![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
literaryimmortalityI wind up carrying the stupid thing home.
The biggest part of me had wanted to leave it behind, give it the same regard as what Jim had for my life, but I can't bring myself to. Even if he made it, it's the only piece I have of that part of my life – the part of my life before it all fell to pieces. After all, when I'd received it, I'd been elated. Flattered. It might have been the sweetest thing a person had ever done for me since I was a little girl and my father would dedicate books to me, thanking me for simply being me.
Now, it's not so sweet. I can see the parts of the metal that are still jagged, that could cut me if I wasn't careful. I should have looked more closely to begin with. Instead I live in hindsight, focusing on all the places things went wrong. I still can't decide if it began when I met Jim or if it began when I agreed to cross the stars aboard the Avalon.
I could have lived out my life with my mother, my friends, on an overcrowded Earth. I could have fallen in love with someone there. Instead, somehow, I'm here. And somehow still reminded of what I've left behind – up in the sky.
I barely remember the trip home by the time I arrive. I feel like I'm in the same fog I'd been in when I awoke from my thirty-year-sleep. I can't figure out if I'm angry or sad. Or both. I can't tell if the grief I feel is for Jim or for myself. I find myself wishing that love were less complex. That it were easier to dive into indifference, as easy as I dive into the pool. I wish that I could swim away my grief. Or run. God knows I tried on the ship. I've tried here, too, immersing myself in Darrow's lack of history and practically begging for jobs. Fucking Hawkeye. Talking to strangers.
But my mind floats back to Jim and I'm doing myself no favors at all by carrying his work up to my apartment, setting it across the room on my vanity. The setting sun hits it and the glare hurts my eyes until I shift to sit on my bed, staring at it. I can't count how many hours I looked up at the Chrysler Building as I wrote. It's a monument to New York, the first and maybe only city I ever loved. A city I'll never see again (except when I let myself pretend.)
I start to cry. In the park, I hadn't had a chance to really let myself go. To give in to the grief. Help was there too soon. That's the thing about Darrow. There's always somewhere there for you. But right now, all I need is myself and more than just a moment to reflect on the reality of what's happening. I'd convinced myself that in leaving Jim behind, I'd left my feelings for Jim behind, but of course it doesn't work that way.
Just like you can't cross the stars and expect to find happiness on the other side – if you even manage to get there in the first place.
After a while I feel my legs starting to grow heavy with exhaustion and I force myself to turn away from the model. Curling up on my side, I shut my eyes, pushing away a want for someone else to be there. I keep my eyes closed and just for a few minutes I imagine I'm in my hibernation pod, awaiting a sleep that will carry me into the future and away from the hurt.
The biggest part of me had wanted to leave it behind, give it the same regard as what Jim had for my life, but I can't bring myself to. Even if he made it, it's the only piece I have of that part of my life – the part of my life before it all fell to pieces. After all, when I'd received it, I'd been elated. Flattered. It might have been the sweetest thing a person had ever done for me since I was a little girl and my father would dedicate books to me, thanking me for simply being me.
Now, it's not so sweet. I can see the parts of the metal that are still jagged, that could cut me if I wasn't careful. I should have looked more closely to begin with. Instead I live in hindsight, focusing on all the places things went wrong. I still can't decide if it began when I met Jim or if it began when I agreed to cross the stars aboard the Avalon.
I could have lived out my life with my mother, my friends, on an overcrowded Earth. I could have fallen in love with someone there. Instead, somehow, I'm here. And somehow still reminded of what I've left behind – up in the sky.
I barely remember the trip home by the time I arrive. I feel like I'm in the same fog I'd been in when I awoke from my thirty-year-sleep. I can't figure out if I'm angry or sad. Or both. I can't tell if the grief I feel is for Jim or for myself. I find myself wishing that love were less complex. That it were easier to dive into indifference, as easy as I dive into the pool. I wish that I could swim away my grief. Or run. God knows I tried on the ship. I've tried here, too, immersing myself in Darrow's lack of history and practically begging for jobs. Fucking Hawkeye. Talking to strangers.
But my mind floats back to Jim and I'm doing myself no favors at all by carrying his work up to my apartment, setting it across the room on my vanity. The setting sun hits it and the glare hurts my eyes until I shift to sit on my bed, staring at it. I can't count how many hours I looked up at the Chrysler Building as I wrote. It's a monument to New York, the first and maybe only city I ever loved. A city I'll never see again (except when I let myself pretend.)
I start to cry. In the park, I hadn't had a chance to really let myself go. To give in to the grief. Help was there too soon. That's the thing about Darrow. There's always somewhere there for you. But right now, all I need is myself and more than just a moment to reflect on the reality of what's happening. I'd convinced myself that in leaving Jim behind, I'd left my feelings for Jim behind, but of course it doesn't work that way.
Just like you can't cross the stars and expect to find happiness on the other side – if you even manage to get there in the first place.
After a while I feel my legs starting to grow heavy with exhaustion and I force myself to turn away from the model. Curling up on my side, I shut my eyes, pushing away a want for someone else to be there. I keep my eyes closed and just for a few minutes I imagine I'm in my hibernation pod, awaiting a sleep that will carry me into the future and away from the hurt.
