendous self-control when I restrain from hitting Max as he talks about how he needs Liz. And then again, when he insists that we drop him off at the Crashdown so that he can be there waiting when Liz gets home. And then I feel like an asshole, because I’ve forgotten about Maria. Maria who is probably crying in her room, wondering why I loved her too much to be with her. Damn- I am an asshole. At least it was the truth. I do love her- but not in the way that she wants. Maria sees me in fragments. She sees my vulnerability, and she’s drawn to it. She sees my obstinance, and it challenges her. She sees pieces of me but she’s never been able to put me all together and see a whole Michael. And I don’t blame her for that. I don’t know that anyone’s ever seen all of me, all at once. But she needs more than pieces, and I need more too. I wonder if that’s how Liz feels. I wonder if she realized, standing there in that cave, that Max’s dream of her has always been more real to him than the reality. You shouldn’t try to mix the two- dreams should remain dreams, and reality should leave well enough alone. The one can only taint the other. I knew that. I’ve always known. Why can’t he see it?
Each one of us It isn’t until a semi pulls up beside me that I realize I must look strange, walking alone down this dry desert road without water, the town a good ten miles away. “Need a lift?” The man who leans out the window seems friendly enough, and like Michael said, there is no safe anymore. Considering what I spent my weekend doing, I shouldn’t be fretting over hitchhiking. But I shake my head. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” “You sure?” I nod. He opens the door and climbs down, a large thermos in his hand. “Here,” he said. “Water. Not safe to be wandering around here without it.” “Thank you.” Suddenly, I hear a familiar rumble and can see the Jeep appear in the distance. “On second thought- I’ll take that ride after all. Are you passing through Roswell?” “Sure am. Hop in.” By the time the Jeep passes by, I’m already safely hidden in the truck. He talks to me on the short drive into town. His name is Steve. The truck is his- he works freelance and has his own small company. The pride in his voice makes me smile. I’m glad that this benevolent stranger- Steve- has found a dream and a piece of happiness. “It’s long,” he says, “the drive, that is. But it’s peaceful. These desert areas, they don’t get a lot of traffic. A lot of times it’s just you and the open road. Gives you time to think. Gives you time to understand yourself, and what you really want.” When was the last time I was just me? When was the last time I thought about what I really wanted? Maybe I should spend some time this summer alone. Just me and the open road. I look out the window at the darkening sky- for it is almost night; another interminable day has almost ended- and I let Steve’s voice envelop me. It’s strange, I think, how you find the truth in the most unexpected places. We reach the city limits a few minutes later. “Must be strange, living in Roswell,” Steve says. “You lived here long?” “My whole life.” “Funny how it’s still the alien town, fifty years later. You’d think things would die down. But I guess the tourism’s good for business, huh?” “Guess so,” I say. “My parents own an alien-themed diner.” I’m vaguely amused, as I always am when the irony hits me. Wonder what Steve would say if I told him how I’d come to be wandering down that desert road? I look out the window again and suddenly realize where we are. “Can you let me off here?” “I thought you said you lived on Main?” “I do. A friend of mine lives here. I’m not quite ready to go home yet.” I should go home. I know that. My parents must be frantic. Despite Valenti’s assurance that he’d tell our parents something to explain our two-day absences, I know mine won’t relax until I’m safely at home. Steve eases the truck to the curb. “You take care, Liz.” He winks at me. “And no more desert hikes without water.” I smile at him. “Thanks again. It was good talking to you.” I watch him drive off, feeling an unexpected loss when he’s gone. I wonder if he even realizes how much he’d given me in those few minutes. Probably not.
Come here, stand in front of the light My apartment seems smaller than I remember. The air is stuffy and the window’s jammed again, so I drag out a battered fan and turn it on. The fan pushes the stuffy air around a bit, but it doesn’t do much else. I sit down on my couch and stare at the wall for a moment. After everything that’s happened, it seems like there should be something... more. But in reality, nothing’s changed. I’ll still go to school on Monday, I’ll still have to go to work and pay my bills and face Maria and listen to Max moan over losing Liz. I’ll still have to refrain from punching him, especially now that it’s confirmed. He is the leader. I am only the second. But that’s not so surprising. I feel like I should be bitter- but I’m not. I’ve always been second, when it comes to Max. A knock at the door shakes me out of my thoughts and I get up to answer it- since I have, of course, securely locked and bolted it. You can’t be too careful- now more than ever, this is the truth. It’s Liz. I open the door. “Liz?” She smiles faintly. “Hey.” She peers over my shoulder. “Can I come in?” “What? Oh, yeah. Sure.” I step back and let her through. She walks toward the couch but doesn’t sit. She looks uncomfortable, as though she’s forgotten why she’s here and now wishes she could just leave. I don’t want her to- in fact, I don’t want her to so much that it startles me- so I offer her something to drink. “What do you have?” “Um...” I open the refrigerator. “Water.” Liz laughs softly. “Water’s good.” “How did you get home?” I hand her the glass and she takes a small sip. “We were... worried. We didn’t see you on the road.” “A trucker gave me a ride.” Liz pauses. “He was very nice.” “Have you gone home yet?” I ask her, knowing the answer. Had she gone home, Max would have cornered her and would still be running through his list of reasons of why they could be together, why this destiny crap is only one more obstacle and haven’t they gotten through obstacles before? He wouldn’t have stopped to look at her, the way I’m looking at her, and seen what I’m seeing. Her skin is dusty from the desert and her hair is tangled, a contrast to its usual sleek perfection. I realize I’ve never seen Liz Parker with messy hair- and her clothes, too, are dusty and wrinkled. When the polish is gone, when the sheen of newness has worn off, is this what remains? “I was going home,” she says quietly, her dark eyes lifting solemnly to meet mine. “But I asked Steve to drop me off here instead.” “Why?” Her eyes close off for a moment, as though she’s running through a list of reason to choose the best one. “I couldn’t go home yet.” “Max is there now,” I say. “Waiting for you.” She smiles again. “All the more reason to stay away.” “Why’d you walk away?” I had to ask, even knowing what I thought I did. “Why did you?” Fair enough. “I guess we both know the answers,” I say. “I guess so.” Liz finally sits down on the couch, but she holds herself stiffly. I sit next to her, careful not to get too close. I feel a very tenuous grip on my control right now- I feel like the smallest move will send me reeling, and everything that’s been building up inside of me these past months will explode if I let even one tiny piece of it out. It’s all or nothing. For now, I resign myself to the nothing.
I build each one of my songs out of glass I’m very aware of Michael’s nearness. Everything in this moment seems heightened. Colors seem brighter. The water, as I drink it, tastes sharper, cooler. My skin feels each gust from the weak fan that’s spinning on the floor. But most strongly, it’s Michael I feel. This intensity of sense has been with me since the desert, and I’m not sure what to make of it. It’s as though a veil’s been lifted, a veil I hadn’t noticed until it was gone. Now that it is, I wonder how I’d made it through the months, seeing my world only from beneath it. The veil was safe. I feel exposed now, exposed and vulnerable, but the fear’s losing out to the need to see, to taste, to touch. To reacquaint myself with this reality I’d left behind. The dream and the reality- they’re not so different. The veil wasn’t much. It wasn’t substantial. I think I might have been able to live out the dream for much longer than I did- but it could never be real. And there is a difference, an important one. When you live in the dream- you eventually wake up. Better now, I think, than a year from now, or ten, or fifty. Better now when there’s still a chance. I can feel Michael’s eyes on me. I think Michael had a dream once too- but his dream was too weak to hold him. Where I woke up and raced away from mine, Michael’s dream tore and broke and dropped him, stunned and shaking, on an unforgiving ground. But Michael survived- I’ve watched him these past few weeks, and there’s a quiet strength in him that I don’t think Max sees. I don’t know that Max can see it- Max’s need for order and control is too great. And I think that Michael understands that- I think he always has. Michael stands back and allows Max to be the leader, not because it is his role, but because he can see that it’s what Max needs. In that sense, I think Michael is stronger than I. I couldn’t give that to Max- not once I woke up. I couldn’t let him keep his dream of me. I’m too selfish- I need too much to be real. I wonder, then, how long Michael’s been standing in the background, behind Max. How many times I could have seen him, noticed him, if I’d just looked past Max, over his shoulder, beyond the dream. If I had- would I have been able to see him, as I’m seeing him now? Or would the veil have gotten in the way? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because he’s still watching me, and I can read his eyes so easily. They’re telling me that he understands, and that we’ve both fumbled through the illusions, and that what matters is that we are both here, now, seeing clearly.
I build each one of my days out of hope Liz shifts beside me, her eyes never leaving mine. It takes me a moment to realize that she’s moved almost impossibly close. Any closer, and we’d be touching. “Michael?” Her voice is an almost imperceptible whisper. “Yeah?” “What happens now?” Tess had asked the same thing. But Tess’s question had been directed at Max- at the leader- and Max hadn’t answered. So I hadn’t, either. “Nothing,” I tell her. “Everything.” Because there’s no discernable difference between the two. “We move forward.” She nods. Her head bows, and her hair falls forward and hides her face, and in the light reflected from the lamp I can see that there’s a great deal of red in her hair. Did Max ever see the red? Or did his eyes get caught on the surface brown? “I don’t want to go home,” she says. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m afraid.... that if I go back now, this will all disappear. I’m afraid of not knowing how to begin.” “You already have,” I say. “You walked away. And you came back. Walking away- that’s easy, Liz. I’ve done it before. It’s coming back that’s the hard part. You’ve already begun.” She lifts her head again. “I came here,” she says softly. “I began here.” What does that mean? I don’t think either of us knows. But I’ve let too many of these moments slip through my fingers, and Liz isn’t the only one starting over. All or nothing, I remind myself. It’s time to go for the all. I touch her. It’s not much- simply my hand lifting to graze her cheek. Our eyes meet, and for a hesitant moment hers shut off again and I can no longer read them. But then they open again, and now the emotions are literally spilling out. I understand, because I’m finding it difficult to keep up with my own. She leans into my hand. Slowly, her hand rises and takes mine, pulling it away from her cheek. Liz sets my hand back down, and then puts hers lightly on my shoulders. I remain still, letting her do what she needs to, letting her take the lead, sensing that it’s what she needs. My eyes never leave hers and she carefully leans forward and brushes her lips against mine. It’s only then that they close, only then that I touch her again, one hand moving to the small of her back, the other up to get lost in her hair. Her beautiful, tangled and dirty, brown and red hair. This is the real Liz. The one who lacks perfection and doesn’t care. The one who sees that we aren’t so very different after all.
Come here, stand in front of the light When I finally pull back, the fear is gone. There is no past, and there is no future, there is only right now, and I have never been more content and more alive than I am in this moment. Michael’s hand is still running through my hair, and I close my eyes again, drawing in shaky breaths. What took me so long to get here? What took me so long to see? But no matter. I’m here now. Michael’s arms close around me, pulling me tightly to him, and I let my head rest against his chest, hearing the rapid beating of his heart. I’m reminded of the only other time he’d held me- when we’d first discovered Max had been captured. Had that only been two days ago? It seems more like years. But Michael hadn’t hesitated; he’d pulled me against him, letting me cry. I think of how he’d sent Maria up to me, knowing I was hurting from seeing Max kiss Tess. Where Max had needed to swoop down and carry me off to safety, Michael had chosen to stand back and give me protection in smaller, less tangible ways. Max’s heroism had been chivalrous- but Michael’s had been quiet. Michael allowed me to struggle on my own, had let me grasp some independence, and been there when I couldn’t manage alone anymore. I want to thank him for that. I don’t. I don’t need to- he already knows. When I look up at him again, his eyes are sorrowful. “This can’t happen, can it?” he whispers. I want to deny that. I want to shake my head and say no, no, it can. It is. It is happening. And while that last part is true- so is what he said. Not because I don’t want it to. Not because he doesn’t want it to. But it’s too soon. “It’s too soon,” I tell him. He nods. “I know.” His arms tighten around me again, and my tears- the tears I hadn’t been able to cry when I ran away in the desert- fall on his shirt. Someday. Someday he will hold me and there won’t be any tears- only us. Perhaps it will be soon. I pray that it is. But first- First, I have to go home. First, I need to spend some time alone- just me and the open road. First, I have to test out this new life. This reality. And bid farewell to the dream- maybe we both need to do that. "Stay," he implores quietly. “Only tonight. Just stay.”
I search your profile for a translation Liz nods, and we move so that we’re both stretched out fully on the couch. She fits so neatly against me, and in my arms. For the first time, I don’t wonder if she fit so well with Max. For the first time, I don’t think of Max at all when I think of her. Right now, there is only Liz, and only me, and I don’t feel like a shadow, or runner-up. I just feel like me. A whole me- there are no pieces. Not with Liz. Tonight will be only for us. Tonight I’ll know what it’s like to sleep with her in my arms. I’ll know how it feels to be a complete Michael, and in the morning, when she leaves to find out how to be a whole Liz, I’ll have the memory, and it will be enough. It will hold me until the time is right. I hadn’t expected this- I hadn’t expected to find happiness in Liz Parker. I’m sure she never imagined she’d find it in me. Maria and Max were obvious. They were logical choices and they made sense. Problem is, you aren’t supposed to choose. It’s not supposed to make sense. It just is. It’s strange, I think, how you find love in the most unexpected places. THE END |