Human

By Rita H. Chen

I must be out of my mind. No, cancel that thought. I am out of my mind.

Just what the hell do I see in him anyway? He’s cold. Calculating. Not much to look at.

He’s too headstrong and level-headed for his own good. He’s strict and much too intense. He KNOWS a lot – maybe even too much. At least he knows enough that I sometimes feel like he can sense my thoughts – see them and hold them in his hands like the insignificant and frail little butterflies they are. Then, dissect them as easily as a student slicing through a pinned-down worm in science class.

Yet, he understands nothing.

He doesn’t realize that sticks and stones may break the bones but words and actions are the ones that break the spirit. He doesn’t comprehend that I’m a living, breathing creature -a human- that feels all the extremes of human emotions constantly; maybe even too intensely for my own good.

Pain. Sadness. Joy. Hope. I feel all these emotions.

But, most importantly, I feel love for him.

…I am officially insane, aren’t I?

* * *

“Morning, Si-”

“Shh, Lisa,” Simon hisses, a slightly annoyed look on his face. He jerks his head a little, indicating that he’s busy with the cell phone that is pressed to his ear, before turning his attention back to whoever is on the line and ignoring me.

I feel anger rise within me at being dismissed so rudely but I quickly work to suppress it.

He’s on the phone, Lisa, I tell myself. Don’t take it personally.

However, it’s hard not to take such a dismissal personally, especially when he’s acting so goddamn nice to whoever it is on the line.

I stand still while I listen to his end of the conversation, my curiousity demanding that I figure out who it is.

“Is that so? And you really can’t drag him out of bed?” Simon says into the phone with a laugh. He waits for the other person’s reply before responding, “That guy…I don’t know what to do about him. He’s absolutely hopeless. If he wasn’t our band leader…”

June. Simon is talking to June, our bassist, I realize. Only June would be with my older brother this early in the morning.

It’s to be expected, you know, what with them being lovers and all.

I feel a twinge of jealousy run through me. For some reason, Simon always sounds happy when he’s talking to June on the phone. I can always tell when it’s June because Simon’s voice will immediately brighten and he’ll laugh more – a lot more.

With me though, sometimes his voice goes flat and lifeless over the phone and he sounds like he’d rather be doing something else -anything else- than talk to me. He isn’t always like that to me, I admit. Sometimes he sounds genuinely enthusiastic when he’s talking to me and that’s great – beyond great, really.

However, he never sounds flat or unenthusiastic with June. NEVER.

I mentally kick myself and my voice of reason tells me to get a grip on my raging emotions. I’m sounding like some sort of jealous schoolgirl getting all huffy over someone who, ironically enough, isn’t even mine to begin with.

When did I get so petty?

Waiting for Simon to finish his conversation, I remain quiet until Simon ends the call with a final bright laugh and presses the ‘off’ button on his cell.

“That was June?” I ask in what I hope is a casual tone.

Simon nods with a fond smile on his face. “Yeah,” he confirms. He turns to me and graces me with a dazzling smile. “It turns out your brother got himself plastered at a bar last night with Kevin and now is currently plastered,” he stresses the word with an almost indiscernable twist of the lips and I know he’s making a pun of the word, “to the bed with one hell of a hangover.”

I chuckle at his little joke though it’s lamer than an episode of some angst-ridden soap opera. I can’t help it though. It’s Simon that’s making such a pathetic crack and the little smirk that he gets on his face when delivering a joke is enough for me to want to smile in reply.

Yes, that’s me. Lisa, Simon’s number one fan.

Suddenly, I feel better. Our little shared joke smoothes over the previous feelings of resentment I had and I feel like Simon and I are once again bonded.

Simon smiles at me again. “I’m going to call Kevin and tell him practice is cancelled,” he says as he turns slightly away from me, his thumb already pressing some buttons on his cell phone. “That is, if Kevin was even planning to come to practice in the first place. From what June tells me, he was practically trying to come on to the bar stools when she arrived at the bar to drive your brother and him home.”

I laugh loudly this time, genuinely amused by the imagery of our cool and self-conscious guitarist trying to put the moves on random pieces of furniture. Kevin must have been beyond wasted last night. I wish I could have seen that. “I kind of figured it would be pretty bad,” I say. “I mean, if JUNE couldn’t even get my brother out of bed then they must have been smashed.”

Simon laughs with me and nods whole-heartedly.

It’s a well-known fact that June, despite being two years my senior, has the ability to whine like a six-year old when she wants something. It’s also a well-known fact that my brother, for all his talk about being the vocalist and leader of the band, is mush under June’s almost relentless nagging and always ends up giving into June’s whims.

To be honest, watching them really makes me wonder: Just who is the true leader of their relationship? Steve, my brother, with all his bravado and take-charge attitude or June, with her softer yet more persistent approach?

I ponder the question for a few brief seconds before abruptly dismissing all thoughts of June and Steve from my mind. I never like to contemplate my brother’s sex life for too long. “Hey,” I say as I watch Simon lift his cell phone to his ear, “I’m going to grab some soda from the vending machine. You want anything?”

Simon glances over at me out of the corner of his eye and shakes his head. “Nah. Since practice is cancelled, I’m gonna grab myself some breakfast. Wanna come with me?”

I don’t hesitate. “Sure.”

* * *

The breakfast is more like a lunch as Simon orders a rather large roast beef sandwich and digs into it with a relish. I leave the tea I had ordered untouched while I light a cigarette. To be honest, I’m not very hungry as I had already eaten breakfast at home but I don’t mind being here with Simon, giving him some company.

As cheesy as it may sound, I just want to be with him.

Feeling my face grow warm at such a romantic thought, I lean back in my seat. Taking a drag on my cigarette, I hope Simon hasn’t seen the blush that I’m sure is on my cheeks. Lucky for me though, Simon doesn’t look up from his food. I smile softly to myself, noticing with a mixture of fondness and amusement how engrossed Simon is with his sandwich. For someone who is so mature, Simon has an almost childlike fascination with food. He always goes quiet when eating – his concentration fixed completely on whatever he’s consuming, as if trying to fully savour every morsel on his plate. For people who aren’t familiar with him, I know it can be disconcerting because he’ll be talking and then he’ll suddenly go dead silent when the food arrives. I’m used to it though, and I understand that this is just one of Simon’s many quirks.

Besides, I think it’s rather cute.

At that thought, I can’t help but smile widely and this time, Simon notices.

“What’s so funny?” he asks. He is down to the last bite of his sandwich.

I shake my head quickly, knowing that if I told him I thought he looked cute, he would probably whack me with his drumsticks tomorrow during practice. “Nothing.”

“Hmmm…” Simon gives me a suspicious look as he finishes off the last of his meal, obviously not falling for my excuse.

Seeing that Simon isn’t going to stop giving me the evil eye until I tell him what I was thinking, I quickly make up something on the spot. “I was just thinking that it’s been awhile since we’ve gone out like this, Simon.”

Finally satisfied with my response, Simon agrees, “That’s true.” He picks up his coffee and takes a quick sip before adding, “It brings back memories.”

“Definitely,” I agree. Simon’s tone when he said those words was warm, and I can’t help feeling pleased by it. Encouraged, I continue, “I wonder why we never get the chance to go out together anymore.”

Simon shrugs as he sets down his now half-empty coffee cup. “Probably because we’ve been busier.”

I frown a little at that reply. “But it doesn’t feel like we’ve been all that busy now that recording is finished. I mean, if you think about it, our schedules have been relatively quiet.”

Simon shrugs again. “Then perhaps we’re just not making time for each other.” At my astonished gaze, he explains, “I mean, perhaps we really aren’t any more busy than we used to be. But, because we don’t hang out together as often it makes it feel like it’s been a long time since we’ve gone out.”

He’s right, and I marvel as usual at how good Simon is at deducing and giving a logical analysis of a situation. “You’re absolutely right, Simon,” I say. “But it’s kind of sad when you think of us choosing not to hang out together anymore. It’s like we’re no longer trying to spend as much time together because we think it’s just not worth that much effort.”

Simon looks a little taken-back at my comment. “I don’t agree with that,” Simon says with a slight frown on his face. “I think it’s just a sign that we’re so comfortable with each other that we don’t feel the need to hang out with each other as much anymore.”

I stare at Simon, feeling an odd emotion bubble within me. Instead of comforting me, Simon’s words disturb me greatly. “I don’t know,” I say tentatively, a little hesitant to voice my thoughts. “I do understand what you mean, Simon. But isn’t that a little bit…I don’t know, like taking each other for granted?” When Simon shoots me a look, I quickly rush to explain myself. “I mean,” I say rather hurriedly, “assuming that you can put less effort and care in the way you treat me, just because you know me better now, doesn’t mean-”

“Hold on a second,” Simon interrupts, physically lifting a hand up to emphasize his words. “You’re using the word, ‘me’, Lisa,” he points out. A sudden sharp glint appears in his eyes. “Are you saying that I’m treating you badly?”

I gulp at the sternness of Simon’s voice as I realize what I had said carelessly without thinking. I scan my brain for a way to get out of this mess but after a few seconds I realize with a sinking heart that there really is no safe answer for me. I can’t say “no” because I know Simon would press me until I gave him the truth. Or, he would let the matter drop, but regard and treat me with suspicion afterwards. Yet, if I say “yes”, then I definitely will have to prepare myself for a confrontation.

I shift in my seat uncomfortably, wishing that I was somewhere -anywhere- else than under Simon’s piercing gaze. I’m scared of what will happen next, and I’m scared of losing Simon’s favour. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t care less what he or she thought of me, but when it’s Simon, someone I love and admire…

Is it worth trying to continue this train of thought when our relationship could end up changing for the worse?

Knowing that Simon is still waiting for my answer, I bite my lip in anxiety, I quickly weigh the options in my mind before finally making my choice.

It’s worth it.

Even if our relationship changes, even if I may lose Simon’s trust and friendship, I have to be fair to myself. I can’t keep on accepting Simon’s treatment of me just because I love him. I can’t continue compromising myself like that.

Snuffing out the dying remains of my cigarette into the ashtray on the table, I reply quietly, “Sometimes.”

A startled look crosses Simon’s face and he stills in his seat. “What?”

“Sometimes, Simon,” I repeat, willing my voice to sound steady no matter how much I want to falter or take back my words. I have never been fond of confrontations. “Sometimes you don’t treat me very well.”

Simon continues staring at me from across the table before his face suddenly contorts and alters from the expression of shock to one of calm and control. His hands drop to the table and I see his fingers clench briefly into tight fists before unfurling and laying flat on the table, the signs of tenseness and agitation in his tan hands seemingly gone. Even his voice is cool and controlled as he demands in a calm but frightening voice, “How so?”

I flinch at his voice, the horrible calmness of it sending an almost involuntary shiver down my spine, but I continue, “We-well, sometimes you ignore me, Simon. There are days when you’ll walk past me without giving me any sort of greeting or acknowledgement, o-or you’ll just brush me off when you’re busy or when you have no need for me. And sometimes, you sound exasperated when you’re talking to me. Like you’d rather be doing something else -anything else- than talk to me. I mean, I know I’m not all that smart and that you sometimes think I’m shallow and a nuisance, but nonetheless, Simon, you can’t treat me like that. You can’t, not when you’re so nice to the others – to my brother, Kevin, and June all the time. Especially June,” I stress, this morning’s incident still painfully clear in my mind. “You can’t, Simon, because it hurts when you’re indifferent to me. It really hurts, Simon…” my voice hitches and breaks here, and I rapidly turn away from Simon, not wanting to see the enraged expression that I know is on his face.

Afraid – no, knowing that I have now said too much, I wait anxiously for Simon’s reply but none comes for a very long time. Instead, we sit in the now tense atmosphere of the cafe, each waiting for the other to make the next move. The situation is nerve-wracking and I’m starting to think that perhaps I should say something to try to ease the situation when Simon suddenly says abruptly, “Lisa.”

It is a command and I turn to look at him immediately. However, Simon doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he stands up and I immediately think that he is planning to leave me here in the coffee shop. He doesn’t though. Instead, he jerks his head toward the door and says in a tight voice, “Outside, Lisa.”

Like always, I get up obediently and follow after him.

He doesn’t turn back to see if I’m trailing, nor does he wait for me to catch up to him. He just walks to his car in the parking lot, opens the door to the passenger seat of his car and finally, for the first time since we’ve left the coffee shop, looks at me. He doesn’t say anything though, just gives me a brief glance and leaves the door wide open in a silent command for me to get in. Equally silent, I move to follow his unspoken order as he walks around the back of his car to open his own door. When both him and I are fully seated in his car I turn to look at him, anticipating his next reaction with an acute sense of trepidation. However, Simon keeps his face resolutely facing front.

Simon’s lack of reply upsets me after awhile. I mean, doesn’t he want to say anything? I don’t expect him to apologize – that would not be within his character, but he could at least acknowledge what I’ve just said to him. Feeling anger and frustration build within me at Simon’s cold silence, I finally am the first one to speak.

“I know you don’t think I’m smart like my brother or charming like Kevin or lovable like June, but I’m not stupid, Simon,” I say. “And I’m not some sort of ditz with neanderthal manners. And, while I’m not teddy-bear-lovable like June, I have my own lovability…” I trail off because I’m unsure of how else to continue and I’m too frightened to say much else. Yes, frightened. I finally admit this to myself after denying it for so long. I’m frightened of Simon. I am cowed by his presence, his opinions, just…HIM. I wished to get his approval because I admired him so much and because he was so much what I wasn’t that, in the end, I made myself grow afraid of him.

After my outburst, I get the pleasure of seeing Simon with a shocked expression for the second time today. Then his face smoothes over into one of anger. “I never thought that of you, Lisa,” he says in a low voice. “I never did. I don’t know where you got the idea that I thought so lowly of you but I don’t appreciate it.” His lips press into a thin line and I know that he is trying to keep his emotions under control. I know that I’ve hurt him with my assumptions and for some reason, that gives me an odd sense of satisfaction.

Let him feel the pain that I’ve felt this whole time, I think viciously before I recoil from the thought in horror. My God, I shouldn’t be thinking that. Simon is my friend. I shouldn’t be rejoicing in the fact that I have hurt him. I shouldn’t be thinking of ways in which I can deliberately twist the knife even deeper into him. I shouldn’t-

But I do. I do because I want him to understand how I’ve felt this whole time. I do because I’m angry at the way he’s treated me in comparison to others. I do because I want him to feel guilty for the psychological damages he’s inflicted on me.

I do because I feel it’s retribution.

And yet, I know that I can’t completely blame Simon.

It’s not completely his fault. He didn’t realize what he was doing was hurting me. Perhaps, he wasn’t even aware that he was treating me in such a fashion.

I inhale deeply and then exhale slowly, the sound of my breathing strangely loud in the tense silence of Simon’s car. Finally I say in fairly steady voice, “I know you didn’t mean to treat me like you did and I know that the only reason you’re like that is because you feel comfortable with me.” Here I pause briefly, enough time to gather my agitated thoughts but not enough time for him to say anything in reply. “But Simon, you’re taking it for granted that I will always be around for you – that I won’t get hurt, or angry, or offended enough to leave. You’re taking all of that for granted and you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t take anything for granted. Especially not me.” My voice unconsciously drops a notch as I say with a fierceness that surprises even myself, “Never me.”

Simon’s mouth opens and then closes, and I can tell he’s at a loss of what to say. I wait patiently for his reply but Simon doesn’t give me one. Instead he faces forward again. A beat passes before he turns the key in the ignition and starts the car.

“I want to go back to the studio now,” he says abruptly, his voice polite but cold. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “That is, unless you have any other objections.”

The sentence is a statement, not a question.

Feeling intimidated at Simon’s obvious discontent with me, I shake my head mutely and he nods once. “Good.” Then he shifts the car into drive and we leave the parking lot. We both say nothing as he drives down streets and the heavy silence enveloping the car soon stifles me. I feel like I can’t breathe but I’m don’t want o ask if I could roll down the window, lest that annoy Simon even further. Instead, I do my best to ignore how uncomfortable I feel and resist the urge to squirm in my seat. Trying to take my mind off my discomfort, I instead think about what has just happened between us.

I’ve just screwed up my relationship with Simon, I moan inwardly. Why did I have to do something as incredibly stupid as trying to confront him? I mean, it’s not like I don’t understand how he is or how he acts. I know he didn’t deliberately set out to hurt me. That’s just the way he is, and I should accept it – learn to accept it. I mean, he makes mistakes, right? He can’t help it. After all, he’s only human.

But, my self-esteem whispers from the dark little corner of my mind that I’ve shoved it into, I’m human too.

I’m human too.

The traffic lights turn red at an intersection and the car stops.

“I don’t understand,” Simon suddenly says, his voice no longer able to mask how upset he is over the whole situation. “If you were feeling unhappy the whole time, why didn’t you tell me sooner? I would have changed or, at least, have been more aware of how I was treating you. Since you’ve never told me what I was doing wrong, how could you have expected me to change?”

“Well, I’m telling you right now, aren’t I?” I shoot back, immediately feeling an almost irrational anger spark within me at the fact that he’s trying to turn around and put the blame back on me. I twist in my seat to stare at him. “Besides, was I so wrong to keep on hoping that a friend like you -a close friend- would notice how unhappy I’ve become? That’s what friends are supposed to notice, right?”

Simon’s hands grip the steering wheel so hard I see his knuckles turn white from the exertion, and I immediately worry that Simon is going to throw me out of his car for being so rude to him. Again, my defiant fire dies out from within me and I see the dangerousness of the whole situation. What was I thinking, still saying stuff like that to Simon and making things worse? Why can’t I just learn to control my temper? I should be trying to mend our friendship, not pick it apart. Thoroughly ashamed now, I open my mouth to say something in the form of an apology, hoping I can salvage at least something from the remains of our now torn relationship, when he beats me to speaking.

“But you know I’m not good with emotions, Lisa-!” Simon finally bites out in a strained and frustrated voice. “I- Shit!” he swears and his face turns abruptly away from me, the movement almost violent in its rapidity.

I stare for a few seconds, shocked by such a rare outburst before lowering my gaze and slowly turning around to face front. He’s right, I think to myself. I do know Simon well enough to know that he isn’t good with emotions. I suppose I just assumed Simon was so perceptive that he would somehow pick up on how I was feeling. Whether it was conscious or not, I never fully let myself see the limitations of his abilities. Simon is perceptive, yes, but only in objective matters. Put him in a place where he has to deal with emotions and he falters because he’s uncomfortable with things like that. He doesn’t quite understand emotions and he doesn’t know how to deal with them. He doesn’t know how to comfort when there’s pain. He doesn’t know how to offer hope when there’s despair. He doesn’t know how to properly love even when love is being freely and unconditionally offered to him.

So who really is the stronger one? Simon with his unfailing logic and way of knowing people’s thoughts? Or me with my empathy and way of understanding people’s emotions?

I really don’t know, and Simon refuses to say anything else, for once unable to offer me intelligent advice.

The traffic lights turn green and the car begins to move again.

END

 

Rita’s Musings: I wrote this story a very long time ago – if memory serves me correctly I completed it in 2003, one year before I left for Japan.  I was very into rock bands then (still like them now, but not to the same extent that I did before) and was toying around with the idea of writing a novel about the rise and fall of a rock band.  As of now, there are no plans to write any more episodes in this universe with these characters but I may revisit this again in the future.  I’ve been told by some friends that there is potential in this story but I just lack inspiration unfortunately…