heroes and demons.

The bylaws’, he muttered in his usual monotone
“The bylaws?”
He smiled seeing no cause for repetition..
“Something particular?”
“Something particularly interesting’
“No”
“I kid you not’
“’but that’s…”
He grinned, she was waiting for him to pull the bunny out of the hat or at least wipe that smirk off his face.
“Where’s the catch?’
He bit his lip with enthusiasm
“Get out” she spoke under her breath not facing him, almost to herself and surreptitiously like keeping a tender secret, as if the sound would break it, cautiously handling the fragility of the information that oozed out of his glowing beaming eyes... words he tried to withhold , emotions bursting out despite enclosure.
He ‘tried’ to contain himself, her shock and admiration were driving him giddy and the accomplishment, the greatness, a feverish excitement spurred through him like mad cannon balls, he felt the need to dance in gushing fountains, fly a kite and set it ablaze some beautiful wild withdrawal for all the positive completeness he was brimming with... and ‘her’… ‘She’ couldn’t foresee it, she didn’t suspect a thing, the dynamite of an idea, plummeting through caustic sands of dissention unhurt undamaged: free
“You couldn’t have, it’s… come on’ she patted his shoulder almost pinching, her eyes suspiciously amused…. He burst out laughing, ‘You’re lying’ she said wise to the ploy
“Yes, ‘I’m’ lying, believe what you want”
“If it’s true everyone will know it soon enough” naughtily peevishly poking fun.
“And wouldn’t you feel like a cad?! I can just imagine you, falling at my feet, kissing my toes, ‘oh I should’ve believed you’, and ‘You’re the greatest most wonderful man in the universe... No existence’; and I’ll royally ignore you while you slobber and grovel”
“It isn’t that I don’t trust you or your self-proclaimed brilliance... it’s…it’s just”
He watched her, drained but still smiling
“Too good to be true’ she finished.

“Wanna see it?” whispering, he offered a hand.
She declined, hands in pockets “Sure”… she followed his lead as he walked through the corridors, she added casually, “Miracle of miracles, wouldn’t miss it for the world”
“Prepare to be swept off your feet” the thespian advertised, tired feeling humbled as if all this petty décor ate up and withered away the grand notion, reduced it to a superficial chunk of trash, his credibility in question, his defense statements taking wearing away his pride, he felt like a nut, this could hinder and obstruct the superb greatness it paves the way for, he couldn’t let it be the only achievement of his life. He had to work to forget her to throw himself into more development , his responsibility as pioneer and genius compelled him to walk on, without admiring this medal of glory , for it was a mere trinket compared to all that could be achieved all that he could give up if you contented himself in this, he honed himself to realize true greatness to rise to a maturity of thinking that always pushes forward, peeks beyond the peak, sees the bigger picture and more…there is no biggest picture , the voyage of discovery is compelling and never-ending, or complete circular and unstopping.
But his brain wasn’t churning anything now , was he really standing in the way of progress, or maybe his want/value of it came in the way . Maybe he wanted to grow too much, to be able to stop, think, gain perspective. The urge to stifle his pride made him prouder , expectations he could never expect to fulfill , was this a victory or a loss/ was this the end of him/ would his idea live beyond him and him simply this and nothing more? Immortalized: in a mere thought albeit a powerful one but ‘just’ a thought.
“Slow down, you almost banged into a wall back there, do you even know where we’re going?”
“It’s petty, it’s small’ he turned to her, his lids lowered, stopping humbled, focusing on the floor.
“What?” she half-spoke
He fumbled tap-dancing, a little lost in confused humility, not sure if she understood what he was saying.
“I’ve been working on this for five “whole” years! ‘You!’ have been working on it for two...”
“And I couldn’t have done it without you, without your help and guidance, the boundaries you set up the parameters, the goals…” still fumbling his feet, illustrated by a head shake, gazing into the floor
“Look, I’m not taking the limelight away from you. This is ‘your’ breakthrough’
“I couldn’t have done it without you” shifting focus from tile to tile
“It’s yours and I’m a little jealous, even.” She tried to meet his gaze
“It’s right there, in that room”, he pointed to a closed door across the hall: their workspace millions of hours spent in hard mental labor pondering over snarling scribbles of equations , searching for the inevitable answer and then … now, it would all dissipate , be squandered.
“’But I won’t get a first hand presentation , you won’t show it to me?” annoyance reeked from her as he irritatingly still focused on the green marble tiles: images losing him , thoughts evaded by the fear of loss of it, fear of the culmination of this odyssey , this fascinating vacation into the mind all lost in completion.
“No”, regretfully
“You are ‘such’ a drama queen”
“What?” he looked at her
“Years, damn it, years, and look at you, you are soo full of yourself ‘
“Please, you just hate me ‘because I got to it first”
“Yes, that’s it” sarcastically” I mean , you won’t even gloat , you won’t even rub my face in it , throw in a little motivational talk , be all big about it.. Look at you. You poor thing! Tell your sob-story to someone stupid, I’m not buying it”
“No one told you to, step right up miss, remember you asked for a show, if it gives you cramps it’s your fault.”
“Bring it on, a show giving me cramps? What, am I eating it?”
“You’ll eat it all up missy’ there was a disheartened tenderness in his voice, a slight reluctance, a compulsion to run and she loved forcing him into it, watching him drag himself limb by limb wandering into an interesting world of fantasy, when truth opens up a new idea breaches common sense and yelps at the delight of it all, he was right, it ‘was’ phony, it ‘was’ petty, it ‘was’ just an idea. And now he would have to shine in it , fill himself up with it , ouch and this for her , the presentation , this was nothing, oh the media , the crowds , the crazy people, fanatics, enemies , hate mail and booty mail, oh she’d love watching him fade , suffer for taking from her all she willed , he couldn’t have done it without her, his mentor and now how shallow and empty he’d feel , bogged down with useless accolades , adoring supermodels , when all he’d want/need is that pure addiction of using his head , wanting to splurge in mountains of paper , demonic files and folders flooded with valuable organized information , so tempting , so real , so fascinating to drown in the ecstasy of words, numeric and graphs to feel the adrenaline , late nights in a room full of clutter , night or day it didn’t matter, there was always enough red bull. It wasn’t ‘work’ it was ‘passion/drive/impetus’ and like any hopeless addict he wanted more , afraid , he’d lose that satisfaction , afraid it would feel ignored.
Then again, he wouldn’t mind getting used to the attention; it was to the workspace for her and wonderland for him. Let him celebrate, let him have a great time, she told herself, not once suggesting the admittance that maybe they’d miss each other, maybe the ‘company’ made the work interesting…no, they always loved it graphical dynamics, speed , prodding over nitpicky details, but the meeting of minds made it a friendly enchanting experience suddenly impersonal and quaint. A softness of expression, a recognition of each other’s faults values differences and common denominators. Oh and fondness but no she couldn’t admit and neither would he. She was stuck in that cold dark room, with the glass window and white papery blinds, twin terminals buried under wads of paper: designs, fragments of joy… pitiful, just pitiful.

“Jealous” Jay screamed, “You’re just jealous of me”
“Really?” she answered not quite sure what brought this about.
“Yes, ‘because I’m pretty and smart, a doctor, you never could be a doctor and you hate me for it.”
“I do” she answered trying not to argue, a biting strain on her head “I never wanted to be a doctor, my heart was never in it… I’m happy with what I have”
“Feeling sorry for yourself because he’s leaving…you? He’s too good for you and you know it and you’re always feeling sorry for yourself”
“Stop talking about what you don’t know about, I pushed him away, it never would’ve worked out”
“Is that what your ego says? you and your complexes.”
“I got scared” she spoke timidly, her eyes analyzing wooden planks laid neatly on the recently waxed kitchen floor. It was wonderful laying them down methodically mechanically; how many years ago? Numbers… Jay couldn’t stand her presence any longer and stormed out of the room grunting grumbling…
Sara strolled into the inviting garden, through the sliding door, it had a white wooden frame and it felt warm and earthy, she examined the lavenders: purple this time of year, in full bloom, the sun blazed cheekily as she felt creepy crawlies tickle her toes. Remembering…

“It isn’t…’she stopped as he filled brown boxes with hazy memories: pictures, presents notebooks… she waited for him to stop moving around. He walked slow but didn’t pause…”It’s not...” she hesitated “I don’t know what I’m saying” she shrugged.
“Love.’ I’ know” he smiled at her, reassuringly.
“Did you complete my sentence or are you calling me love?”
He didn’t answer… smiling, that tired smile he had on ever since his ‘exciting’ revelation.
“Stick around” she said, casually
“I will” he nodded without feel.
“Why?”
“How do you mean?” he chuckled lightly
“Be honest, this is it, no?”
“Look, we’ll write to each other”
“You never reply”
“That’s cos you bog me down with a truckload of mails and more recently incredulous accusations and still more recently you haven’t been writing at all so I’ll get to it , but I’m really not in the mood. Give me the benefit of the doubt. People change, (hastily, business like) and help me with these boxes will you? You look like a ‘Gird darn’ morbid Greek statue”
She picked a box; the cuss substitutes, ‘gird darn’ floating in thought... Gird: darn: fix: mend.
“You always hated me”
“Can you see that I’m under travel stress here?”
“Why here? You’ll have plenty of time to recuperate in the departure lounge and then at the hotel”
‘If you’re going to be like this...”
She waited … “then what?”
“I just, I don’t know”
“You can’t turn your back on everything”
“What do you want? scented candles? Flowers? Chocolates? A night to remember, what?”
“You make it sound so cheap”
“ISN’T IT?”
“I want us to be friends but you keep pressing on romance” she whined
“Oh, it’s all me, right?” haughtily
“Yes, you always do this, you make eyes at me or hit on me and when I turn away or evade it, you get offended, it’s all over your face, how dare I and to top it all, that becomes a ‘moment’ in the pages of your mental diary, a moment of romance and feel that you can secretly resent me for spoiling. As if I’m supposed to melt into your arms. And not even that, if ‘I’ would, you’d get scared and act peevish...”
“Don’t knock it before you’ve tried it...and that was what ‘how’ many years ago?”
“Rodney!”
“Kidding! But as usual I really don’t know what you’re on about.”
“Uh right”
“I don’t want you to fall; I just want us to be happy. But then with you it’s impossible, there’s always something, it has to be war: self-delusion hatred.”
“Delusion, hatred? You want to convince me of hallucinating, because you can’t face the truth?”
“Where’s the proof?” He answered knowingly
“I don’t ‘trust’ you with it… (She didn’t) I don’t need to prove to you what you know”
“What do you want, then? You seem to have all the answers… why not badger yourself about them?”
“I’m not a badger”
“I don’t care”
“You lie”
“What’s new?”
“It ‘is’ over”
“If that’s what you want”
“What do ‘you’ want?”
“Last box” he hollered ignoring her, a hasty offended look on his face, accentuated by his busybody. He shoved her on the way out, she didn’t follow. His eyes were lost in a distant glare. She lazily picked the last box up, kicking the door shut on her crawl out. Strolling at a snail’s pace to the parking lot. He looked confused still holding his pile of boxes, perhaps wondering if she made away with his stuff. The boxes he was carrying went in first. He made her wait her turn and then took the last box from her.
“I went to a play last night”
“Hmm”
“The direction was grossly amateur; they kept saying hare/hair instead of here/hear but the acting was superb … I don’t know I guess I wasn’t in the mood”
“Or maybe you feel like a wasted sack of stifled talent”
“Pascal did say direction was in my blood, I could swear you were going to say shit not ’stifled talent’, you don’t cuss around me”
“He never recommended you, and we ‘dis’ ‘cuss’ things all the time”
“I put him off, I said I wasn’t interested”
“Why?”
“He made it sound like a career option, a life purpose even, I felt like it was beneath me”
“Was it?”
“I feel squeamish now.”
“Small?”
“Disfigured”
“More to the point, I felt sickly paranoid”
“Hmm” he grunted not really listening. Disapproving of how she changed the subject so abruptly.
“I’ve realized that I take two three facts pin them together and drop to conclusions that may have some logical bearing but still aren’t true…”
“And?”
“And I just, I feel so...”
“You do know I’m leaving now?”
“Yes.”
He stopped wondering why she avoided the subject of departure and instead used him as a sounding board to whine or confess. He was not a confession chamber, why couldn’t she step out of her murder mystery life and open up to the facts, he was leaving, he needed a goodbye, closure not a feverish speech on the blahs of depression: self caused, self-annihilated.
“You really didn’t have to drive me to the airport’ he insisted after a long silence, it was raining heavily, the streets were flooded.
“It’s the least I can do. I mean really, are we even?”
“Not by a millimeter”
“Or a quadrillionth of an ampere, eh?” she laughed the hollow wounded laugh that he never could tolerate. “This theory of yours, does it apply in reverse? Like if I do something big will it get small results?”
“Like this grand gesture?”
“Well not really , what are friends for?” she snortled another one of those annoying quirks, one day he’d sit her down and teach her how to laugh like a person.
“It ‘is’ true, all of it”
“That was bogus”
“Really, I didn’t expect this from the girl who wouldn’t stop hanging me upside down and shaking all my coins onto the floor?”
“That was a weird analogy; I prefer white conical light, interrogation room, possibly flavored with violence and bloodshed, anguished screams, wails of “WHY?!”, she parked and they got of the car helping him with his luggage.
“More to the point...”He continued.
“You don’t have to make me feel better…your flight’s about to leave”
“It’s delayed”
‘I had a feeling’ she sat on the floor, why did she like sitting on the floor so much???
‘You don’t trust your feelings anymore”
“What do you care? You don’t even believe me.”
“Do you believe yourself?”
“I don’t have to, I just see confirmation sometimes but I wave it off: coincidence, not enough evidence to support a conjecture.’
“There’s never enough… to support anything, even if it is real.”
“Will you be back for the holidays?”
“Do you still want your pictures?”
“Badly”
‘Tough, I don’t have them”
“My opinion or belief wouldn’t alter or determine whatever the truth is; therefore I am keeping my mouth shut!” she moaned, strolled ahead and sat on the steps outside the departure lounge, he followed her. “You do know that you can only keep what you ‘have? About my umm ‘discovery’...”he muttered sitting beside her.
“Yes?”
“I was inspired by that dance you cooked up.”
“Dance?” she peered ahead crouching, it was breezy.
“Forget it: idle thoughts,” he thought about throwing his coat over her self-hugging shriveled form, but she’d probably object.
“The great Gatsby, the account of, my version of the events, that never took place in the fictional novel based on Francis Scott Fitzgerald’s real-life, or was it just the female character based on his wife, love-interest Zelda Sayre.”, she contemplated aloud, deviating from the cause of her contemplation. He watched her confusion with a mixture of disgust and amusement.
“The dance?” he reminded her, eyebrows raised, forehead crinkled with irritation.
“Oh umm, there were two people too weak to stand, too tired to walk, dancing, leaning on each other for support”
“Balance, they balanced, whilst falling against each other, forming an equilibrium at the centre of gravity of the three dimensional polygon thus created. They couldn’t stand individually but used gravity to keep them from falling, ‘by’ falling against each other.”
“You’re repeating yourself?”
“I’m better with figures, graphs things like that”
“You attribute ‘that’ to me?”
“It’s an integral part of my why I set out to do, what I set out to do, thank you”
“The bylaws”
He didn’t answer.
“I thought you ‘wanted’ to dance’,” she smirked
“That too... (Inviting smile squashed by her foreign gaze forward) but it doesn’t feel … (pausing as if to choose his words cautiously) ‘appropriate’ now” looking forward, wondering what the horizon had that he didn’t, ‘horrific competing with an imaginary line that recedes as it you approach it. You, whoever you are.
“Time changes everything”, she sighed
“The only thing more uncertain than the future is the past- old soviet proverb”
“‘You can’t ever be home again’ –Thomas Wolfe”
“Random!” he chuckled
“Is that right or was that a misquote”
“Honey, it really doesn’t matter” he grinned, leaning sideways, his eyes glittering with excited amusement. “You worry too much”, smiling.
“I like you like this”
“Like this?” still trying to meet her gaze
“Warm, friendly, it’s lovable even”
“And?”
“You stop ‘because I’m cold, and you’re resentful”
“‘aw come on, we’re not going down that road again!?” this was the last straw
“Why not?” she had to push it
“You’re crazy, why do you have to fight all the time? Does it charge you up? Turn you on?”
“Duh it charges me up and ‘Turn me on’ ha! You wish”
“You seem to know a lot about what ‘I’ want and think and ‘Wish’”
“I want my pictures!” she demanded
“Bah!” he rose and charged into the departure lounge yelling “And don’t follow me!”
She followed him.
“Oh bother” he whined, “Woman, could you let up! You need help”
“What’s your theory?”
“About you needing help???”
“No”
“I have ‘two theories”:
“Really?” she said disbelievingly
“Yes” he retorted, waving a victory sign in her face.
“Would that be a zeugma?”
“Triple meaning ‘gesture’ not word”
“That’s what I was thinking”
“It might be who knows? But not in the strictest sense”
He sat on a bench patting a spot next to him motioning her to sit down, she complied.
“Well the first has to do with Newton’s third law and chain reactions”
“For every action there’s an equal and opposite reaction”
“That’s right, and each reaction is in itself an action, leading to series of reactions”
“In the case of a chain reaction”
“I can prove that ‘all’ reactions are chain reactions, that the cumulative reaction will always be greater than the initial input. What follows is that, the slightest ‘action’ or ‘activity of any kind, whether natural, physical or chemical leads to disproportionate reactions i.e. any ‘small’ changes , insignificant readings like that of point a million zeroes and ‘one’ amperes can result in a humungous change in output.”
“Can?”
‘They do. I have simulations to prove It.” he beamed lips sealed.
She watched him thoughtfully, “The by-laws? Is that the second theory?”
“Um...”he turned away from her and muttered a “No”
“What?” she exasperated “but you said!”
“Well I’m not a logistics kind of guy, I’d rather the computer handle that bit, I’m a thinker, that’s just too tedious and complex and irritating and”
“And ‘my’ kind of job, leave the nitty gritty fact checking to me!”
“You do call yourself a worker bee??” he squeaked apologetically
“The labor theory of surplus value springs to mind…continue”
“Ha, the second idea is the dance thing?”
“Hmm, I’m listening” impatiently
“Testing, testing earth to Sara”
“Roger that, why are you such a tease?” patiently
“‘Why?’ the universal question, if only I had a theory to answer that”
“Maybe your theory does, ‘why’ is answered by a series of answers which are so small that they require explanations , that is each answer in itself leads to a series of questions with due answers which in turn lead to branches of answers , which might , touch upon the circumference of finite knowledge , which maybe the ultimate answer.”
“You’re having fun” he chuckled
“What ever”
“Eva”
“Ever”
“To assume that knowledge is finite is questionable”
“Our knowledge is ‘finite’ and it is simultaneously expanding, taking into account growth the circumference moves outward as the questions and answers keep increasing, but ‘if’ there is an ultimate answer then it is reasonable to postulate that the knowledge outside of us ‘is’ finite and complete, therefore as the diameter of our circle expands is gets closer to the size of the orb knowledge and may one day in fact touch upon its circumference and arrive at the ‘universal’ answer”
“Philosophy”
“The beginning and end of everything”
“And nothing, for what is something?”
“Assess the greenness of the green?”
She smiled in response and then blurted “Supercallafajallistic”
“Ikspiallidocious, you were not always ‘mean’, you made me out as a philanthropic Samaritan once. You were nice sometimes … and funny… but I guess you just wanted me to differ”
“You did, you were like oh I just asked them to give you a shot … no apology for being the apoplectic repressed Romeo that shunned me as the ‘evil’ temptress who hurt him so... I’m sorry, but you honestly couldn’t care less, so I deem your behavior unintelligible?”
“Unintelligent”
“No incomprehensible.”
“Why?”
“I get it, but it’s so calculated and slow and organized, I mean how can you know and plan so much yet its all common knowledge you just made use of it. And I know I’m wrong, that’s why I want the answers from you.. But you claim not to understand the question as you are careful not to answer or perhaps too lazy to conjure one that encapsulates the justification of/in what you do. You’re not on trial; but ‘I’ am and I do not like it”
“What trial?”
“Never mind”
“I try to but you always stop me”
“I’m lazy too”
“What is wrong with my flight?! Sorry um what?!”
“You have a very short attention span. And you sell yourself short. And you’re needlessly conscious”
“Who isn’t? Sell myself short? I thought I was the media man propagation secretary or the other bull you threw in my face”
“In the car you kept talking about this guy who ‘shot up’ one day like a scion and you called this other guy 6 feet tall to denote that he was really tall. As if 6 feet is the measure of height, a level you never ‘shot’ up to”
“A- an indefinite article, an indefinite level, or a single standard??? What were you saying? It isn’t that I think ‘I’m’ short just that I think you think so, since you said six feet’s pretty normal, I felt abnormal”
“You’re finally opening up!”
“I hear a drum roll”
“And a standing innovation”
“Ovation”
“That”
“Where do we go from here? What other complexes do you think I have?”
“The new-G thing, people keep acting like I let you down because you’re not an old Grammarian. I never even considered a single ‘old’ grammarian let the record speak for itself”
“I thought I heard you say something like … hmm so what are you saying there’s something else wrong with me?!”
‘Why would you need to be inadequate for me to …?”
“Okay so I’m not crippled but I’m not great either?”
“I ‘do’ like you”
“Ok, but you insult me and yell at me and are put off by any advances on my part”
“You’re right on the money” she smirked again, hoof he couldn’t take it
“Am I? And you’re no miss. Perfect!”
“Far from it, why do my laughs irritate you this much and why do you need me to fall head over heels in love with you? Why can’t your daft old ego ever be sated?”
“His is not to make reply
His is not to question why
Into the jaws of death
Into the mouth of hell”
“Think I’m Xenophobic?”
“No”
“What about stereotypical?”
“No … predictable yes.”
“I wanted to be spontaneous. Do you think I’m a virago?”
“What’s that?”
“I had a dream in which you said “she’s not a slut, she’s a virago””
”Ah…‘better stop trusting your dreams”
“What’s funny is that I never used the word before.”
“Hey you aren’t piddled anymore?” cheerfully
“I’m not urinated??” boggled
“Pissed but close”
“All synonyms are not perfect substitutes”
“You’re telling the guy with a higher SAT score”
“In the dictionary SAT is short for standard assessment something not scholastic aptitude test, I thought that was odd”
“Why can’t I leave?”
‘That’s flattering” monotone
“No offence, it’s just what’s taking so long? Maybe it’s on the news.” Edgy, he headed to nearest terminal, worried and then looked to her, thinking ‘walking off’ over, then saying “Ask around”
“Orders” she smiled biting her lip, and then started chatting with the other passengers you wondered how she was sitting here without a ticket and then there was an announcement, speakers blaring. Something about ‘not being alarmed’ (therefore alarming)
“High security my ass, what the hell is she doing here?”
“Ok this is where I take a hike”
Rodney stood beside her, and took control calming the others down, giving her a hug “goodbye” he whispered.
She rushed to the exit and didn’t look back.