by Emile Faust
* * *
“This is the only thing in my life where I really allow myself to be vulnerable — to be myself. You can’t tell me what to do, if I took any instruction I’d be betraying myself.” He said.
* * *
Annabelle locked eyes with Eman, and clasped his hand with hers. “Don’t take yourself so seriously.” She said. Slowly, Eman’s arms rose and by using his wide back he begun to block the other passenger’s view.
* * *
His large hand wrapped around her neck loosely at first, but after an encouraging nod by Eman he tightened his grip. “Like this?” He asked in a low, gruff voice. Annabelle moaned quietly, said yes, and placed her hand on her sex outside of her jeans. She began to rub as Eman choked harder, and rhythmically continued as Eman grabbed a handful of her brownish red hair and pulled down tightly.
* * *
“You said you don’t want to be an object? Fucking bullshit, now you’re gonna—“ Eman paused his low growling speech, removed his hand and sat still as two passengers made their way down the aisle towards the back. Annabelle panted hard, her mouth slack and she took heavy breaths trying to compose herself. As the slovenly dressed passengers approached, from his periphery Eman saw that her hand was still playing on her sex. “Not here.” He said, taking her hand and placing it on his own knee. “We’re just two people going to Concord, right? Not doing anything wrong.” He added. Annabelle attempted to quietly bring her hand up towards Eman’s groin but was stopped by him once more, removing her hand and placing it onto her own still quivering lap.
* * *
“I can’t die here.” Eman said bluntly. “I can’t go all the way and do what I want to do in public. I’m not gonna do a job halfway, it’s better just not to do it. I just can’t die on a ferry.” He said.
* * *
“Why are you so goddamn focused on dying all the time? You’ve already got me hot and bothered and now you want to talk about death?” Annabelle said, feeling teased and frustrated.
* * *
“It’s the most profound thing that’s ever gonna happen to me so I better be prepared, right? I mean, I think it’s weird if people don’t have a preoccupation with death. It means they don’t live life honestly, I don’t think you can live a sincere life without really reckoning with yourself that it’s going to end.” Eman replied.
* * *
“No, it’s not the preoccupation, it’s the constant talking about it! I’m having a good time and you bring up such a downer idea, right as I’m getting into it.” Annabelle said. Eman leaned back comfortably onto the sunlit bench and took notice of the eerie purple and red glow coming from the sunset.
* * *
“What’s wrong with talking about it?” Eman asked.
* * *
“God! You’re like a petulant child, afraid of dying so to cope you just talk and talk about it like some emo step-child listening to nu-metal. Everyone is afraid of death, you’re just using the enigma of death for the aesthetics.” She replied.
* * *
Eman was taken aback.
* * *
“Damn.” He began.
* * *
“It just isn’t the case, I don’t have a fear of death. Since I made the decision to quit my job I haven’t had a fear of much to be honest. It’s liberating to give up.” Eman continued.
* * *
“Liberating? It’s childish! Ever since you brought up quitting your job I’ve looked at you like you’re thick, you know that? With no plan in place its nothing but wanderlust and you’re gonna end up right next to that guy you gave that 5 dollars to.” After she finished speaking, she sat back on the bench and turned away from Eman.
* * *
“You make it seem like I don’t have funds to take care of myself, I do. I had a choice this morning when I woke up. At 12pm a package containing a tank of nitrogen and a secured face mask was due to arrive, and I had work in the morning. I could either follow through with my plan and end everything by inhaling that nitrogen and strapping on that mask. It’s painless, you inhale the gas and pass out and the inert gas replaces the oxygen in your lungs causing a quick death. Your body mistakes the inert gas for oxygen and you die peacefully. I thought that was what I wanted until I actually saw the shipping information update on my computer. It became so real, it’s the closest thing to a near death experience that I’ve ever had. On a whim, I quit my job, came home to the package and threw it away, deciding instead to check out the bookstore across the pond. So I’m sorry, I’m in uncharted territory here. I tore up all my goodbye letters and tossed out the plans earlier in the afternoon. But you showed me something life affirming — that simple, gentle conversation is the most life affirming thing in the world, meeting great people like you is the reason I’m here with you, pissing you off.” He said.
* * *
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. That’s —“ Annabelle paused as Eman began to shake his head.
* * *
“Don’t apologize, how could you have known? That’s what I want to do with you, instead of ridding myself of this physical body I’m going to kill that sickness in myself that made me rationalize suicide in the first place. I want to die with you.”
* * *
Annabelle nodded understandingly.
* * *
Over the P.A. An announcement stated that they would soon dock at Lyon harbour.
* * *
“You still want that drink?” Eman asked.
* * *
“Of course! After all of that I think a drink is necessary.” Anabelle said with a smile.
* * *
They both exited the ferry at Lyon Harbour and began to walk down Lancaster Avenue.
* * *
“If you don’t mind me asking, what made you want to kill yourself in the first place?” Anabelle asked as Eman held his firm grip on Anabelle’s waist.
* * *
“Well, everything was the same, day in and day out. It’s mind numbing to realize that sleep is the one thing you look forward to in life because work leaves you so exhausted. I just waned to visit somewhere different, and then I met you.” He responded.
* * *
“That puts a lot of undue pressure on me, like if I turn you down or stop responding I’m supposed to worry about you dying?” She asked.
* * *
“That is unfair, but I can promise that part of me doesn’t exist. You have to find beauty in the little things, and once I was able to open my eyes I found everything gorgeous.” Eman responded.
* * *
“Did you not see the beauty before?” Anabelle asked.
* * *
“It isn’t that I wasn’t able to see it, I had blinders on. A life like that doesn’t leave much room for introspection, how can you have the time to figure out your purpose for life if it’s life itself stealing your purpose from you?” He responded.
* * *
“Why is it that other people seem to be able to find purpose in their life and you’re unable? I feel vaguely fulfilled I think, I want to be a good person and inspire others to do the same. In time, I believe that my good will will live on while I pass away. Isn’t that enough of a purpose?” Anabelle asked.
* * *
“I don’t think those people really understand purpose. Why would an uncaring world in an indifferent universe give a shit if you were nice and said ‘hi’ to your neighbor or not? And you know as well as I do that good will doesn’t last, and definitely doesn’t pass from person to person.” Eman responded.
* * *
“I think that’s a cynical way of looking at the world. I wouldn’t want to live in a world where I didn’t think my goodwill didn’t lead to more goodwill, what’s the point?”
* * *
“I guess the point is somewhere in the goodwill itself, the act of helping your fellow man should be reward enough. It wasn’t for me, but now I’m starting to see the light.” Eman responded.
* * *
“And
I helped you see that light?”
* * *
“You were just sincere and I guess I needed to interact with someone that had such a pleasant perspective on life to fight my preconceived notions. I suppose it’s a peculiar feeling knowing you might be some strange man’s salvation. Maybe I can be yours.” Eman suggested.
* * *
“What do I need saving from?” Annabelle curiously asked.
* * *
“You’re so insecure and tense, I see that whole shroud of uncertainty around you. You need to learn to be present in the moment without worrying about whats behind or in front of that moment.”
* * *
“Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?” Annabelle asked.
* * *
“You can take it however you want, but this is my stop. You coming in?”
* * *
The duo stood in front of a red and brown brick brownstone apartment complex, the white awning draped over the roof made it look arabesque, and it surprised Annabelle with its complex architecture and expensive looking door.
* * *
They entered, and next to the kitchen was a large open area with a piano and bed, which Eman approached and began to softly play. Above the lightly pressed chords and fills, he spoke as Annabelle sat listening attentively in the living area.
* * *
“You know I haven’t even played this thing in months. It’s a Steinway, my father got it for me when I was a kid and I’ve kept it ever since. You really forget the things you enjoy in life when all you do is sell your labour.”
* * *
Annabelle responded “That sounds lovely, if I had the ability to play music I don’t think I’d do anything else with my day.”
* * *
“People think that, sure. Until you get down to actually playing sheet music it’s pretty dull. The most fun I have with this is just improvising, it’s more honest.”
* * *
“You seem really fixated on honesty and sincerity.” Annabelle noted.
* * *
“I suppose that’s because I’ve experienced so little of it, it’s this fleeting thing I’m always chasing. Truthful, sincere moments are rare — super rare. You’ve gotta make sure you’re paying attention or you’ll miss something honest happening in this terrible fabrication of a world.”
* * *
“Is that fatalism on your part?” Annabelle asked.
* * *
Eman got more into his performance, dipping his broad shoulders low and rising them, and making a slight show with his finger-style playing.
* * *
“You know, I’m not sure. Isn’t fatalism you resigning yourself to your fate? I think I stopped myself from resigning to fate, now I just try to face it aggressively. Let’s go out shouting from the goddamn rafters. I’ve got some port wine and some tequila in the cupboard above the stove, make me a glass and get yourself something, yeah?” Eman responded.
* * *
Annabelle obliged, and sat on the stool in front of the monstrously sized baby grand. The sound was delicate, Eman made sure of that, but the tone of the piano itself had the texture and beauty of glass — shining and transparent notes danced between Annabelle’s ears, delicate sounds that tickled her and gave her a sense of warmth. She sipped her glass of tequila, and laid her head on Eman’s busy shoulders as he continued performing. Noticing Annabelle’s presence he calmed down the theatrics, and begun to softly play a Chopin etude. He paused for a moment to sip his chardonnay glass nearly full with port wine, and exhaled with satisfaction as he enjoyed his drink.
* * *
“Why did you come home with me? I’ve barely known you for four hours.” He asked.
* * *
“I guess I wanted something out of the ordinary. Fun, you know.”
* * *
Eman laid his eyes onto Annabelle and stared, starting slowly at her face and making his way with his eyes down her body as she sat cross legged next to him.
* * *
“I don’t think I have any fun I can give you, you might have the wrong idea about me.” Eman replied.
* * *
“Well what idea did you have in mind bringing me here?”
* * *
Eman was quiet, and closed the lid to the piano as he turned his body towards Annabelle.
* * *
“Do you really want this? I mean really think, I told you I’m a different experience.”
* * *
“I like different.” Annabelle replied, placing her hand on Eman’s lap, gently rubbing it.
* * *
Eman felt his chest rise and fall and continued to look Annabelle over.
* * *
“Alright. On the wall, now. Face it.”
* * *
Annabelle laughed loudly than she had intended.
* * *
“Oh, now you’re ordering me around?”
* * *
With an intimidating thump, Eman rose to his feet, placed his dominant hand over Annabelle’s mouth while using his other hand to grab Annabelle’s wrists, holding them tightly together.
* * *
“Yes, I’m ordering you. If you want to do this you do what the fuck I say, and right now I say put your nose against the goddamn wall and close your eyes.”
* * *
Annabelle’s breathing quickened, and she clumsily rose to her feet, walked towards the wall furthest from the front door and closed her eyes. She felt vulnerable and scared, but the excitement of someone lording their power over her turned her on immeasurably.
* * *
“Like this?” She asked, careful not to cast her eyes onto Eman. He offered no response, and instead he turned off the lights. She was in pitch blackness, darker than she’d ever seen an apartment get before. A slow, pulsating sound begun to play from a speaker in the darkness — almost a siren, but with an eerie distortion and creaking whine.
* * *
“Don’t. Say. A word.” Eman spoke, and he roughly slapped Annabelle on the behind. She squealed as she was struck and bit her lip to prevent more sound from escaping.
* * *
She felt his leg between hers, spreading them wide. Through the darkness she saw thickly padded muscular hands appear like a phantasm and begun to pat her down. First he roughly grabbed her sides and patted as if searching for something, then removed her cell-phone and tossed it into the darkness behind him. The sound disoriented Annabelle and the feeling of being manhandled was almost too much to bear. Her knees went weak and buckled slightly as he continued patting, until finally he released her.
* * *
A deep roar bellowed from within Eman and caused Annabelle to shiver. The growls grew deeper until Annabelle realized that the sound couldn’t be coming from Eman, it couldn’t come from anyone. She was more turned on than frightened, and kept her eyes shut tightly as she took in the unsettling noises.
* * *
The sounds from the speakers grew louder and more eerie, until Eman’s recorded voice began to sing over the atmospheric sounds. He possessed a sultry, velvet throated voice that sung a beautiful melody in a minor key slowly and with deliberation.
* * *
“You find it then it’s gone, you find me then I’m gone.” He sang repeatedly, and Annabelle felt the scruff of Eman’s thick brown beard on her neck and his hot breath on her face. He placed his lips onto Annabelle’s cheek and mouthed the words to his song with his lips silently brushing against Annabelle’s face. He was careful not to press his face in too harshly, he wanted his lips to only brush against her face, distinctly enough that she could make out that he was motioning his lips along to the music.
* * *
Roughly, Eman turned Annabelle around and pushed her against the wall, and demanded that she open her eyes. Annabelle did, and the only thing she could make out in the darkness were Eman’s eyes, staring.
* * *
The atmospheric sounds and and singing were then a
ccompanied by a recording of Eman playing a melody, in time and key to his singing, and the result was a gorgeous cacophonous orgy of sound. Every note seemed to compliment one another, and those sounds that Annabelle regarded as unsettling fell into musical place and created a song of wanderlusted beauty that seemed to explode with melody and intonation.
