The First Musical: Chapter Six: Johnathan, Part 1

I should have tucked her hair behind her ear, or touched her hand, or kissed her. I should have held her close, or said something more than gorgeous. I should have done any number of things, but I hadn’t.

I sat in the practice room for a good hour or so before I finally stopped kicking myself long enough to head to my apartment. There, the kicking recommenced, but less cruelly. My mind was dazed with thoughts of her; my ears were filled with the sound of her voice. If I closed my eyes, I could see her, and when I reached out, she didn’t run away. I imagined what her skin felt like, or her chocolate hair, or her lips against mine.

Between my imaginings, I scolded myself. Someone had hurt her, and I wouldn’t prove I wasn’t the same by trying to romance her. But was it so wrong to think, for a moment, she had the same thoughts running through her mind?

“Bastard!” Carmen screeched, her hand flying across my vision and stinging my cheek in the process. I hadn’t expected the violence, but her reaction was expected.

Tact had never been a strong suit of mine. So when I had told her she couldn’t have the lead, that she wasn’t talented enough for it, I had anticipated anger and resentment.

“I don’t have the talent for it?” Her voice grated, hurting my ears and seeming to hit just the right nerve to set a headache blooming. “But you give it to Gisele? Who doesn’t even perform? Asshole!”

“You have the second best role,” I said, expecting another slap across the face. She didn’t disappoint. This time, the promise ring on her hand left a small scratch across my cheek.

“I want the lead,” she hissed before storming off.

“But I can’t give you that.”

“Sucks for you,” she snapped over her shoulder.

“Can you at least not take it out on Gisele?”

Carmen turned on her heel and marched up to me, granting me a third smack. “I’ll do whatever the hell I want to.”

Then she was gone. I ran my hand through my hair, reminded how much I despised girls like her. They were too hotheaded. It made me really grateful she hadn’t been the one. Gisele’s anger I could handle, because it could be broken down and worn away. She didn’t harbor it because her energy was better spent elsewhere. Carmen’s fury wasn’t so simple. Hers had to be cooled off over time, and even then there was no guarantee she wouldn’t hold a grudge.

I caught sight of Gisele exiting a building across the way. I didn’t go to her, but was surprised to see her head wasn’t bowed today. In the past week, some of her confidence had returned. It was a small victory, but there was still a long way to go yet.

Baron didn’t join her, as I watched. He waved as they passed, but didn’t stop to chat at all. Either Carmen had guilted him into not talking with her, or perhaps it was something I didn’t understand. Maybe he thought she had persuaded me to give her the lead. If he really did know her, though, shouldn’t he have known that was unlike her?

The First Musical: Chapter Five: Gisele, Part 3

I listened to the notes he played, soaking in their simple intricacy. The possibilities for singing these lyrics were numerous. “Because you know I love you,” I began singing, slowly, guessing this would be more of a ballad. “Though you have chosen someone—wait a minute. What?”

Johnathan stopped playing again. “What?”

“Irial knows she loves him but he’s with someone else? How does that work?”

He nodded; “Irial is at his equivalent to a bachelor party, at a tavern, when he meets Collette, who is also out with friends. They notice each other immediately, but try diverting their friends to other people—unsuccessfully, I might add. So they end up dancing together, and quickly fall in love.”

“That’s so cliché.”

“But still plausible. Especially in literature. So, anyway, here, they’re walking home and he accidently lets slip that there’s someone else, named Delilah, who he’ll marry the next day.”

“So Collette is pissed?”

“Not quite. She’s angry at first, but she doesn’t stay angry long because she does love him,” Johnathan continued. “At this point, she’s more hurt than angry, but you’ll see when she’s angry again, especially when we put the dialogue with the lyrics.”

“Okay.”

“Ready to begin again?”

“I’ll try.”

After a few measures, I began, the notes emitting from my lips different from the ones I had first sung; “Because you know I love you, though you have chosen someone else; and it tortures me to think you would abandon her for myself….”

I sang through the next verse and chorus, and when I’d come to the end of my lines, Johnathan said, “Here you and Irial converse more, and when you tell him to leave, he replies in his own section.” He then sang Irial’s part. It was more playful than Collette’s. His voice entranced me, though. There was depth to it that brought the words to life, as though he could spin the song into moving tapestries. I stared at him before long, only pulled back to the rehearsal when he said, “Then you insist on his inanity while he tries to blame you partially for this late development. At this point, you’re infuriated at the accusation, but still hurt and troubled because he won’t listen to you.”

With this brief explanation, I broke into the new section, a little faster, a little more distressed, volleying the lines with him. Toward the end I found myself staring at him, again. I hadn’t meant to, but that’s how luck would have it. There was something that drew me to him and terrified me. My brain screamed that he was dangerous, that this scenario had already played out tragically before. But Johnathan had helped reawaken in me this need to sing, and that felt like reuniting with an old friend. I didn’t want to lose it again.

“...don’t kiss me,” I finished, his blue-green eyes flying to mine as the final note died away. Something in those eyes wanted to reach out, touch me, but there was a wariness. Almost as though he believed I might be an illusion of the light.

“Gorgeous,” he whispered, his eyes still holding mine.

For the longest time neither of us said anything. We just sat there staring. My former numbness was overrun with emotions I couldn’t name and thoughts that flitted away as soon as I realized they were there. It felt like we could have stayed like that forever, statues of something that never happened and never could be. But then he moved to touch me and I snatched up my keys, running out the door before he could make a sound.

I felt guilty, leaving him so suddenly. But I didn’t need a relationship, even if I was possibly going to break my no performing rule. My mind kept thinking that if I hadn’t left, he would have kissed me.

If he had, I feared history would have repeated itself.

The First Musical: Chapter Five: Gisele, Part 2

“She can’t have the part,” Johnathan said from behind me.

I didn’t sit up or answer him; I did note that I would have usually been scared by his sudden appearance, but I reasoned it had been expected. Surprises seemed to be his forte.

“You’re the only one who can be the lead,” he said, sitting beside me on the piano bench.

Shifting my head to see his silhouette, I said, “That still doesn’t make sense. If people were born to play roles there’d never be the cookie-cutter actors crapped from art schools.”

“They have always been around.”

“So what’s different about this?” I asked wearily, sitting up again. My tantrum at the keys seemed to have drained my energy.

“The role is more demanding in its original form than most people would think. Only a certain person can fulfill its demands.”

“And I’m that person?” His head—the features slowly becoming more distinct through the blackness—nodded and I asked what I hadn’t realized I’d wanted to know: “How can you be certain?”

“Because I am. I knew the moment I first saw you, though I wasn’t so sure, then. You were so unlike what I’d imagined.”

“How so?”

“I believe you already know how. Shall we begin?”

“What?”

Johnathan reached out and pulled a cord and a small lamp on the piano revealed sheet music on the ledge.

“This is a copy of the third song. This doesn’t have all the dialogue that’s between the sections.”

“Why a copy?”

“Because the original is delicate; it’s too old to be handled much.”

“Oh.”

“Shall we begin?” he repeated, stretching out his fingers.

“I can’t read sheet music, you know.”

“All the better,” he said in his calm way, playing the opening measures. “The accompaniment is meant to be a helping hand, not a leading force.”

“But—”

“Just feel the music and sing the lyrics. I’ll sing Irial’s part.”

“So her name is Collette? That’s pretty.”

The music ceased and he turned to face me. “You’re Collette. You embody her spirit, her dilemma, her personality.”

“I know.”

“Good. Now sing.”

“Only if you swear you’ll tell Carmen why she didn’t get the lead.” Nothing I could do would sway him or fix things with her; he had to at least fix what he’d helped spoil.

“Tomorrow. Now sing.”

The First Musical: Chapter Five: Gisele, Part 1

Carmen slammed the door to our dorm and practically threw her bag across the room, plopping despaired onto her bed.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, turning in my seat to face her.

She lifted her head out of her pillow and turned towards me. “I got a secondary role. He fucking gave me a secondary role. And, above all else, the character’s name is Mary Grace. Who the fuck names their kid Mary Grace?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You should be. That and ashamed. What did you do? Blow him? Or did you just out and out fuck him senseless?”

“What?” I screeched, indignant.

She back on her heels. “Well you got the lead. The part you knew I wanted.”

“I—? He didn’t.”

“He did.”

“I told him I didn’t want it,” I said. “I told him it was the wrong choice.”

“Damn right it was,” she threw her pillow at me, hitting the wall next to me. “I’m the one who’s been singing, who’s taken lessons and auditioned for everything. Who paid to go to sing camps every summer;” she slammed her fist into her other pillow.

Grabbing my keys, I left. I was done listening to her and, as crazy as it might have been, I thought there might be some way to talk him into naming someone else the lead. Outside my hall, I realized I didn’t know where to find him. So I went to the only place I thought he might be.

The lights in the room were off, and I left them that way. I dropped my keys beside me on the bench.

“Be here,” I whispered under my breath. “Please be here.”

It felt like forever that I sat there, waiting for absolutely nothing. My hatred for him, which had dissipated some days ago, was renewed. He didn’t have a right to come into my life and decide I needed to perform again. Or put something as silly as a role between my roommate and I. Johnathan wasn’t the one who’d have to live with her for the rest of the year; he didn’t have to worry about his best friend being her boyfriend. Or any of that. So for him to upturn my entire world was completely unfair, on so many levels. I had every right to hate him.

In my frustration for thinking he’d be here in the first place, my fist landed on the keys, a harsh cacophony of sound erupting in the room and slowly dying away. I felt this urge to sing grow inside me. I hadn’t felt that urge in years.

“Don’t dare apologize; I know you don’t mean it,” I began, giving into the feeling. Occasionally I’d hit a chord on the piano, helping to build and simultaneously release the anger flooding me. “Remove the sorrow from your eyes; and just admit you like it. You hurt, you tear, you pull apart. Destroy, consume, damage my heart. You could care less about it all. Don’t touch, don’t kiss, don’t even call me back. I won’t answer. Don’t follow me. You know my answer.”

No more words came, and I couldn’t tell if there was any emotion in me to fuel more. I slouched on the bench, staring at the keys. My voice was rough, it was true, but I hadn’t had lessons or sung—except for that one karaoke night—in a few years.

“Carmen really should’ve had the part,” I whispered, my arms landing crossed on the keys and my head resting on them. The plethora of notes sang and bounced around the room for a while, but I didn’t move. I was waiting for something to happen, for some emotion to move forward; but I didn’t want to cry, and any anger I had was practically a distant memory now.

The First Musical: Chapter Four: Johnathan, Part 3

The girl auditioning had a flighty little voice. I marked her sheet chorus in the event she made the cut. Chorus didn’t have a lot of parts but there would be quite a few of them for the scenes in which they did appear. Her voice wasn’t strong or powerful even with the microphone on her ear. I wasn’t even sure I was going to cast her, but I always felt badly for dismissing people before they were done. Given my latest actions, I didn’t want to feel worse than I already did.

When the mousy thing finally finished, I thanked her, calling forth the next person.

The college had allowed me to use one of the smaller auditoriums as I planned to cast mostly students in the production. There was a small balcony, but no orchestra pit, and the seats needed to be replaced. Even the walls were drab and dated. The stage, at least, was in decent condition with a beautifully carved—though faded—proscenium.

Carmen sauntered onto the stage, her blond locks pulled back into a high ponytail.

“I’ll be auditioning for the lead,” she said, as though I didn’t know already.

“You don’t even know what the available roles are.”

“I know there has to be a lead female role of some kind.”

“The production is entitled Musical as there is no other title given to it. You may claim to audition for the lead, but I will ultimately decide if you make the production at all.”

“I realize that,” she answered. “I’ll start now.”

And she did. Her voice had a certain beauty to it, but there wasn’t anything raw about it. She was trained to sing, and in that training, she seemed to have lost the soul of her voice. I marked Carmen down in one of the two secondary roles. It would suit her, playing one of the best friends to Gisele’s lead. Hopefully it would minimize damage control as she would be the better of the two.

“Thank you, and we’ll be in touch,” I said, as I had for probably the thirtieth time that night. “Next?”

A few people later, Baron stepped onto the stage. He had a demanding yet unassuming presence, standing with his feet apart and his thumbs hooked in his pockets.

“I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Sing a few lines from your favorite song.”

Shrugging, he began a country song; I was right about him. He had a great baritone voice. If I needed, he could probably hit most of the tenor and bass ranges. I marked him down for the male lead’s friend.

“Did you want a part?”

“I don’t care,” he said, shrugging again. “Did she audition?”

“Yes, she auditioned,” I said, adding a question mark to his sheet and setting it off to the side. “Thank you, we’ll be in touch. Next?”

From there the auditions went downhill. It seemed every person who had ever thought they might be able to sing came. I was somewhat grateful, though. It meant I had more time to think about Gisele and how I would begin her rehearsals.

We could start right into the thick of it, but that would be impossible. It would be giving her a crutch without her realizing it. Then when her rehearsals coincided with everyone else’s, we wouldn’t accomplish anything.

“Thank you, we’ll be in touch. Next?”

I had a month with her. In that time, she had to learn to trust me as well as herself. The production would fall apart if she didn’t trust especially herself. Trusting me was just a bonus. There had to be a balance between working on the music and working on her self-esteem. I didn’t yet know where that was.

“…Next?”

The First Musical: Chapter Four: Johnathan, Part 2

“What do you want now?” Gisele asked, her gaze fixed stonily on the textbook before her. We were in one of the study nooks of the library. It was largely empty on the Friday afternoon.

“I wanted to apologize for the situation I put you in last time.”

“Just leave me alone and we’ll call it good,” she said, leaning closer to the book as though wishing she could disappear into it to escape my presence.

Wincing, I forged onward; “I already told you I can’t. You’re my lead.”

She faced me, unable to mask her anger. To see her so furious hurt because I really was sorry.

“Casting me as the lead will ruin your production,” she said before turning away again.

“Because you really do have stage fright?” I asked. “Or because of something someone else did?”

Her hands clenched so tightly into fists to suppress their shaking, her skin paled. Tension seized her body and she refused to look at me. “What do you know about that?” she asked softly.

“Nothing really,” I said, taking the empty seat on the other side of her. “It’s all speculation.”

“Keep it that way.”

“I’ll need to know if I’m going to help you.”

“I don’t want your help,” she snipped, glaring at me.

“You will if you’re going to be ready to perform.”

“What makes you think I want to perform? I haven’t performed in over two years and I’ve been perfectly happy.”

“That’s a lie. You aren’t happy.”

“You don’t know me well enough to make that judgment.”

“Either way, you were born to perform. You come alive when you perform.” I was prepared to fight her every step of the way; I had mentally readied myself to deal with any emotional breakdown she might face. There wasn’t anything that could happen I couldn’t support her through if she let me.

“That sounds as convincing as saying you were born an angel of good intent.”

“I wasn’t. I never said I was, either.” Gisele glared harder at me. It’s hard to say I hadn’t deserved it. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“Because that’s so comforting to know.”

“It may or may not be, but it’s true. Your rehearsals start in a week. The practice room, for now,” I said, not wanting to add to her hostility any more than I already had.

“My rehearsals?” She cocked her eyebrows.

“You’re my lead. The first month will be private rehearsals. If you don’t show up, I’ll drag you there.”

“How can I convince you you’re wrong? That you need to cast someone else?” she asked, better concealing her anguish.

“I’m not wrong,” I assured her, standing. “I’ll help you see that.”

The First Musical: Chapter Four: Johnathan, Part 1

She has the most angelic voice I’ve ever heard. It was cruel what I did, but I realized it was the only way I could guarantee she would audition. Relying on Baron and Carmen wasn’t working. She had left me no other choice.

And now I better understood the source of her stage fright. It was less fear and more a reminder of a betrayal. Helping her overcome it would be much more challenging than I’d anticipated; it wouldn’t help she already distrusted me.

I had her, though. Gisele stood up to me, pushed back. I still unnerved her for whatever reason, which fueled her distrust. But when she ran from me this time, it wasn’t in fear.

The next day, I didn’t shadow her; I didn’t even go to the campus. She was emotional—whether pissed off, sad, or some harrowing combination of the two—and I preferred she work through it without having to deal with me. I didn’t want to make things worse.

But as I sat reviewing the musical, modernizing some of the dialogue, I couldn’t help but remember how she had cried. Though I knew she had to be the lead—and her audition further proved that—I wished there had been an easier way for her to realize that as well. Hurting her wasn’t what I had intended to do. She had to be strong.

At this rate, I wasn’t sure when would be a good time to tell her who was starring opposite her. The most probable reaction would be quite dramatic.

The First Musical: Chapter Three: Gisele, Part 3

“Where have you been?” Carmen asked the moment I stepped through the door. She had sprawled out on her bed, reading the text for her discussion class. The rest of her textbooks and school things were scattered across the floor in a haphazard mess.

“Nowhere.” I didn’t want to talk with her about it. She still wanted that lead, and I would be perfectly happy giving it to her if I could. It wasn’t my choice, though; it was his and I wished it wasn’t.

“What’s wrong, Gisele?” she asked, sitting up on her bed. “You can talk to me, you know.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I murmured, trying to focus on my math homework for the next day.

“Something’s wrong; I can tell.”

I slipped into the sweater on the back of my chair, pulling it tight around me. Cold still seemed to wrap me in a death grip; I just couldn’t seem to warm up. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t tell me that, Gisele.”

“I’m trying to concentrate,” I snapped. She wouldn’t understand. She’d blame me and any number of things. Between Johnathan, his musical, and having auditioned against my wishes, I couldn’t handle whatever she thought she could do to help. She’d probably do more to worsen things.

After a while I gave up on hoping calculus would make sense and started to regret snapping at Carmen. But she hadn’t bothered me since, so it wasn’t so bad? It just wasn’t me. I couldn’t remember snapping at anyone in the past several years. I felt ambivalent about it. Like Johnathan and everything was changing me into some unrecognizable.

Climbing into bed for the night, my back to Carmen and her unusual silence, I struggled to find sleep. Between singing that song—to Johnathan of all people—and everything else the day had revealed, my mind was too preoccupied to stop thinking.

Even though I’m certain I did eventually fall asleep, I couldn’t be sure. It felt like I opened my eyes every ten minutes to escape the images of Johnathan running through my mind. I couldn’t make heads or tails of him, but I would be happy if I never saw again.

But my nightmares were closer to reality.

The First Musical: Chapter Three: Gisele, Part 2

Outside the dorm it seemed colder than usual and the typical glances seemed to sear into my skin. Everyone was someone who wanted me to audition, to give into Johnathan. None of them could be trusted.

Somehow, I found myself outside the door of an empty practice room. They wouldn’t think to look for me there. What use would I have to be in a practice room?

Locking the door behind me, I sat my bag on top of the piano and sat down, running my fingers over the cool keys. I had never really learned to play piano; I had learned cello formally, and played at learning piano, guitar, and violin at various times. Mostly I liked to play different chords to emphasize the emotions storming inside me and laying a foundation for vocals.

“Under your wings,” I began singing softly, the notes harsh in my throat. Clearing my throat, I was grateful to be without an audience in the dark room. “I find the shelter I’ve been looking for.” A noise came from outside the room and I stopped, half expecting the door handle to rattle or someone to knock. When it faded away down the stairs opposite the practice room, I turned back to the piano, my fingers finding a new minor chord. “Stand next to me. Don’t make me think I’m needing you more—”

There was another sound, this one on the far side of the room. “Who’s there?” I asked, not yet moving from the piano. I couldn’t help but think locking the door and keeping the lights off had been a huge mistake.

“Sing more,” Johnathan’s voice said from the shadowy corner. “It’s beautiful.”

Grabbing my bag, I made to leave, only to find him blocking the door.

“Don’t go.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” I asked, my voice cracking a little. I hated that he frightened me, that I didn’t know why he was doing this to me instead of someone who wanted the attention.

“This is your audition. I’ll be where you can’t see me if you prefer, and we can leave the lights off. All you need to do is sing.”

“That’s very accommodating on your part,” I said, consciously trying to force bitterness and anger into my voice. “I do remember, however, telling you I wouldn’t audition.”

“You’ve already started, though. I insist you finish.”

I inhaled shakily. My bag was heavy enough I might be able to strike him in the head and escape, but it wasn’t guaranteed he’d be out of my way enough for me to make it through the door. It also didn’t stop him from appearing in random places around campus and recruiting my friends to assist in fulfilling his agenda.

“If I finish this audition, you have to promise to leave me alone,” I said.

He shook his head; “I can’t promise that.”

“Why not?” I asked, not voice pitching from the frustration.

“I already told you,” he said plainly. I could feel his blue-green eyes searching my face. “You’re my lead.”

“Why me? I don’t even perform anymore.”

“Anymore. Why is that?”

“None of your business.”

“Until you accept that you’re my lead, I can’t tell you why it has to be you.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” I whined, my free hand gripping the top of my head.

“It will,” he said. “Now please finish the audition.”

My bag fell to my feet. “You won’t let me leave until then?”

“No.”

I walked back to the piano and sat down, defeated.

“Where do you want me?” he asked, standing on the far side of the baby grand, hands buried in his pockets.

Sighing and running a hand through my chocolate tresses, I stared at him. There was a relief in being able to have some control over him, but not much. “Stay there.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable—”

“So long as you’re in this room, I’m more comfortable being able to see you,” I said a little more tartly than intended.

“Very well.”

I stared at the keys, not sure where to start, or what to sing. So I returned to what I had been singing. “Under your wings, I find the shelter I’ve been looking for. Stand next to me; don’t make me think I’m needing you more than I do. Because I don’t need you. Keep close to me, so my skin absorbs its warmth from you. Hold me tight, don’t let me go or else I’ll see it’s true. I don’t need you.” My eyes darted up to his, and I hoped he’d say I could go, but all he did was bow his head toward the piano, his eyes closed as he waited.

“So long as I think I need you, you can be cruel and kind and dominate my world. Don’t let me see the truth; that I’m just a fool and, when you’re done, you’ll hurl me aside. Because that’s what you do. You take everything for you. And we both know it’s wrong,”

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I finished. I regretted singing that song; I hadn’t thought about it since I’d written it more than two years ago. “I’m done,” I muttered, grabbing my bag from the floor and leaving him behind.

I hated him for trapping. I focused on that one thing because if I didn’t, I’d realize the only reason it had happened was because of me. Because I had ended up there and I had started to sing thinking no one was listening.

The First Musical: Chapter Three: Gisele, Part 1

Our study circle that night was in Baron’s room at Carmen’s insistence. It didn’t bother me as he had a single anyway, but it was weird being in the middle of a wing of boys. Despite trying to ignore this fact, I found it distracting—especially when his friends would peek in as if they wanted to ask something before seeing us and disappearing again.

“So I ran into Johnathan today,” Carmen said. “He’s convinced you should audition.”

This again? I sighed and let it go. If I didn’t indulge her, she might stop talking about it.

“I decided I would audition, too,” Baron said softly. My head whipped around to stare at him. This was Baron. Baron attended Carmen’s performances and whatever else she wanted to attend, but he never had an interest in partaking himself. It was what made him safe. We could be supportive together but I’d never feel pressured into trying because he wouldn’t either.

His green eyes locked on mine. “I was talking with Johnathan and he said I’d be a pretty good singer. That, and there isn’t much dancing unless you get a lead,” he said, shrugging and diverting his eyes back to his textbook.

“That’s great!” Carmen squealed excitedly, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. “I can’t believe he was able to talk you into it. I’ve been trying for years!”

“I know.”

As they exchanged their excitement and surprise, I packed my things into my bag. I couldn’t stay here. I knew what was happening. Johnathan was trying to corner me into auditioning for him. Why he was so adamant about this, I couldn’t begin to guess. But I wouldn’t audition. Nothing he did could make me. And if he thought getting my friends to audition would make me follow suit, he was sadly mistaken.

“Where are you going?” Carmen asked, pulling away from Baron.

“I don’t know,” I replied, swinging my bag onto my shoulder and leaving. An urgency swelled inside me to escape, as though they were as dangerous as Johnathan.

“Gisele,” Baron called after me, but I waved him off. I could not deal with this. I wouldn’t perform; no one could make me perform.

The First Musical: Chapter Two: Johnathan, Part 2

“Baron.” His head jerked around in surprise, but he knew who it was already.

“Johnathan. What’s up?” he asked casually.

“Remember the musical I was telling you and Carmen about? The one I want to produce here?”

“I’m not trying out, man;” he scoffed. “I don’t sing…or dance.”

“See, I think you could sing, though. And there wouldn’t be much dancing either,” I assured him. I was the director, after all; I could make certain accommodations. “Most of the dancing is done by the leads, there’s only a couple places where anyone else would dance.”

“Why do you want me to audition? I already declined your offer.” Although he stood comfortably before me, both hands buried in his jeans pockets, his voice sounded irritated and suspicious. He might have been a big guy, but Baron didn’t scare me.

“Because if both you and Carmen audition, Gisele will…at least, I’m hoping.”

He seemed to do a double-take and replayed my words before saying, “You want…Carmen and I already told you she wouldn’t audition.”

Nodding, I said, “I remember.”

“Then why are you forcing it?” The muscles in his arms visibly tensed under his shirt, though his hands remained in his pockets.

“Because I need her to audition.”

“Drop it and leave her alone,” Baron said.

“If she auditions, I can help her. She’d be confident again, not so worried or worrisome.”

Baron gaze turned icy and my instincts suggested running and hiding would be best. After a tense moment, he said, “I’ll audition…but if you make things worse for her, know I will hurt you until you wish you were dead.”

“I guarantee I have no ill-intent for her.”

“You’d better not;” he shoulder-checked me rougher than necessary as he left.

I clutched my shoulder and winced, though a small euphoric rush of accomplishment flooded through me. The seeds were planted and my auditions were only a few days away. If Carmen couldn’t convince her, and Baron’s own auditioning wouldn’t move her either, I’d have to revert to my other plan. I didn’t much want to, though. I doubted she would like it—or me—much.

The First Musical: Chapter Two: Johnathan, Part 1

“Carmen,” I called, jogging to catch up to her. She turned on the sidewalk, searching for me. The moment her hazel eyes found me, she pulled her blond hair over her shoulder.

“Johnathan. What a surprise.” The way she said it revealed how little of a surprise it was. I suspected she’d been looking for me, hoping to discuss auditioning for the lead.

“Not really. I need your help with something.”

“What?” she asked, cocking her head to the side, her doe eyes wide and innocent.

“I want Gisele to audition.”

At first, she stared, her brow furrowed and her lips slightly pressed. Slowly, she realized I wasn’t joking and she smiled secretively. “I’ve told you she won’t. She doesn’t like to perform.”

“Why not?”

“She’s convinced herself she has stage fright.”

“Do you know why?”

Carmen shrugged, and examined her cuticles. “It was before I met her. Supposedly she was really great, at least according to half our town, but I never knew that side of her. By the time I came around, she refused to perform and blamed it on this fictitious fear of hers.”

The only way I would figure out what had caused her to stop was if Gisele told me, but she wasn’t likely to come to me. “Is there any way you could help me get her to audition?” I asked, trying to avoid sounding too desperate.

She thought a moment, shifting the bag on her shoulder up more and pulling her hair around and over the opposite shoulder. “I can try, I guess. She won’t come, though.”

“Thank you.”

“I’d better get to class. I’ll be way late,” she said, glancing in the direction she had been travelling before our conversation, but not leaving.

Had I been interested in her, I would have been tempted to ask her elsewhere, maybe lunch or something. But Carmen was a means to an end. “Have a good class.”

She forced a cordial smile before turning and gliding away.

After she left, I went in search of Gisele. I made her nervous for whatever reason, so I needed to plan my approach. It wouldn’t do to scare her. Observation was key to a good plan, though. Not stalk, observe. Perhaps I would find my answers in her mannerisms. If she really had convinced herself she had stage fright, I could offer her a private audition. I already knew she had the part, and she knew I wanted her to have it. The audition was a formality to say she went through it.

She was leaving the art building when I finally found her. Her thumb was hooked on her bag and her eyes were diverted downward. She walked alone until Baron appeared. Gisele’s features lit up as he walked alongside her, telling her something that made her laugh. Her smile was radiant; it was impossible to see why anyone would want to hurt her.

I followed their progress across campus as they walked to another building, completely entranced by her. The way she moved next to him revealed a confidence she didn’t otherwise show. Her violet-blue eyes were bright with laughter and she seemed to have a little more liveliness in her step.

I would need to speak with Baron, obviously, as well. From the quality of his voice, he could be a fabulous singer. Having him on board—at least as an understudy—would help convince her, and that’s all that really mattered. I needed her…this her, who she was when she was around Baron and Carmen. Who she couldn’t seem to be otherwise. Whatever I had to do, I’d do it. Without her, there could be no musical.

With her, this her, it could only be a success.

I refused to think I may not find the her I wanted. It was a possibility, but one I didn’t wish to entertain.

The First Musical: Chapter One: Gisele, Part 3

I didn’t used to have stage fright. I used to sing all the time, every chance I could. Music and performance were my life; it felt like I wouldn’t be able to breathe without the ability to sing. Though I never learned to read music, I could feel it. At least that’s what my mom had said once when I'd asked her. So even if they weren’t always the right notes, they were beautiful. That’s what everyone told me anyway.

But then he came along, and changed everything. He made the stage dangerous and music foreign; he shattered my confidence because I wanted his approval above everything else. And then he left, crushing my heart and spirit in the process.

Carmen and Baron didn’t know that story. Carmen had moved to town the next fall and Baron transferred the following spring.

If I’d had my way, no one would know. Very few people knew what had happened, and that was out of necessity. But not knowing led to things like Johnathan.

Sitting in the study room, trying fruitlessly to concentrate on my accounting assignment, I realized she would probably still insist I acquaint myself with him, maybe even date him. Not out of maliciousness or naivety, but in the name of putting myself out there again.

Giving up on homework for the moment, I grabbed my bag and left the library, wandering aimlessly around campus. Upperclassmen passed by and glanced at me long enough to register I wasn’t a familiar face before looking away. Over the past couple months I had grown used to that. Despite a population of around 6,000 students, it was a fairly close community. Part of me envied the upperclassmen who seemed to know someone everywhere they went on campus.

As I continued walking, I contemplated what Carmen had said concerning his questions about me. She was right that it wasn’t general interest, though I had determined that long before she had. For whatever reason, he had picked me out of our group; I wasn’t even the performer…at least, I hadn’t been in the past three years. Could he see I’d been broken before? Had he marked me as easy prey?

“Hello, Gisele.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Off the path was an old maple tree; leaning against the trunk was Johnathan, a crooked smile on his lips, his blue-green eyes reflecting the light from the nearby lampost.

Without answering him, I continued down the path, heading toward my dorm room and hoping Carmen had decided to spend the night with Baron practicing her audition pieces. I didn’t want to have a conversation with or about Johnathan. If she was there, she’d certainly let him in and then I’d have nowhere to go.

“I really must speak with you,” he said, his footsteps following me down the sidewalk. “Perhaps Carmen has already told you? I’m putting on a musical…an ancient musical.”

Ignore him, I told myself. I repeated it several times in my mind, trying to block out his voice.

“I’m holding auditions for it soon. There’s only one role with a closed audition.” He caught up with me, his hands buried in his pockets as if to assure me he meant no harm.

“I really don’t care,” I said, hoping he’d stop following me.

“But I think you will,” he confided. His footsteps ceased to follow me and I hoped that was the end of the nightmare. “I want you to be my lead.”

Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, I faced him. His features were stoic and his eyes scanning my face for some trace of my reaction. All I could do was stare dumbly at him. I must have misheard; that was the only logical explanation. There’s no way he had said he wanted me to be the lead.

“You’re insane.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t perform. Now leave me alone.”

Without waiting for a response, I ran the last several yards to my residence hall. Even inside my room with the door locked, I couldn’t help thinking about him and what I couldn’t be certain he had said. As I had turned to retreat from him, I could have sworn he'd said, “You will be my lead.”

The First Musical: Chapter One: Gisele, Part 2

“Freak out much?” Carmen asked, dumping her bag on her desk and then plopping onto her bed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, trying to focus on my homework. Something was off in the general ledger my teammates had sent me to review and I couldn’t figure out what.

“I mean with Johnathan earlier. You didn’t even have another class.”

 “So? I have homework.”

“Doesn’t count,” she said, setting her favorite teddy bear in front of her and playing with the arms. “Baron and I ate lunch with him. He’s not a student, you know. Supposedly he graduated already and now he’s promoting this musical he wants to put on. Some ancient thing no one’s seen in forever.”

“Sounds perfect for you. You’re auditioning, I’m guessing.”

“Of course;” she rolled her hazel eyes. “I’m passing up the school auditions for his. Personally, I think I totally have the lead nailed. She’s supposed to be sweet and creative; there’s supposed to some improv involved.”

“Of course, it’s yours. You’re the best performer I know.” I opened a new spreadsheet on my laptop. I hadn’t wanted to, but it looked like my only option was to start the assignment over; I just could not find the error to make everything balance.

“Johnathan kept asking about you, too. He wanted to know if you’d audition,” she said, doing her best to sound disinterested. “I told him to forget it, before you jump me.”

“Thanks.”

I was hoping she was done so I could focus on recording these transactions. It was bad enough I’d wasted two hours searching for an error I couldn’t seem to find. I didn’t want to mess something up and waste even more time.

“He was really interested in knowing about you,” Carmen said, sounding more intrigued. “Like if you sang, what kind of music you liked and disliked…that sort of thing.”

“That’s nice,” I said, distractedly, really wishing she’d shut up. I didn’t want to know Johnathan was interested in me or anything about him. As far as I was concerned, I’d be content never crossing paths with him again. Just thinking about the encounter gave me chills.

“Why don’t you have lunch with him sometime…just get to know—”

“I’m going to the library,” I interrupted. “This is due tomorrow and I have to start over from the beginning.”

“Gisele, just give him a chance,” she said as I packed my laptop and course materials. “You’d like him. You really would.”

She didn’t understand that I didn’t want to like him, or get to know him, or anything to do with him. All I wanted was to make it through my classes and keep my scholarship. I didn’t need a boyfriend or to perform on stage, despite what Carmen seemed to think. I was happy to be invisible. It was safer that way. Something about the way Johnathan had looked at me had made me feel very much exposed, and that was a terrifying thought.

The First Musical: Chapter One: Gisele, Part 1

“You’re beautiful. So smile like you’re beautiful. So sing like you’re beautiful. So dance –”

“—like you’re beautiful?” I supplied, interrupting Carmen. She had a tendency to make up her own songs and sing them all around campus in her flighty soprano voice.

“Exactly!” She walked backwards in front of me, bouncing on her toes with every step.

“You’ll run over someone like that;” thankfully, most people walked around her, some glaring.

“Why not sing with me? You aren’t half bad, yourself.”

“No, thanks. Remember, I’m the one who will only do karaoke if you pull me up on stage with you.”

“That was only once and no one complained.”

“Hey, Carmen, Gisele,” Baron called from across the quad, catching my eye. His name was Barnaby, but everyone called him Baron. Carmen beamed brighter than a spotlight while we waited for him to join  us.

“Hey, Baron. What’s up?” I asked when he was close enough I didn’t have to yell.

“Nothing much. Heading to lunch?”

“Baron, tell her she should sing more. She really isn’t that bad,” Carmen pouted.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to mumble something cutesy into her ear that made her face light up again. To me he said, “You really do have a great voice, Gisele. It wouldn’t hurt to join a group or something.”

“Will you drag her to auditions this week for me?”

Baron raised his eyebrows at me as though asking my opinion.

“I’m not auditioning,” I said, not for the first time. Auditioning was something I didn’t do. Kind of like being on stage wasn’t something I did. “And you know that, Carmen.”

Baron shrugged and returned his attention to Carmen. “She was always exempt from in-class presentations.”

“Your stage fright is fictitious,” she said, shrugging off Baron’s arm and walking backwards again. Then, as was commonly Carmen, she randomly burst into song; “It’s all in your head, my darling girl. You can do so much more than you give yourself credit for…”

“You can ignore her,” Baron whispered, grinning.

“I always do. Carmen, watch—”

Carmen fell over a guy who had wound up behind her; the two of them landed in a tangled mess of limbs on the sidewalk.

“I am so sorry,” Carmen fussed as Baron helped her to her feet. She shoved her golden locks over her shoulder before turning back to the guy on the ground. He picked himself up slowly, almost like he was distracted, running a hand through his shaggy auburn hair. His blue-green eyes met hers for a second as she gushed apologies before sweeping over Baron and landing on me for the longest two seconds of my life.

“It’s fine,” he said, dusting the seat of his pants. He then reached out a hand; “I’m Johnathan.”

“Carmen,” she said, shaking his hand. “My beau, Baron, and my best girl, Gisele. Nice to meet you, John.”

“Johnathan;” there was a slight edge to his voice.

“You don’t shorten it at all?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.

“No. Do you shorten yours?” The look he gave me was so intense I had to divert my gaze. Part of me wanted to run even. Something about the way he regarded me was different from when he looked at Baron or Carmen and it made my skin crawl.

“Baron does.” Then, glancing at my phone, I added, “I’m going to grab something to eat before the food court closes.”

“May I join you?” Johnathan asked.

“No,” I said a little too quickly. “I mean, I have a class in a little bit. It’s just to hold me over.”

“Gisele—”

“I’ll catch you later, Carmen,” I cut her off. I didn’t want him to know I was lying. I just wanted to be away from him and whatever it was he saw in me.

The First Musical: Preface

Sunlight spilled between gaps in the clouds, momentarily blinding me as I jogged down the steps of my building. This was the place; this is where I would find her. I didn’t know who it would be, or how long it would take, but I knew I would. A group of girls passed, giggling conspiratorially under their breath. None of them were her, I was certain. I would know when I saw her, I knew that much.

Glancing behind me at the red brick exterior, I couldn’t help but feel this was right. I had found the script—unknown to this changed world. It seemed a miracle it had been in my family all these years, that it was mine now. Soon, it would belong to the world again. They would know its magic and stand in awe at its complexity and amazing simplicity.

But not without her.

She would be the only one capable of bringing it to life. To create a spell of wonderment enveloping the audience. Without her, there was nothing but chaos; with her, she would orchestrate the chaos that brought the script to life. She would hold it together and create the world, the music, the mood…everything. She would determine the ending and how everyone interacted. Her spontaneity would spark creativity in the cast, and present the show that would never leave the audience with the same experience twice.

It was my birthright to find her.

Eternal: Epilogue

Epilogue: Beginning Eternity

Years ago, Valetta had asked me how I imagined my dream life. When I had closed my eyes, I saw a life I wanted, but didn’t think I could ever have. And yet, here I am, with Drei, living in a two story beach house on a lake in a forest. Almost exactly as I had described.

Drei’s sisters had been buried in that single grave I had found. He paid to have them exhumed and cremated, bringing their ashes back with us. The urns had a room they shared with other memories, fond and painful. Pictures, news clippings, items that held special meaning—including the rocking chair Drei had found all those years ago, a maternal family heirloom of mine.

Another special place Drei and I had set up, though I had been reluctant at first, was a garden. It wasn’t like his original, left behind and untended at the original safe camp, but it was a close second. We didn’t have to build a greenhouse, as there was an atrium that essentially functioned as one. Together, we worked to find the right combination and proportions of flowers with the initial goal of replicating the scent still following him around. After a while, Drei and I both decided it shouldn’t be a replica because the original had been a solution to his pain and a gift to me, his love. He suggested I take more creative control over its composition as I was now in need of channeling pain. I didn’t argue, and it wasn’t long after I started feeling better. There was something about catering to life that balanced a loss of it.

Kneeling by the water, I set some blossoms floating into the center of the lake. My yearly ritual, because I didn’t have an urn or a grave to send them to. The lake is the second best thing to him, as it is where we first met and where most of our happiest memories were. It is also where he made his first sacrifice for us.

I brush the tears from my eyes, wondering, not for the first time, if I’ll ever be able to stop crying for him.

“Abriel,” Drei calls from behind me.

I watch the blossoms for a moment more before turning to jog up the stairs to the balcony off our room where he waits. Where he has waited every year on this day.

“Beautiful flowers you chose this year,” he says, opening his arms to me.

“Thank you.” The sadness dissipats again, waiting for next year. Tending a garden really minimized my sadness surrounding the event to the point I only felt it deeply once a year. And like clockwork, it’s back on this day; I wake up with it and that’s how I know to go to the garden and pick whichever flowers speak to me for my annual visitation. “Why does it feel like it hurts more every year?” I ask, gazing out at the small specks on the calm surface of the water.

“Because it is another year you have lived without him,” he replies gently, rubbing my back. “And another year you realize he will not return to say hello.”

There’s a truth to his words, more truth than I want to admit. It is the first year I have asked, and I can’t believe he’s hit on it so well. No matter what had happened, Nick had always popped up somewhere else, smiling, calming me, apologizing for something or another from the time before. Subconsciously, I think I’m still waiting for him to show up and apologize for scaring me so badly.

“Nick is not coming back this time,” Drei whispers. I appreciate his honesty; it’s the only way I’m going to stop crying on this day. And I know that. But some part of me, somewhere deep in my heart, doesn’t want to stop hoping, even if I know I should.

“I added the angel and the guardian to our memories room,” I say, changing the subject. Although they have been available for some time now, Drei has avoided adding them to our collection. I decided to correct the oversight.

“At least it is not a doll;” he smirks and I hit him lightly on the arm. He is never going to let that one die. Though he continues to smile, his eyes darken a little, growing more serious. “There is one thing you have yet to ask me.”

The sky begins to lighten with the coming dawn as I try to think of what he means. When it strikes me, I know why I hadn’t remembered. I haven’t thought about it in years, and now I might finally have the answer I have been wanting since Drei first mentioned it.

“Do you think you have fulfilled your promise to the Lady of the Moon?”

“I strive to deserve your love every day,” he says softly, holding my gaze steadily, his amethyst eyes bright and resolute. “And I will never deserve it until I strive every day hereafter.”

“There is no one else I would rather spend my eternity with,” I confide before he kisses me.

A light crosses the forest and we stop, stepping into our room and closing the French doors. It is my first sunrise since I had a pulse. Most of them before now I had slept through, but not today.

“You know, if we ever grow tired of forever, I could change that,” I remind him, resting my head on his chest.

“I do not imagine I will grow tired of spending my un-life with you, Abriel,” he says as the first rays of dawn fill the room.

I miss it, though, because I’m looking at him, and all of the promises that fill his eyes. Eternity is a long time, but he silently promises he will love me everlastingly; and by the way he kisses me, I can tell he knows the same is true of me.

Eternal: Chapter Twelve, Part 3

But that wasn’t everyone. Justin and Angeline were married and started their own law firm together. He had taken my advice, though I had known that at the march. She had said yes, just as I knew she would, and she was the reason he joined Caroline that day. As much as they argued, they loved each other and there would never be someone else they’d want.

If you were wondering, their law firm was one of the most successful in the nation and represented the new government—by Caroline’s recommendation, of course.

Mitchell and Valetta stuck around helping Caroline until just before the first elections. Then they took off to travel the world, just as Valetta had always wanted to do with her love. It only took a couple hundred years, but she was living her dream un-life. There wasn’t anyone I knew who deserved it more.

And Mitchell? Well, he was still Mitchell. And no matter how old I become, I doubt he will ever stop making fun of me. But I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Obviously, the Council agreed I had made my significant impact. All charges against us were dropped and we went on with our un-lives. I had heard, though, because of vampiric support during my campaign and the new government being formed, the Council was considering co-habitation in a hundred years, give or take a score. Once co-habitation was established, after all, they could fully stake claim for their part in the revolution.

Elizabeth, the little girl from the march, didn’t see a doll of me made. In fact, no one ever made a doll of me. They did, though, make an angel of me, and she received that for her birthday—courtesy of Drei, who still found it hilarious. Surprisingly enough, the angel looked like me. Pale skin, blue-grey eyes, blondish brown hair, and arms open to welcome everyone and everything. Of course, she was called Leirba. What I didn’t expect was that she was the angel not of change, or hope, or peace, but of miracles. Another company called her the guardian of the impossible, including a story about how she magically came to earth one day, led a great movement for change against all odds, and disappeared when the people could see the path forward. It also promised she’d return again if they ever needed her.

As cute and inspiring as I thought it was, I hoped they wouldn’t need me again, and should they, I hoped someone else would be there to step up and take his or her turn. Otherwise I would be there, but I can guarantee you whoever was supposed to be stepping up wouldn’t like it.

My parents were reunited again, too. I bought a plane ticket for my mom, and left a message for my dad telling him when to be at the airport, which flight, and everything. It dawned on me I could have been there, as well. But the only thing I could do to right what had gone wrong was to give them back to each other.

I stayed at home and mapped it. I watched as she stepped through security, searching for someone familiar, anyone familiar. My dad searched for me, because I had left the message. The two of them finally saw each other, their eyes locking and everyone else seeming to freeze in place. Then he was holding her, so gently, terrified she wasn’t real. She started crying, wrapping her thin arms around him, telling him she loved him and she was sorry she ever had to leave.

A month later, he was divorced from my mother, leaving her the house and enough money to keep her satisfied for years. I think she had been expecting this as she didn’t put up a fight. She just let it happen, and a year later she was married to some guy down the block who divorced her a few months after for everything she was worth. I wouldn’t say she deserved it, because she didn’t, and I found it somewhat cruel that she had to work after never working on anything but a committee for years. I called Dad, left him a message about Kenzy’s situation, and he helped her get back on her feet, ensuring the next guy she married wouldn’t do the same by making him sign a pre-nuptial agreement.

Mom and Dad, though, they had a small apartment in New York, his favorite place in the world. They were happy and he was doing everything he could to help Mom heal after all she had suffered through. I was proud of her for taking the aid he offered—and found for her—and of him for stepping up and being home to help her. If I was lucky, my eternity with Drei would be filled with just as much love as their time together was.

Looking back, it almost seemed as though that march was where most people ended the movement, though it still technically continued into today. I found it strange and flattering. Though it wasn’t the end, it seemed to be the start of everyone’s future. For better or for worse, we had succeeded.

Finally.

Eternal: Chapter Twelve, Part 2

Within weeks of the march, Caroline had officially called for a complete removal of the government, as I had known she would. She explained, no matter what agreement they came to in negotiations, it wouldn’t be long before things reverted to the way they had been.

Initially, people weren’t sure what to make of it. They weren’t ready for something so radical, not when that would mean removing the entire governmental body in work and replacing it. In response, she explained Leirba’s Council—they left it in my name so not everything was changing—was already drafting possible temporary solutions. It was a huge country, they weren’t ignoring that fact, but this was also a huge problem. No matter what they did, it would take time.

When she presented her proposal for the new temporary government, a council instead of a single figure head, and larger councils below and at every level, people relaxed. This was her guarantee that not everyone in the most important positions would be regular or elemental, which even satisfied some of those still unsure about elementals and hell.

A few short years later, the existing government was dissolved. Every official had either been petitioned from office or forcibly removed when only a few remained. An online ballot was released and the first members of the Change Committee—the council that would lead the country in this exchange of power—were elected and met. Caroline and a regular were the co-presiding chairs, the other twenty members divided between elemental and non. Together, they decided to rid the government of political parties other than elemental and regular, so no one group had too much more control than the other. Other such decisions regarding the new government were made in those first meetings, and, slowly, were being made in each state by their elected Change Councils—the state-level equivalent of the Committee.

Last I had heard, things were running smoothly with the temporary government—though it didn’t seem so temporary as it had been in place for six years. There was, of course, plenty of chaos, but things were quieting as each Council grew stronger and reviewed their new respective constitutions for any amendments that needed to be made. Things were looking better. In another year there would be elections again for most of the Committee and Council seats, though many felt that almost everyone holding a seat would win it back so they could finish what they had started.

Caroline, in addition to her revolution work, had also come to some resolution with her parents. They remained adamantly against the movement and all related things, but she finally had the backing and the proof she wasn’t insane, unhealthy, or freakish. Though they wouldn’t back down, she argued she was still their daughter, regardless of how they thought she should be, and she was going to live her own way, with or without their approval. When they failed to provide a compelling argument for her to continue visiting, both Caroline and Ian were freed from their mandatory meetings with them. This saddened her slightly, but she was quickly consumed in other business. I had a feeling, given a few more years, they might come around to accepting societal norms had changed and could figure out they really did love her—elemental, angry, wild, and all.

Ian was painting, as he had told me he would be. His murals and collages, portraits and scenes were gorgeous and many were available for viewing online or in various magazines. He also had current shows in a New York Gallery of his Movement works, and another in England of his Pre-Movement works. There was rarely a critic with a negative comment, though even those existed.

The one piece I had explained to Caroline, the one he said I was in, he named after me: Abriel. I read an interview in which he was asked why it was called Abriel, who was Abriel. His answer: “She is the bravest person I know, and without her, none of us would be where we are today.” Though this thoroughly confused people, especially the interviewer, I felt touched. The world would know my real name, even if they couldn’t match it with a face.

By far, though, his Movement works were his best known. They depicted everything from our early meetings to our commercials, Caroline’s local speeches to small group work, his picket signs to Nick’s death. It was the single greatest depiction of modern history in the world. I wasn’t the only one to think so, and I was biased.

However, he wasn’t just painting and making appearances; Caroline wouldn’t let him off that easily. Whenever she needed help or a second, outside opinion, he was on her speed dial. He didn’t mind it so much, though. If anything, he missed having her boss him around sometimes. Since they had gone their separate ways, he was suddenly making every decision, even about his exhibitions. Occasionally, when setting up a new exhibit, he called her so someone else could decide how it should look for once, especially since she had no eye for art and could therefore give a properly unbiased opinion. No matter what happened, they were stuck together. It was a good thing they didn’t mind.

Jake and Kora both returned to college, changing their majors to political science, the new version—Jake for a master’s and Kora for a bachelor’s though it meant an extra year of study for her. Both wanted to continue being a part of the change happening around them, and politics was the place to do so.

Kora was married on the two year anniversary of the march. We were invited—Drei received the invitation through Valetta. I went alone, but stayed to the back of the crowd, dropped off her present at the reception and left. She was stunning, the wedding was perfect, and Dan couldn’t have been a better match for her. The gift was the angels of love and hope, a note tucked into the box saying, “No matter what happens in life, love and hope will always lead you true.”

Jake was reunited with his mother. There were tears and apologies and promises made anew. When they went home together, his father apologized for his cruelty, and Jake finally found his answer. He wouldn’t forget, but he could forgive them. All of them.

With his new attitude and his family reunited, it wasn’t long before Jake was dating—and then engaged to—the girl about whom he used to tell me. And guess who? Natalie, the girl he thoroughly pissed off in his ethics class. They were cute together, and they reveled in the occasional heated debate.

Mikael and Xenia co-authored a memoir on their participation in those two years with me. It was a best seller and paid for them to go through college to become environmentalists. They were both working toward doctorate’s degrees.

Xenia eventually dyed her hair back to its original color and settled down. She could be herself, and that was all she had ever wanted. Her friends and her were all still single, no man (or woman) able to keep up with them. Someday that might change, especially as more and more people were becoming comfortable with admitting they were elementals or that they were okay with those who were.

Mikael’s parents showed up not long after he was interviewed the day of the march about his involvement in the movement. They told him they had made a mistake and wanted him back in their lives. No matter how much they apologized, though, Mikael remained silent. When they stopped fussing over him, trying to figure out if he was ever going to say something to them, he told them what they did was inexcusable, but he appreciated the apologies. Then he asked they never contact him again unless he did so first.

It couldn’t have been easy for him, but I think that’s what had been bothering him in those times he looked sad. He was trying to figure out what he would do if they came back. It couldn’t have been easy, but he had decided for himself what was right. I didn’t worry about him, though; Mikael had surrounded himself with a new family, both from our group and from his boarding school. He nurtured and cherished those relationships, but otherwise focused on his studies.

Occasionally, all of them gathered together in our old apartment, talking or plotting for old time’s sake. Caroline had kept up the rent and had given permission for the landlord to give weekday tours as an added bonus. I think they thought now that everything was going better, I might come back. While I couldn’t stop caring about them all, I couldn’t go to them. I was dead, technically, and I felt it was finally time I started acting like it.

Eternal: Chapter Twelve, Part 1

Chapter Twelve: Working Towards the Future

After I handed control to Caroline, Drei and I returned to the apartment and packed what we needed, leaving the rest. We mailed a key to Caroline, in case there was something she needed from the last two years. Leaving the apartment was my choice, and Drei didn’t ask. I was done here, and continuing to be there…the memories would have killed me more than anything else.

Part of me felt bad for leaving them without saying anything. I could imagine them searching for us afterwards, unable to find us anywhere, confused and unsure why we had disappeared. The news crews that had been at the event talked about how they hadn’t found me to express congratulations or ask questions. Some people on the site mused I had been an angel, only there to show them the way, and gone the minute they could see where they were going again.

But I had done my part, as I had said. Anything that came next was up to them. They had to take control of their own futures, make their own decisions, and find their own way. None of them needed me anymore, no matter what they thought.

Besides, Nick was dead now because of me. I was beginning to understand the pain Caroline must have felt, but this time, she wouldn’t stop. Ian wouldn’t let her. And the note I had left with our apartment key assured her I was fine.

As for Nick, we returned his body to Lily, the only family he had other than Drei and I. I didn’t go with Drei. Imagining how she was handling it tore me apart; I couldn’t even stand to map it. It took her four days to calm down enough to make a decision. His body was cremated and the ashes spread in Winnsboro, where his family died. At last he could be with them again. In that, I found some comfort; little as it was, it was something.