Thanks for to everyone who has been encouraging me to write again. It's been a while.
Chapter - Sharing Your Head
"Are you sure you want this? It's a lot of responsibility." I've spent the last two weeks filing the paperwork and cleaning the shop in preparation for tomorrow. I take a long look around the dark store, letting the childhood memories come through. The smell of paper dust and cardboard are so ingrained in the building that it fights against the strange chemical citrus of the cleaning supplies. Everything is ready to go, except possibly customers wandering into a comic book store that hasn't been open in a year.
"I'm ready. I'll find time to take care of the upstairs as I go, but I really wanna get this place back open." I appreciate my stepmother helping me get the place together. It was my favorite escape as a youth, after my father married Luisa. I was as surprised as anyone else when her father left the place to me in his will. It's not like Tata left anyone out, he was a successful businessman and each of his kids and grandkids were taken care of, but I'm a recent addition to the family.
"I never understood his obsession with magic and super heroes. Even before this place, old stories and myths." She looks around as if seeing the changes we made for the first time. I love watching her, ever since the day she came into our home and straightened us out. Still in her prime, Luisa is fuller in figure than a decade ago, but only in ways that fill out her jeans pleasantly. Curls of sandy brown hair spill wildly from the bun on top of her head, leaving her shoulders bare, and while she spins I admire her golden skin in the few moments where I won't get caught. The mix of German and Puerto Rican makes her stand out in any room, but her six foot frame leaves you in awe. By the time she faces me again I have retrieved an odd item that was in the old cash register.
"What is this Mama? I don't think I've seen it before. It feels like rubber or something." Dangling from a black leather strap is an odd little pendant. Shaped like a rugged, rough heart and maybe an inch across, the pendant is so dark that I want to call it black. Like a shadow, black doesn't quite describe it. Somehow it's hard, yet pliable in a way I can't wrap my mind around.
Sometimes I see things that aren't there, and I've come to accept them as figments of my imagination. Shadows walking down streets like normal everyday people, bursts of lights and darkness around others heads, and even at times large crystals just floating in the sky; I never mentioned them after my father screamed at me one day about making up stories. I had been young, but the memory of the incident burned in me a need to keep what I see to myself. Dangling in the open air as it is, I imagine a wisp of black shadow dancing around the heart. Luisa's eyes go wide in surprise as she sees it, instant recognition. They sparkle like polished amber in delight.
"I haven't seen that in forever, Nene. That was Tata's lucky charm. I think if it's here, you should keep it for luck. He said it always helped him with catching women." With a wink she steps around behind the glass displays that serve as a counter and takes the cord from my fingers. As Luisa holds the cord wide, letting the pendant dangle in the air between us, the shadows swirl excitedly around it. If she sees anything out of the ordinary, there is no reaction. She actually keeps chatting about stories her family told when first immigrating from Puerto Rico. Then, to me time slows down and music starts to play.
The things I see are rare when I am awake, but when I sleep, I dream of another world, a reflection of the waking day. In this world colors are wild and vibrant, and all my senses turn into one large scale understanding of the surroundings. The same thing starts to happen now, except I am awake. The biggest difference now, in this dark room it's like the afterglow of neon light. My mother holds the ragged leather cord and pendant aloft between her hands, long fingers ending in short manicured nails painted a blue so dark it's almost black. As she walks around the side and behind me, I try to figure out the assault of sounds crashing into my ears. It's like the world plays multiple songs on loudspeakers, horns fighting drums and a piano slowly dueling a wailing guitar. The chaos of sound makes me feel like I'm losing a war for control of my body; even my thoughts. In reaction to the lucidity of past dreams I try to look around knowing that in my dreams I can hear sights and smells; never fully trust your senses.
"They say it's the heart of a Demon. A Demon! Do you believe that Nene?" Luisa's words hit me in slow motion, nearly drowned out by the music. Somehow I realize the piano music is coming from within me, its rhythm slow and measured. There's a drum beat in company with the melody, buh-dum-tis, repeating at a measured pace through my body. I am far from a music person, and I find it strange that music seems to emanate from my being, deep in my core. Then I wonder why my heart beats out a slow jazz beat. With my own music out of the way and isolated, I feel more myself. Luisa is almost behind me, her arms going up over my head and the other music gets louder. I reach up to stop her.
"Ma, I don't think..." I never finish the thought. As my hand comes in contact with hers the other two songs become clear. The horns are the lead for a swinging dance number coming from Luisa. The resounding, foot tapping snare is coming from her heart just as the light tap of high hats come from my own. The third song, fast and chaotic, with no discernible rhythm pours from the pendant. The drums are utter chaos and what I thought was guitar sounds as much like nails on a chalkboard now that the sounds are separate in my ears.
The powerful chaotic sound is literally absorbing Luisa's sounds into its own, the instruments joining the cacophony as it reaches to pull my own inner music into the abyss as well. Instinct more than anything tells me this is bad. My own tempo increases, trying to match that of my stepmother's heartbeat and support her sounds, strengthening her melody. With effort we form one music, a strange combination of both sounds, calm, with a dancing beat; the piano and horns in harmony. Two hearts beat as one.
"They say Mi Bisabuela killed the demon with his bare hands. The stories parents tell their children are crazy." Luisa continues speaking, talking as if nothing were going on at all. I am so caught in the battle of sounds that I don't resist. She doesn't even notice that I touched her for a moment as she continues settling the pendant around my neck and starts to tie the leather. My mind is fully on the random beats of the heart being tied around my neck. While there might not be a steady beat, there is an emotion, a song. Rage and jealousy pour through the music and I hope that by matching the raw emotion I can fight back against the chaos. As I battle to maintain a sense of myself, frozen in time with the heart of a demon, I come to understand him more. The rage and jealousy are rooted in love and protection.
Warriors and suitors alike came night after night to challenge the ancient god. For days, weeks, months, and even years the forbidden love of another man's god was tested with strength of iron and will. Soon there was no more time for love, as his days became filled with anger, rage, and blood. With no room for love, he also abandons hope and his heart blackens to that of a demon. I see my chance inside of the music and change my own inner song.
Loneliness, confusion, and the pain of loss are things I fight daily. My song becomes that of being adopted by parents who don't love each other and soon divorce. The loneliness is of constantly moving from town to town and city to city. Luisa's music adds layers, her own loneliness and anger. For the first time I realize that she never loved my father, and from her discordant notes has never been happy. She stayed in the marriage for the kids, hiding her own loneliness and pain for a stable home for my step sister and myself. I don't have time to process the memories and emotions before I add them to my own song for our own mutual survival. The sounds clash as the cord ties around my neck, sounds strike each other, battling to survive. Bit by bit I claim the demon's song. I take each sound and note, weaving it into the measure of pain in my own music until the random beat of a drum is left. Each time the percussion strikes I claim the sound waves until finally they stop all together and reality dulls back down from the dream world to the one I see while awake.
The room is silent, the air dead, and the breathing heavy. The beating of my heart is intense, but far from musical. I can still feel my pulse in my head. Breathe. Calm down. Luisa's hands are on my shoulders, steadying herself. Each and every time blood pulses through my veins, painfully throbbing in my head, a lifetime of memories pass through me. Calm. Breathe. I don't know if the words are my own, and can't distinguish the memories from my own. Somehow my step mother senses my pain and her arms drop down over my shoulders, holding me close, now supporting me. Gods live a long time, but a demon is the embodiment of an emotion. As long as humanity feels, needs, and loves, there will be demons.
The demon seethes, whispering constantly, a part of me. He chose me, watched me my entire life, and knew what thoughts hurt most. What's worse is he says them in my own voice. No one loves me, no one will ever love me. My birth parents didn't want me, and neither did my adopted mother. My father was there, but resented me for his failed first marriage. You will always be alone.
"I'm okay. It's late." My heart rate is not going to go down. A slow seething anger burns in my gut. Reaching up I disengage Luisa's arms. As much as I like her chest pressing into my back, the knowledge that I'm not alone is enough to help. Her hand closes on mine as she releases me and I turn to face her. She takes both my hands in hers and holds my gaze with her own. She's almost in tears as we stand eye to eye.
"Nene, l love you so much. You made your Tata change so much at the end. Even your sister loves you and she hates all men. You make everyone happy and I want you to be happy." The sudden outburst is not unusual. What's unusual is the lack of wine before saying things like this. It's then that I know what will make me happy and I lean in and touch my lips to hers. The kiss starts slowly, lips touching tenderly over and over again. Both her hands grasp my head on either side, weaving through my hair. It's been a decade since I've kissed anyone so innocently, the repeated pecks fighting off the seething anger deep inside of me. My hands go to her hips, and as we kiss I slowly work my fingers under her shirt until I find the soft, smooth skin of her stomach. The sudden skin to skin contact stops her kiss and her hands drop to my shoulders. We stand eye to eye for many long heartbeats.
