Played like a Guitar - Chapter 13: Chapter 13

Renaissance paintings made me question what happened to art nowadays, as if painters suddenly stopped viewing the world in vivid colors. You could stare at them for hours, curiously interpreting the hidden symbols and stories behind them, but their true meanings would forever stay locked behind the creator's mind. After all, little did da Vinci know that he would paint a (literal) billion-dollar smile. Jamie shared my burning passion for art, strolling around, scrutinizing every piece individually. If only I could be granted access to his mind for just a second, maybe I could scratch the surface to uncovering the walking mystery that was this young man. Was he planning on surpassing each and every one of them someday? Did he consider adding painting to his long list of talents? Wouldn't be surprised...he had so many secrets I was yet to unlock. "That's too many to uncover in one day." - the voice stated. Tour by tour, and in roughly ten years I'll hopefully scratch the surface, my dear unconscious.
He stopped abruptly in front of a peculiar body of work, displaying a realistic representation of a little boy in front of a grave twice the size of his tiny body. Above it floated some sort of white silhouette reaching towards the sky, as if the soul of the dead left its body and ventured into the unknown. The young boy sobbed in misery, holding a ruby necklace which may have belonged to the deceased. He was surrounded by leafless trees, crows observing him cunningly in an environment as dead as the people buried inside. It was mostly painted in darker, duller colors but the boy's clothing and aura were purposely made brighter. Frightening and incredible, simultaneously. Although its essence appeared quite simple, the actual inspiration behind it raised curiosity. At the bottom right corner stood the painting's name, 'The Boy Who Cried'.
Jamie was more silent than I would've liked it, especially after the hilarious shenanigan we pulled off mere moments ago. His gaze was clearly fixed on this mystical work of art created by an unknown artist. A moment of reflection turned into a conversation I did not expect to have.
"I know we talked about this last time, but do you really believe there is more to death than just nothingness?" – he asked sorrowfully, as if his heartbeat was seconds away from stopping. Okay, woah, what's with the sudden mood swing? I don't have anything against these types of conversation, on the contrary, I quite enjoy talking nonchalantly but it was rather unexpected.
"I've given it a lot of thought as a ten-year old, sadly. Do I believe good people go to Heaven and bad guys burn in Hell forever? No. It's not as easy as that, we all did some things we might regret, that deserve a ticket straight to Satan's office and vice versa. Maybe we watch over the ones we love, spectating the universe freely. Or perhaps, we start over on a distant planet as a new creature, without any awareness of our previous life. We'll all find out the answer eventually, but it will already be too late by then, right?" - I gave him a comforting smile, hoping I could somehow manage to console him. His dead-serious, intimidating nature pierced through me, causing every hair strand on my body to straighten up. Also, that horrifying word, eventually. It may be in less than twenty four hours, years, or centuries but eventually it will happen. Disgusting.
"Remember when I told you I wanted to become a doctor to cure my death anxiety? Well, since that plan is no longer an option I hope I'll live long enough to witness an invention that makes us immortal, or at least prolongs our short lives. Like an artificial heart or some sort of contraption that regulates our body just as efficiently, something beyond nature. Wouldn't that be cool?" That way, eventually could kiss my derrière.
"Cool? There's nothing cool about it. The world's current state is already bad enough as it is with the tremendous overpopulation and global warming, and if life expectancy's were to rise up even more, our resources would deplete in a matter of years. Not to mention the fact that the wealthy would continue living prosperously and the poor would have no choice but to die. Plus, there would be great demand for an invention like that, and knowing how greedy world leaders can be, conflict would arise in no time. Besides, do you really want to have the body of a ninety year old for centuries? You wouldn't move a muscle, but now that I'm saying it out loud, you barely move anyways so I suppose it wouldn't be such a problem for you." - he insulted my lazy nature rightfully.
"Ah, you know me so well!" - I brushed off a fake tear. "I understand your point of view, but let's say you miraculously come across an ancient artifact that grants you both immortality, invincibility and lets you stay in your younger form. Would you take it?" - I asked, sitting on the uncomfortable rectangular bench.
"That sounds depressing, how could you possibly want that? Imagine living so long you're forced to watch your family and friends die one by one, and then find new ones knowing they will all share the same faith. Oh, and not to mention the procrastination with billions of years at your disposal! You can watch and read every movie and book released, get yourself a degree in all fields, cover every corner of the world, but eventually you'll get so bored and tired of living, with nothing left to do. And one day, when the Sun burns out or when a meteor strikes Earth, you'll be all alone, floating in space forever..." - he lowered his voice at the last part, making it sound more dramatic.
"Okay, okay, stop it, you're making me anxious! But still, I like hearing things from your perspective, the way you see things in more than just black and white." - I patted him on the back, using any excuse to engage in physical contact.
"No, thank you for the intriguing conversations. Last time I had one was when grandpa Sully was still alive. But look at this, it's by far one of the greatest pieces of art I've ever seen. It's so pure and haunting. I plan on creating something like this one day, something so grand, that will define my journey as an artist, that people will remember me by. A true artist's destiny. It doesn't have to be a painting obviously. A photo, a melody, a poem, anything really." The fire burning inside him was clear as day. He was not messing around.
"And I have zero doubt you will, with the dedication you put into everything you do. Just give it your all and don't rush it, the point is not only to impress others, but to test your limits and capabilities as well." Although I hated admitting it, his life goals made me nervous about mine. I didn't want to live a life full of regrets later on, complaining about how I lost all those precious years and how I could've done so much better. We all wish deep down the world will remember us somehow once we're no longer there, but is oblivion really avoidable? Even if you become a mandatory chapter in every history book, a generation will come where that chapter will turn into a paragraph, then into a sentence until your name is no longer recognized. Should I waste my whole life trying to make a mark just to die in peace, or make the most out of it with no regrets, no "what-if's"? One thing was clear though, I definitely needed to stop pursuing what other's wanted and focus on what truly made me happy and fulfilled.
My continuous overthinking was interrupted once again by another flash. He took a photo of me in front of the painting, pleased by how the Polaroid turned out. My first instinct was to cuss at him, but I secretly enjoyed the attention and spontaneity of these little moments. It's as if he was constantly checking me out, patiently waiting to catch me off guard at the perfect moment for a picture. Despite my bodily insecurities, I didn't mind it. He saw beauty in places others neglected. Maybe somewhere deep down I thought I would appreciate myself more through his rose-colored lenses.
"Now that you're done stalking me, shall we proceed to the river cruise?" Despite us covering only a fraction of what the museum had to offer, I couldn't risk him missing out on all the attractions I had in store for us.
"Not quite, before we leave, I'd like to visit the World War One and Two exhibits if you don't mind. I read at the entrance that they renovated it entirely to be more interactive and immersive." In spite of us going through that era countless of times during history class, I kept forgetting some details and important dates (sorry Mr. Carlson!). I guess it wouldn't hurt refreshing my memory one more time.
They sure as hell weren't lying about the immersive part. The walls were painted in shades of dark green alongside small replicas of tanks, trenches, and camouflaged mannequins, resulting in an impressive, almost life-like display. The grand collection of artillery, polished and preserved perfectly, were displayed across the room alongside respective descriptions and years of use for each weapon. Additionally, visitors were given the opportunity to watch documentaries and recovered footage showcasing soldiers in action. Many contained scenes and photos which most people would find twisted and disturbing, whereas in fact they were simply authentic and real. You cannot sugarcoat war.
Asking Jamie for his opinion proved to be unnecessary, as his grave expression matched mine perfectly, the projector's image reflecting on his dashing face and perfect jawline. I should probably stop staring at him like a hungry mutt drooling at a bone all the damn time. A few kids ran around us, chasing each other playfully and laughing carelessly. He observed them with a smirk, slowly shaking his head as if he realized something, and judging by the way his mind worked, I knew exactly what it was.
"We've become so spoiled and comfortable that we fail to realize how messed up it was back then, waking up every day, not knowing if you'll be able to see your loved ones again, fighting for your life while watching your comrades die. Comparing their lives less than a hundred-years ago, with ours now, and all the horrifying things they had to witness and go through, it's just absolute madness. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, I just feel infuriated for some reason. The fact that they were born at the wrong time, spending months in fear, forced to fight for their countries, whereas we get mad when a Starbucks employee writes down our name wrong." My first instinct was to laugh at his joke, but it didn't seem fit. He was completely right, but there was very little we could do about it.
"Oh definitely, I agree one hundred percent. The thing is, most people read history books as if they were some sort of fictional work, just made-up stories made to frighten children, failing to realize that soldiers genuinely underwent everything written inside. I guess as long as everyone is safe inside their little bubbles, nothing else matters. With all the tension going on in the world right now, and the secret weapons of mass destruction that have probably emerged throughout the years, World War Three is definitely a possibility. I just hope we won't live to be a part of it, which is ironic considering what I said previously. I'm fine being inside my bubble."
"It's because you've never experienced anything like it. Imagine running through mud and dirt, bombs and bullets flying above your head, not knowing if the air you're breathing would be your last. One second you're on your feet, the next dead on the ground with a bullet in between your eyes. What if you're not given a choice? Recruits arrive one day at your doorstep and order you to pack your things and leave at once. What would you do then?"
"I don't know, it doesn't seem like a possible scenario in my head, not now at least. Maybe it's because I've made plans for the future, just finishing my education, finding a job, settling down with someone, the usual basically. So, if the military were to come, it would completely twist everything for the worse. But if I didn't have any other option, then I would most likely become a deserter, regardless of it being portrayed as an act of cowardice. Call me selfish but being forced to fight for my country will not make me any fonder of it."
"Trust me, whenever two opposite groups are involved, it would only be natural to favor yours. It's similar to high school debates, where you would defend your team even if in reality your opinion was different. What if they put a tracker with a bomb inside your body, ready to detonate in case of desertion?" Tricky question. What is he trying to accomplish here?
"Then I would hide inside the authorized area like the wimp that I am." This is getting annoying, but I'll continue playing his little game.
"You'd rather sit back and watch your comrades die? Come on, you're more compassionate than that! But, since you've become a smart-ass all of a sudden, I'll get straight to the point. If you're pushed in the front line, in No Man's Land, against an enemy soldier, would you shoot to kill?"
"So, kill or be killed? The first one obviously." Easier said than done, but it's the evolutionary choice.
"See how easy it was to answer? We all have the killer instinct inside, it's just a matter of situation and options. It's somewhere hidden deep inside us, but nothing to trigger it right now."
"We don't know what we're capable of doing in such cases, until it really happens. Maybe I wouldn't be able to pull the trigger, maybe I wouldn't think twice about it, who knows? I understand what you're trying to say, but it's not an everyday situation and rarely anyone experiences it nowadays. Now stop making me question your sanity and let's move on, you're not staying here forever doofus." I started heading out before he could come up with yet another series of existential questions I secretly adored answering oh so much, but right before the exit we stumbled upon a series of colorless pictures taken from Nazi concentration camps: Jews clustered together in great numbers, wearing worn out striped shirts, some facing their own death surrounded by armed soldiers, others expecting it in the near future based on their drained expressions, resting their poor souls on dusty bunk-beds.
"Hold on for just a second." - I stopped him, my focus entirely redirected to the digital panel.
"Noah, trust me when I say that it's best if we skip this one out for your sake. I've seen similar pictures and footage before, it ain't pretty. The ones you're seeing now are nothing compared to the rest, which is why they put the worst ones last." - he pulled my shoulders away from it before I could witness a regretful image but my curiosity was stronger.
"I don't want their stories to be ignored just because I have an irrational fear, these people went through living hell because of some stupid ideology!" - I confronted him. "What kind of sick monster are you to put children on death row, or anyone for that matter! I'm so disgusted by our own species sometimes, it's ridiculous." - I released the sudden pile of anger.
"Okay, I respect your decision, but consider yourself warned. Either way, I'll be here next to you this entire time, and we can leave whenever you want, okay?" - he stood besides me, placing his right arm around my shoulder.
We entered the dark, miniature cinema-like room with only a handful of seats, just as the documentary had started with real footage captured on sight from 1945. The creepy background buzzing, pale green and white images, raw and unedited film helped viewers realize this was once an inescapable reality the unfortunate lived in, far from imaginable now. The narrator's flat, unbothered voice only worsened the terror surging through my body. Frightened down to the soles of my shoes, my beating heart leaped into my throat at the sight of monstrosities that even the gruesomest of horror stories couldn't describe, permanently carved inside my head. The chambers, bulldozers, lightweight bodies...death...so much death. My eyes wide open, unable to comprehend how something like this could ever happen, how someone could cause such inhumane pain and suffering onto another being. What have they done to deserve this? Noticing my heavily disturbed face, Jamie held my hand firmly throughout the film, tracing his thumb along the palm but I was too baffled to appreciate the small gesture.
I left the room a different person, grateful for the circumstances I lived in, mourning the loss of those who were not, despising my own kind for what they've done. Overwhelmed by all these recent discoveries, I pulled Jamie tightly against me, imagining what it would be like if they took him away from me like they did to those poor families. For a split second, the image of us parting our ways tonight rendered me utterly unsettled. I tried suppressing these destructive thoughts, as if it would somehow help delay if for just a little while. Why can't he stay in one place for more than twenty four hours like any other normal human being? "It's cause he's no ordinary human to you, Noah." - whispered the devilish voice inside my head with marksman accuracy.