by Trisky
Instead, I get Justin the stiff, unmoving Tinman, Michael the confused, scattered Scarecrow, Ted the feckless Lion and of course Aunty Em as Dorothy, as she lives and breathes, without the gingham. Which would, I guess, make me what? The wizard? How apropos he was a fraud too, wasn't he?
Whatever this is I'm sure it would be much more enjoyable if I had a few mushrooms and started imagining munchkins and flying monkeys.
"Would someone like to tell me what's going on?" I ask, in a half sweet, half threatening voice. No one moves an inch. I don't think anyone takes so much as a breath. "You," I nudge Justin a step, "speak." I can feel his shoulder tense and reject my touch.
"Nothing... nothing's going on. I was just leaving." I believe that as much as I believe that if I click my heels together three times, I'll be magically transported back home, to the backroom of Babylon. He gestures as if he really is going to exit, but I grab the collar of his t-shirt and put him back in his place. I don't let go.
"Michael, would you like to explain?" I can see Emmett is bursting to speak, but I ignore him, because I know whatever version of events he has to tell me would involve the flying monkeys coming out of someone's ass.
"Just like Justin said, nothing." I start walking towards the kitchen, Justin's neck at my mercy, his feet trailing behind me with as much defiance as he can conjure up in this position.
"That's two nothings and one surprise. Do I have to drop a house on your heads for an answer?" Fuck that, the Wicked Witch was always the most interesting character.
"Well Rage it goes like this," Ted pipes up in that weirdly smug tone he's had lately, "your two sidekicks here are too busy fighting with each other to watch your back or to save the rest of Gayopolis. If they don't get it together soon the evil Mr. Taxman is going to demolish what's left. I've been trying to tell them that, they're not listening."
Great, now we've moved on from some high school production of an obviously acid-laced moral farce to fucking cartoons.
"Forget this, okay? I didn't come here to argue with anyone. We just came to see if you wanted to go to Babylon, but if you have other plans..." Michael shifts his stance uncomfortably.
"I don't have other plans." I feel Justin turn his neck away from my knuckles and I loosen my grip slightly, but keep him fastened to me. "But I'm not going anywhere until someone explains what the fuck Ted is talking about."
"It doesn't concern you," Michael spits out, unexpectedly. "It's between me and Justin, and it's over now anyway, so it doesn't matter."
I turn and cock an expectant eyebrow in Justin's direction. He continues to look away. I realize now, I've walked in just as the tornado was about to blow its way through, and we're on the verge of being uprooted out of the simplicity of black and white and slammed right into the bright, garish Technicolor disaster of our nightmares. I dread it, but I ask it anyway. "Justin is there something you'd like to add?"
He reaches for my hand, pulling it off his collar, and moves away from me, staring right through Michael in a way I've never seen. "I have nothing I want to add. I just want to go home."
You're already there. I snap my neck and look around as if someone else put the thought in my head. He looks miserable and for once I'm not responsible, yet somehow I'm left feeling worse. I look over at Michael who shares a similar expression and I have to concede the point that Ted might be a little more useful than I originally thought.
"So this is about Rage? What's the problem? Did you run out of ideas? Out of money? What?"
"Rage doesn't exist anymore." Justin adds simply, quietly. And it's just wrong, he's all wrong. When did he become so resigned to things? Since the Wicked Witch of the West snatched the heart right out of his tin chest, apparently.
"You mean to tell me I went to all that trouble and spent all that money, so the two of you could throw in the towel after one fucking issue?" I can feel the splashes of dizzying color begin to flash before my eyes, red mostly. "And don't tell me it doesn't concern me Michael. The minute I signed off on all those expenses it became my concern."
"Why are you and Ted so hung up on the money thing? Who cares about the money? Can't you see these poor boys are having a hard enough time with this very painful decision? Am I the only one that can see that?"
We all look in Emmett's direction at once. He basks in the glow of his starring role in the drama of our lives. The fairy godmother, emphasis on fairy, come to rescue us all.
"I never wanted Rage to be perfect. I just wanted him to get better with each issue. I'm sorry you thought I was wrong to want that Michael." I hear the wind from Emmett's sails begin to deflate as whatever air in the room begins to circulate around Justin's small voice behind us. He has this way of being full and alive in technicolor lights without ever blinding anyone. Without ever blinding me. I don't have to adjust my eyes in order to look at him and see all the added dimensions a little color brings to the previously black and white film stock of my fucking life.
"He's a goddamn superhero Justin. You don't get much more better than that," Michael responds so earnestly, that I can almost see Justin's armor begin to melt.
"He's a man first, Michael. Remember? The ad exec by day, defender of queers by night? Every man has flaws."
Especially the impressionable ones that let themselves fall for the biggest scam artist of them all, the Wizard. He keeps the one thing you want stored away, totally out of your reach. When you've finally earned it, he drifts away using some hot air and takes it with him. Meanwhile, you're left standing there trying to find some way to still have it. You never even realized you had the power all along.
And you chose black and white. Do you know how much I fucking hate that? You're so much better in technicolor.
I feel the beginnings of a headache forming behind my eyes. My sensory devices are on overload.
"I guess saving JT was Rage's biggest flaw."
Michael's voice is trapped in my mind, in some weird vortex between the entire world crashing in my ears at once and deadly silence.
"Fuck! Fuck! Justin, fuck... I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Shit. I just meant..." He picks through the random pieces of straw in his mind frantically searching for a better explanation. "I just meant that what happened afterwards, getting involved with him. Loving him. That's his tragic flaw," he sputters out. "You know what I mean, don't you?"
I must have taught him well, because his face is a pale, blank slate. "We never got that far, Michael. Now we probably never will. He'll remain forever perfect to you. Zephyr will always be his best friend and JT will always be some random kid he had to save once upon a time."
I watch Justin drop his eyes to his feet and I want to lift him up, out of this place, out of this moment. Whatever it takes for him to realize I won't let him wish himself back to some dull, uncomplicated, dishwater colored existence. That's not where he belongs.
"I don't give a shit what the two of you have to do. You're going to work this out and you're going to do it in time to get the next issue done."
"No, we're not," Justin answers, defiantly. "Some things can't be worked out because you snap your fingers and want it done."
"Yes it can. It's as simple as that. If you decide you can end it that easily then you can work it out that easily. You make the decision, you snap your fucking fingers, click your heels together three times, whatever the fuck you have to do and you make it happen."
Christ it really is that simple isn't it? Just the decision to move backwards, stand still or move forward.
"Since when do you give up that easily, Justin?" I think I might actually be as close to pleading with him as I'll ever get. I won't let him shrivel into nothing because of some cold splash of reality hitting him in the face, because I know how tempting the easy way out must seem to him right now.
"And you," I turn back to a remorseful Michael "do you remember how upset you were when they killed Captain Astro? Now you want to kill Rage before he even gets a chance to live? What was the point of creating him in the first place?"
"Brian!" The sound of Emmett's voice startles me. "I think they get the point. Calm down. You're not going to solve anything tonight." Aunty Em, the voice of reason.
"I think we should go back to Plan A. Babylon. It's thong night. I'm sure we can find much better ways to torture ourselves there." And Ted, the yapping Toto.
"Yeah, that's a good idea," Michael insists. "C'mon, we'll all go and relax. Justin? Come with us. We'll have a couple of drinks, make fun of a few guys. Talk some more? It'll be like old times."
Justin smiles a tired, worn smile. "That's okay. You guys go, have a good time. But...," he hesitates slightly, "you're right. We should talk some more. Later," he says it to all of us, but looks right at me, as ablaze in brilliant technicolor as he's ever been, even when he's the lights are turned low.
Michael smiles an impish grin. It doesn't take a whole lot to really mollify Michael. That's not such a bad thing. It's one of things we have in common, actually. About the important things at least. It's one of the ways I realize Justin will never be. And I'm so fucking happy about that and petrified of it, all at once.
"Did you want to change first?" Michael asks casually, the tornado long gone in his world.
"Yeah," I mumble to myself, as I watch Justin walk away and towards the door. That's exactly what I want to do. "Justin, wait. Don't go."
As simple as that.
He turns back to me, curious and confused, and trying to suppress his eagerness at being asked to stay. Just the way I always did like him. Anxious to be with me. I didn't realize how much I missed seeing that, until now.
I watch him, even as I ostensibly address the other three. "Justin and I are gonna stay home."
He smiles a real smile and everything that was black and white in the room turns into a technicolor feast in the blink of an eye.
I look at my feet and I realize... I didn't even have to move them once.