Date: Wed, 14 Jun 1995 00:40:50 -0400 From: "Susan M. Garrett" Poetry challenge ************************ Tomorrow Never Comes Words by Kirsty MacColl/Mark E. Nevin Story by me Part 1 I watch you lie asleep Watch you breathing And as you fall and rise Like the tears in my eyes I know you'll be leaving They'd discussed it for most of the day. Nick snorted at the thought -- . It sounded so rational. So civilized. So adult. So . . . responsible. And he responsible. Blood-filled glass in hand, he stood in front of the closed shutters and felt the setting of the sun, trying to come to terms with the idea, what he would say, what he say . . . . Natalie was leaving. He walked over to the leather couch, where she'd finally fallen asleep just after noon. Leaning his arms on the back of it, he was content to simply watch her for a moment. She looked tired. Exhausted, really. Which was understandable, considering that she'd gotten off the red-eye from the conference in Los Angeles and was literally waiting on his doorstep at the end of his shift. She'd been excited, animated, and . . . maybe a little fearful. He wasn't quite certain what to make of the last, but had accepted her gift of suntan oil and oranges with a wry smile as they'd entered the loft, hauling her suitcases easily enough and wondering, just at the edges of his consciousness, why'd she'd come here instead of going to her apartment. "The slide projector came through this time?" he'd asked, planting the suitcases just to one side of the elevator doors. "Slide projectors?" Natalie had given him a look of incredulity. "Get with it, Nick -- 'slide projectors'?" "Okay then, overhead projector? Laptop?" She'd begun divesting herself of her scarf and coat and mittens as she spoke. "Four screens -- count 'em -- ! State of the art graphics conversion. It was . I don't know how we're going to top this one in Vancouver next year . . . ." "'We'?" An innocent enough question. He was taking her coat when he'd asked, making small talk, just happy to have her safe and sound and around. But she'd looked away quickly. And there was something in that sudden evasion that chilled him. "Um . . . yeah. I was asked to help out with the International ME Expo in Vancouver next year. Well, actually, they'd like me on the board of directors for the event." "Congratulations." He'd walked the coat over to the rack and hung it up. "I thought you had to be on staff for something like that." "You do. Um . . . do." Natalie was leaning against the couch as he'd turned, looking oh-so-professional in a business suit and skirt, rumpled though it may be. And yet her face had held that hesitancy, that fear. "It was sort of an impromptu job offer. A job offer. Hell--" She'd taken a breath and managed a smile that was weakened only by weariness . . . or so he'd told himself. "It's a career move -- basement to upstairs in a single bound." Something told him to go to her, to fold his arms around her and tell her how happy he was that the offer had been made . . . and that she'd turn it down, of course. Instead, he'd walked to the refrigerator and opened the door, staring at the bottles on the top shelf. "Congratulations are in order. Unfortunately, I'm out of champagne. But I think you've still got some orange juice in here . . . ." "Nick--" He'd turned and found her gaze fixed on him. Again, something inside him had whispered at him to go to her. But then it would be so much worse when they finally parted . . . . The refrigerator door stayed open and he looked back at the bottles again. Three bottles of blood. Had to restock soon. Tomorrow. It was going to be a rough day. As if from a distance, he'd heard himself ask, "You're taking the job, aren't you?" "Yes. No." A breath. "I don't know." The orange juice was in the back. He'd sniffed at it and the stench was enough to make him wretch . . . which probably meant it was still good. Two glasses from the shelf -- he was willing to make the concession this once -- and he'd poured the juice. "Do you the job?" he'd asked, his voice as neutral as it ever would be. "Of I want it. I'd be a fool to want it." The second glass had been a good move -- Natalie's smile was more than enough reward for the effort. But then the smile had faded as she'd met his eyes. "I just thought there might be . . . other things to consider." How many times had this happened in the past, the same scene played over and again with different endings? Many had been more tragic, most bittersweet, but none had ever been happy. There would never any happy endings, never be any happy endings-- Not for him. And so he'd locked that part of himself away and pretended to be nothing more than her friend as he'd asked, "Like what? The money?" "No. The money's fine." Another faint smile, even more weary than the one before. Or sad. It have been sad. "In fact, the money's great! It's a prestige position; office, secretary, car -- do you know what I've been paying in insurance since you guys blew up my last car?" "So, you'll take the job." Nick had raised his glass to her own, letting the two meet with a faint clink. "To your future." Again, that weariness in her face -- no . . . it sadness. He could see that now, having the distance between dawn and dark to mull it over. That sadness in her face as she'd watched him for a moment before clinking her glass against his. "I guess so." The rest of the morning was spent in details -- if Nick knew anything, it was how to move a lifetime from one place to another with as little trauma as possible . . . trauma was too easily found in other things. They'd discussed her new position, how she'd break the decision to her friends and colleagues, how to avoid the worst of those 'oh-so-dreadful' good-bye parties that could never be avoided and had to be endured. She would have to find a place in Vancouver -- maybe go out there next weekend. He'd be working, of course, and couldn't go with her. He'd see to that. It wasn't as if she were moving to another continent. They'd still be close, geographically speaking. And yet there was something within him that admitted how much kinder it would have been if she were going to the other side of the world. I've earned all the pain I suppose it was worth it I'd do it again, but I just couldn't face it And if I see you again You won't be the person I knew She stirred in her sleep and Nick fussed with the blanket for a moment, tucking her in. For an instant he forgot himself, forgot that distance that had suddenly fallen between them, and walked around the couch to sit beside her. He moved her carefully, lifting her head so that she rested against his chest and snuggled against him, still asleep. It was only justice in a way. He decided that as he savored the warmth of her body against him, the scent of her hair. How many times had he disappeared over the centuries? For safety, for protection, for them, for him . . . so many reasons to slip away into the night, never to return. The clean break was always easiest and , back then. It was so much harder now to simply disappear, to leave without warning or explanation, to decide that another part of his extended life was over and it was time to move on before he was forced to move on by circumstance - - a situation he'd always found intolerable. Better it be this way than another. Better she be leaving and healthy and , unlike so many of the beloved corpses he'd left in his wake. Natalie stirred again. He looked down and found her watching him sleepily with those large eyes. He touched her nose with his finger and delighted in her smile. "It's sunset." She yawned, trying to be delicate about it by covering her mouth, but failing miserably as she straightened and escaped his grasp. "I took the night off," she admitted. "I ." Nick rested his hand against her cheek, seeing the weariness in her, the toll taken on her all-too-mortal body by the stress of the flight . . . and other things. "Why don't you sack out for a while? I'll come by when I can catch a minute and drop you home." It was foolish, but now that she leaving, he wanted to spend every second with her. Just being with her, however painful that might be. Just to make a few more memories . . . . But she shook her head slightly and rose to her feet, stretching. Natalie had taken a shower and slipped into a pair of sweats last night -- decontamination, she'd called it. Barefoot, hair mussed, more than a little road-weary and rumpled . . . and he still couldn't help but smile as the simple charm of her. She hesitated at his smile, then stepped toward him, placing her hands in his. "What I said last night -- I be busy, but I won't give up. Just don't give up either." She poked him in the ribs, hard, and he groaned more for effect than from feeling. "I want to know you're okay. I . . . I to know you're okay." "I'll keep in touch." He knew the words for a lie as soon as he spoke them, but what else could he say when faced with the intensity of her gaze, her concern, her compassion? For a moment he thought he felt her tense, was almost certain she knew that he was lying -- she was getting too good at that, too close . . . it time -- but then she shook her head slightly, dismissing the idea or letting him off the hook. Either way, it was practical. was practical. "Good. Because I'm letting you off so easy. You'll take your vitamins, cut back on the blood intake, keep trying those protein drinks--" "I'll be late for work." Nick touched his lips to her forehead gently, drawing her close for a minute. He wanted to tell her how much he was going to miss her, how much he wanted to be with her, that he'd follow her-- Instead, he muttered, "I'm happy for you, Nat. It's the best thing that could have happened." She pulled back, eyes still wide, sleep crusting at the corners. "Is it?" Her voice was little more than a whisper, the tone hesitant and fearful again. But he knew the answer as he stood there, looking at her and seeing in his mind's eye so many lost loves and bright hearts crushed into bloody, pain-filled, ever-lasting darkness. Nick brushed the corners of her eyes lightly, catching the wetness before it could fall, before it could become something more than potential sorrow. "Yes." Another light touch of his lips to her forehead, a squeeze of her hands, and he walked away, catching his keys as he headed toward the elevator, picking up his leather jacket at the door. "I'll call you later." He turned when she didn't answer right away and found that she was still standing by the couch. She'd picked up the glass from the coffee table, as if examining the residue of blood inside. Then she looked at him. So small a betrayal -- a glass of blood, too early in the evening, more than he was allowed on her current regimen. He'd meant to clean out the glass, put it away before she saw it. Or . . . perhaps he hadn't. Perhaps he'd left it there unconsciously. It was more honest than any of the words either of them had spoken since she'd returned. He should have been embarrassed. Apologetic. Anything. But he remained passive instead, silently asking her to take it as it stood, not to press the matter further, not to ask him to explain, or to feel, or to hurt. And Natalie -- his ever practical Natalie -- smiled one of the saddest smiles he'd ever seen as she put the glass back down on the coffee table and said, "Yeah. Later." He let the elevator door close behind him, the coldness in his heart filling him, engulfing his soul. After she left, he wouldn't stay. Not here. Not for long. Maybe he'd go back to Paris. Or Germany -- he'd like to see Berlin again. Maybe Janette would be willing to go with him . . . . It was for the best. Really. I look to the future and see A thousand setting suns But tomorrow never comes ***************************** Tomorrow Never Comes Words by Kirsty MacColl/Mark E. Nevin Story by me Part 2 I still watch from my window To see if you're coming But I know in my heart You'll never stop running It's like waiting for Xmas again It's all lost in the blink of an eye They'd been working in silence for at least an hour, the only sounds to break the stillness were the harsh, tearing sound of the tape, the snip of the scissors, the crumpling of newspaper to keep this or that from breaking. Nick was helping her pack the last few things. She'd told him that it wasn't necessary out of form and habit, and fear that having him around even those last few hours before she left would make it worse than she was willing to endure. But there was also something within her that couldn't bear missing these minutes in his company. So he was here and she was here and Sidney was already in Vancouver, staying with some old friends and colleagues from Med-school. "And this goes?" Nick held up a glass vase and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Here." Natalie pulled out another box and layered the bottom with newspaper to cushion it. "It was my grandmother's." "Not like that." Pushing the vase into her hands, Nick took more papers and began shredding them, rapidly building a nest in the box. It amazed her to watch him work. "I've gotta hand it to you -- you know how to pack." "One of the benefits of archaeology -- after digging enough fragments out of the ground, you get a feel for how to preserve things." "I would have thought it was experience." "Some," Nick admitted, with a wry smile. He took the vase from her carefully and placed it in the nest of newspaper. "Most times you only take what you can carry." She watched him burrow into the newspaper, shirtsleeves rolled up. He'd lost the vest two hours before -- it was lying over his leather jacket on the couch. His skin was paler than she'd seen in a while. He was back on the blood. Cow, she hoped. She hadn't asked. She wouldn't ask. Natalie wondered what he'd take with him when he left this time. Because he leaving -- the signs were there. During the past few weeks, she'd noticed things missing from his loft. When the piano disappeared she'd known it for certain. But neither of them had talked about that, either. There was some vague hope in her heart that he was going to Vancouver on his own and would surprise her there. A dream, that. Nothing more than wishful thinking. She was the one who'd pushed it, after all. She was the one who'd come home from her conference with the opportunity of a lifetime -- and the heartbreak of the century. It was time, after all. Time to grow up and admit that something had to be done. They had to come to terms with who and what they were and deal with it . . . or not and walk away. It was a chance for a graceful exit. No recriminations, no raised voices. A chance to save face and part as friends, no more and no less. Yet, in their own way, they'd been so much more. And there could have been so much more to come . . . . In a century, would he even remember her? "There," Nick said, having tucked the vase safely into a cocoon of newspaper and straightening proudly. But then he'd looked at her, caught something from her expression, and frowned, glancing worriedly back at the vase. "What?" "Nothing. It's just that . . . I'll miss you." The shades were drawn against the sun outside, the lights creating a false day in her apartment. For an instant she thought she saw him weaken, saw something in his eyes. All he'd have to say was that she shouldn't go, that there was something left for them, that they'd work on it, would handle it, would make it work. The seconds passed. He stepped toward her, opened his arms- - Natalie put her arms around him, hugging him tightly and being hugged in return. The last time, or the first. It wasn't too late. She could tell them she didn't want the job, get Sidney back, get her job back, damn the money she'd spent on expenses and the mover's deposit and she'd wanted to rearrange her apartment anyway . . . . As long as Nick believed there was something more to this than just him and her. Because she couldn't do it alone. She couldn't have enough faith and hope for both of them. It was just too much to ask when the world outside, sunshine and life, beckoned. The crash startled her and she nearly jumped out of Nick's embrace. As it was, he stepped back from her then knelt beside the box that he'd knocked over. Natalie stared down at the pieces of blue crystal and newspaper shreds on the floor, not quite comprehending the extent of the tragedy. "Nat, I'm sorry." Nick held up a large shard of the vase as if inspecting it, a wounded expression on his face. "Damn -- I should have sealed the box. I'll replace it--" "Don't--" "There's gotta be another one like it somewhere. I'll find it. I swear I will--" "Nick--" She knelt beside him, took the blue crystal shard from his hand and tossed it onto the newspapers spread around them. "It's all right. It was only a vase. It was old. Old things break." "Everything breaks." His fingers closed over her own as he looked at her, met her eyes. "Especially around me." And about all the pain Well you know it was worth it You could do it again but I just don't deserve it There was such sorrow in him -- it wasn't about the vase. But it was an answer, of sorts. There wasn't going to be a last minute reprieve. There wasn't going to be any cancellation of her plans, any dreams for a tomorrow they might share. Nick was resigned to his fate, consumed by centuries of guilt. Some part of her wanted to scream at him that she wasn't an antique vase, that she wasn't anywhere near as fragile and she'd fight long and hard before anyone or anything would break her. But what would be the point of it? It would only make it harder to leave. because she couldn't change that part of him, his fear for her. So she leaned forward and kissed him lightly, to let him know that she didn't blame him for the vase, or for his guilt. Then Natalie rose to her feet and pulled Nick with her. Catching hold of a dust pan she'd left teetering on a pile of boxes, she thrust it into his hand and said, "It's your mess -- you clean it up." "I replace it," said Nick, in a voice that sounded more like an oath than a promise. She realized then that he wouldn't forget her. At least until the day she opened her front door and found a special delivery package, oh-so-carefully wrapped, containing a twin to the blue crystal vase. Of course, one had never belonged to her grandmother, had never sat in the front parlor window filled with sunflowers in the summer and gardenias from the florist in the winter. But it would hold other memories. And it would be something to look forward to, not knowing whether it would arrive this month, or this year, or this century. But it arrive. She was certain of that. And so they packed, without anything else breaking. An hour more and Natalie surveyed the room, hands on hips, finding herself surrounded by secured boxes. Tossing aside a roll of tape, she picked up a magic marker and labeled the last box. She heard a chuckle from behind her and turned. "I like to find what I'm looking for," she defended. Nick was grinning. "What about the surprise factor?" "I've had enough of those, thanks." It was enough to see him smile. Then he glanced toward the window, a shadow falling across his features. Taking in a breath, Natalie added, "You'd better get a move on. Don't want to be late for work." They both knew the sun had set. For a moment she wondered how long that would continue to be important to her. Would it even matter anymore? Then she realized that he was watching her, his expression carefully blank, but real emotion on the verge of breaking through. "I think Toronto's finest can spare me for a few minutes," Nick said softly. He gestured toward the window. "If you want me to wait until the van comes--?" "I think I can handle this part alone. After ordering you around for four hours, telling the moving guys where to put things should be a breeze." He hesitated, then nodded and looked away again, rolling down his sleeves and fastening the cuffs automatically. "I guess I should be going." "Maybe you should." Nick looked up at that and she saw something in his eyes. . . before that mask came down and settled into place. He stepped toward her again, took her in his arms and hugged her -- not like before. This was a friendly hug, a 'good-bye, have a nice life, and don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out' kind of hug. Natalie wasn't going to settle for that and she held onto him for dear life, pressing herself against his head and shoulder, listening for his heartbeat -- with her luck her timing was off. She wouldn't be able to pin him in place for eleven minutes. If there were tears in the corners of her eyes, well, she was entitled. This was good-bye. A good-bye. "Don't give up," she whispered, half-plea and half-prayer. "Don't give up on it. It happen some day." He didn't answer, just held her tighter. Another kiss on her forehead. A quick kiss on the lips -- and he held her at arm's length. Then he released his hold on her and stepped backward, letting more space fall between them. What more was there to say? The words she would have screamed at him remained bottled up in her heart. They were being so civilized, so adult about this. Although she wanted him to speak, she almost hoped he wouldn't so that she wouldn't have those last words to hang onto through the very lonely nights she saw ahead of her. "Good-bye," was all he said before he turned, almost running for the door in his haste to leave. The tears didn't come right away. Even after the door closed behind him and she was left alone in the apartment with her life so neatly boxed and labeled and ready for the future, she maintained her composure. As if in a dream, she walked to the window and lifted the shade that had protected Nick from the sunlight while they'd packed. There were raindrops on the glass from an earlier shower -- funny, she'd never even noticed it was raining. They sparkled red and gold as the last, few faint rays of sunlight succumbed to the darkness. He'd left a minute too early. Which meant he was down in the vestibule, waiting for the instant when the world became dark and safe for his kind again. Natalie stood at the window and waited, seeing the Caddy from where she stood. She watched Nick walk to the car, open the door, slip behind the wheel in such an ordinary way. Only once did he glance back up at the building, but she didn't shy away. She didn't care if he saw her with his special vision. From where he was, her tears would be indistinguishable from the raindrops on the window. Let him wonder about that. Let him take at least that one mystery with him. It was as the Caddy pulled away that she saw the moving van enter the parking lot. With a swipe of her sleeve across her eyes, Natalie let the shade fall back over the window and turned to face the boxes again. Time to move again. Time to live again, with mortal people, in a mortal, sunlit world. It was for the best. Really. Somehow, she knew she'd be telling herself that for a long time to come. Let us part in the rain so the clouds hide The despair and the sorrow I feel on the inside And let my tears dry In the light of a setting sun And tomorrow never comes **************************** susang@vitinc.com Forever Faithful Ravenette, because somebody STILL has to. Re: THE FIX-- (also belonging to Sharon H.) "This is my brick. This is my brick on drugs. Any questions?"