Played like a Guitar - Chapter 28: Chapter 28

The future didn't seem too dim back then, considering the storm that preceded it. At least not on top of the incredible cliffs of Moher, where we decided to have a quiet afternoon picnic to take our minds off the stressful and bizarre week. The wind was strong enough to cool us from the warm summer air in the location where there was no shade to hide in without blowing away our sun hats and the paper napkins we used to wrap the mini-sandwiches and tart cakes in. There was a long silence between us, but not an unwelcome one filled with tension and awkwardness, but rather the kind where all members seemed to be at peace, enjoying the natural sounds of the world and simply existing in the present moment. Sitting on top of the geological wonders that have been forming for the past hundreds of millions of years, located over far above the treacherous depths of the Atlantic Ocean, the cliffs offered its visitors a different perspective of the world. Although I've been used to this peculiar feeling ever since I met him, I couldn't help but feel so minuscule and obsolete. If these rocks had eyes, they would've probably witnessed a hundred thousand human life worth's of events, and here I was only experiencing a negligible fraction of it. Still, I somehow ended up changing the whole world for the two individuals sitting next to me. Was it a change for the better, or worse? I still wonder to this date, and it is unlikely that I will ever find out the answer. In that moment, however, it didn't matter. The present was good; therefore it was a good choice.
After the wedding fiasco, the O'Dea family was left puzzled and ill at ease, as none of the numerous and justified questions they had in mind were answered. Valentina Delgado was last spotted leaving Ireland hours after the incident, but her whereabouts and destination remained unknown. She might be dead, for all we know, but since she chose not to play her part in the secret contract her father created without her knowledge, her well-being, current endeavors (if any) and plans for the future were no longer our concern. Imagining her despair and misfortune always felt so sweet in my head, but knowing the extent to which things escalated, it was just...bittersweet.
I decided to extend my stay in Galway, so I said goodbye to my friends and stayed by myself in a small, rented studio in the center. The O'Dea's were kind enough to invite me to stay in their family house, but it didn't seem appropriate considering the circumstances. Leaving him in this dispiriting state felt morally wrong too, especially when I was partially - if not fully - responsible for it.
In that state of blissful ignorance, I was unaware of the tragic series of events that would unfold logically after the failed marriage ceremony had occurred. I was oblivious to the pain and suffering I would cause to this undeserving family. Never did it cross my mind that the moment Malory entered Benjamin's car that balmy afternoon, would be the last time anyone would ever see her - the day Malory O'Dea disappeared without a trace from the face of the Earth. "They probably went on a trip together." – Jamie tried convincing his worried mother after dark, but I could see the trepidation in his eyes.
The atmosphere in the O'Dea family house had already been depressing after the wedding, but now that the two members were absent for a while and could not be reached, it became unsettling. Mrs. O'Dea would trudge around the house all day, unable to stay put in one place from the progressively worse stress, going up and down the stairs, calling some close family friends to see if they knew anything while on the constant verge of crying. As one would expect, Mr. O'Dea "took some days off from work" following the heated arguments with Mr. Delgado, rocking in his squeaky chair with a firm grip on its wooden arms, staring blankly at the TV news reports. The light sweat dripping from his forehead and clenched jaw revealed that he too found this sudden disappearance different from the others. The timing of it, to be precise.
Jamie was stuck in this state of self-reflection and questioning, his mind venturing into depths and horizons far away from my reach, and I dared not comment on it. He didn't even bother asking me if I had a clue of her whereabouts, and if she mentioned anything about a trip during the wedding. He was probably convinced that if I did, I would've already told him, and that there was no reason why I'd be connected to any of this. On rare occasions, I'd hear him thinking out loud in his bedroom, but the guilt eating me up from the inside prevented me from uttering a single word. Deep within me, I prayed that she would show up at the doorstep safe and sound, and that none of the worst-case scenarios circling in the back of my mind were true. Benjamin's words and Malory's self-conscious look were playing on repeat, as proof that those were the consequences I was warned about. "The rest will unfold itself naturally." – he said.
The rest he mentioned was far from the rest I had in mind when offered the choice. Did it cross my mind that my decision would lead to the O'Dea's reporting their daughter to the authorities after going missing for a few days, that the entirety of Galway and the surrounding areas would be actively searching for a missing teenager and old man? Benjamin was presumed by some to be her kidnapper, or to have possibly undergone a car crash. Did I think for just a second, that patrols would search over and under every hill, forest, and beach, to stumble upon a single ginger hair strand so that her family could start grieving over her death, or that no trace would be found and thus keep everyone on the edge, not knowing if she was somewhere out there, cold, hungry, hurt, waiting for someone to find her? What none of them knew, was that maybe she didn't want to be found. I was there the whole time, spectating, for my own selfish reasons, and I hated myself for it.
Eventually, news and rumors began spreading around faster than a 19th century plague, and Mr. O'Dea somehow connected Valentina's sudden change of mind and disappearance with Malory, so he accused Mr. Delgado of a crime the police, nor him, could prove. Needless to say, he lost his position in the record label immediately, which only contributed to the chronic stress the family was experiencing. The house landline kept ringing throughout the day, with people expressing their condolences and prayers as if she had already been pronounced dead. With her health condition and dependence on specific medical equipment, it didn't seem too farfetched. Jamie's determination to find his sister outweighed all evidence against it, and the colors that once embellished his aura, were slowly fading into shades of black and grey. His skin turned paler, dark circles surrounded his drained eyes, and all the positive energy that he once possessed – vanquished, just like his sister. We would exchange a few words after nightfall when I'd pay visit, mostly about the futile search attempts and possible explanations, since discussing anything else felt inappropriate. Jamie was in denial throughout the process, where the possibility of Malory being dead and never coming back just wasn't an option. Was it fear, or the unconscious guilt of the disappearance being traced all the way back to the car accident, I wonder? Still, he sought refuge in my arms, and I found some sort of unjust, twisted and fucked up comfort in it. As if her sacrifice was not in vain.
What kept me sane throughout the emotionally strenuous period, was the mental image of Mal and Ben driving away to a safe haven, where she could be happy and set free like the beautiful orange butterfly that she was. After Sullivan's death and Jamie's career took off, she surely spent the time bonding with him, and he saw her as the granddaughter he never had. Perhaps he felt the need to take care of her after what happened during the war, for Sully. But this was all just a theory, a collection of puzzle pieces I managed to gather throughout our encounters – not enough to see the full picture, but enough to make sense of it - the missing ones being the contents of that letter, Benjamin's post-war history, and Malory's aim in all this. I guess according to them, the only thing I should be caring about is Jamie, since this entire mess was a means to an end, or rather a beginning I was longing for.
When the time came for me to leave Ireland and fly to my mother's house in Manchester, I knew we wouldn't see each other anytime soon, not until his family was at peace, one way or the other, but I didn't think it would be as long as it turned out to be. He kissed me at the airport, the first real act of intimacy we had ever since the search began, but it didn't feel right. I didn't deserve it. A few weeks after her disappearance, the tragedy of Malory became nothing but a story people would pity over before moving on with their lives, since the police couldn't find any clues, as if the Earth had swallowed them whole. The same kids that bullied her organized a memorial in the school hallways, but did any of them actually care? Ultimately, the O'Dea family was the one stuck in this everlasting morbid reality, unable to move on with their lives. Based on the text messages he would rarely send me, Jamie never really gave up his search, even when the police did. Months passed by somehow, and the messages were replaced with handwritten letters sent from different world destinations each time, but their sender remained the same.
When the most optimistic person I knew had lost all hope, that's when I realized just how cruel life could be. In an attempt to find inner peace and search for a new purpose in life, Jamie ventured into distant lands far and beyond, the ones he planned on visiting with his sister had his life not been so punishing. A spiritual journey of self-reflection and reconnecting with one's inner self, he called it, and I admired him for his resilience and determination even if it meant staying separated, even it meant spending long nights by myself, visualizing an alternative universe where I stayed home that night in Greece and we never met, where Jamie marries Valentina and his sister is still safe and sound. Would he be happier living in lies, with Malory by his side? Would they team up to become the greatest duo in music history? Would she approve of their marriage, had she not been aware of the contract? Only a Noah from an alternate timeline could tell.
Even though I managed to find a decent job and reestablish a somewhat bearable relationship with my mother in the UK, I missed his delicate touch, his soothing voice that put my mind to rest, hearing what's on his mind in turn, exploring it, wandering into its colorful and mystique landscapes, and deepening our connection. I missed his eyes staring at me, making me feel uncomfortable, intimidated, loved, bringing my blood to a hot boil, cursing me with tunnel vision and see nothing but him, and yet somehow, see everything. I'd often wonder what my purpose in life was, and I'd imagine a business deal I made with God, or whatever it is out there that created all this beauty and havoc:
"What is it that you want, child?" – the greater force asked my soul before it found its mortal shell.
"I ask of nothing more but love. I want to be loved by another, and offer all of mine in return." – my shapeless self answered.
"Then love will be granted to you if you wait long enough, for patience is a virtue." – the wise entity responded, and now I'm suffering because of it. Was all this some sort of challenge the creators of the universe imposed on me, to test my limits?
"There is a catch, however." – they tried warning me, but I had already accepted it, zooming through the time-space continuum and into the body I am currently vested with. Truth be told, the loneliness transformed into desperation in my darkest, most vulnerable moments, but not a single person I met after him could even ignite a spark inside me, let alone the inferno he imposed.
"Have you even tried letting them in, love?" – Elektra shared a fair point once during one of our many late-night ranting sessions over the phone, and her comment stuck with me for a while. I didn't, because letting someone in meant letting go of him, and that was not something I could do after the choice I made at the wedding. All the time I've spent waiting for him, all the energy and effort I put into building our already fragile relationship, all the emotional baggage I've been carrying all this time...poof, gone to waste. I've been committed to someone that wasn't even mine to begin with, and for that there was no one to blame but myself.
Just when my last bits of hope were about to run out, something magical happened, something I had not anticipated at all amidst the heavy blues phase. Being the O'Dea that he was, the fool showed up at our doorstep one night, having memorized our address from my letters, soaking wet from the rain, with nothing but a backpack and a smile I hadn't seen in ages - but a real one that time. He looked happy. Genuinely happy. Needless to say, he had to leave in the afternoon (God forbid he stays put for one day), so we spent the entire night walking in the rain under a single umbrella, after which we cozied up under a blanket next to the large arch-shaped window in my bedroom, sharing mugs of hot chocolate and biscuits. What he found particularly pleasing was the seal plushy on my bed I found collecting dust in our attic for years, reminding him of our conversation in the zoo. Many things changed since our last encounter, but the love-struck gaze remained the same. The colors that once faded were now somewhat restored, although not as vibrant as before. He managed to pull through all the hardship, but anytime he'd mention his sister, the laughter that once accompanied it was replaced by grief and melancholy. He told me his parents sold their house in the end, both due to financial reasons and the emotional connection that accompanied the emptier space, now that both siblings were gone.
"I've been working on this project for a few months now." – he shared enthusiastically with me, the night stars reflecting in his two-toned eyes. "It's my most personal work to date. I've poured my entire soul on canvas and paper." – he confessed intimately, gaining my full attention. "I'm dedicating it to her...and with your consent, I was wondering if you'd like to be a part of it." – he asked timidly, leaving me captivated and speechless. He then opened the camera roll on his phone and showed me a photo of a beautiful painting situated in the corner of his room in the attic. Upon close inspection, it appeared to be the very one he wouldn't let me uncover that night when I first entered his room.
Depicted in it was a figure sleeping in the hotel bed peacefully under silky white sheets with a guitar laying besides it. I didn't take long for me to recognize myself in it. I could feel my heart bursting out of my chest, my jaw connecting to the wooden floor, and the dopamine rush surging through my brain's neural pathways. Roses and vines covered the background behind my body, almost like they were growing from my scalp. The way he captured every little detail on my face and portrayed me in an unusually beautiful way (considering I despised my morning face) stole my breath away. The way every hair strand was delicately drawn, how the colors blended perfectly into the desired shades, causing the painting to appear almost life-like. Apparently, he was awake the whole night, drawing quick sketches of me, claiming it was one of his most challenging works thus far as I was constantly turning and switching positions in my sleep. "So?" – he wondered, failing to interpret the tears of joy running down my cheeks as an absolute yes. It was a sign from above, the reassurance I waited for so long that would make all this suffering worthwhile, the rainbow after the storm.
"My goodness, if only I looked like that in real life..." - I remember my teary eyes scrutinizing every inch of it in complete awe.
"If only you saw yourself the way I see you." - was his honest yet striking answer. I dived into his embrace, nodding erratically like a lunatic. A happy lunatic.
Good things started happening afterwards. The encounter ignited something within me. It filled my lungs with fresh oxygen, recharged my life batteries, acted as a beacon of hope for a future. A light at the end of the tunnel. Firstly, it made me come out to my mother right after he left. Our relationship was on the verge of collapsing at the time anyways, so even if she didn't accept me for who I was, it couldn't have possibly made things worse. The grim seconds before the revelation are the most stressful, when you realize no one else can open your mouth and pull the words out for you. Friends come and go, but she will always be my mother, so the pressure was real. Instead, she wasn't surprised one bit, but rather pleased to hear I was opening up to her at last. Apparently, I forgot to turn off my computer back in high school with a highly inappropriate page on the browser, which is when she found out I was, quoting her, "exploring my interests". Thank goodness she didn't address it at the time, having the talk with my mother about sex and pornography was every hormonal teenager's worst nightmare. It felt extremely awkward when I was an adult, let alone when I was questioning everything about myself.
We transformed this vulnerable period of mine into a bonding moment we both desperately needed. She confessed one tipsy night while telling their first encounters how she missed my father dearly and wished to reunite some day, to catch up on lost opportunities. And traveled back to Thess we did, curious about his reaction as they haven't seen one another in ages. I set up a secret date for the old love birds at their secret beach spot (well, technically ours now) and the rest was history. To everyone's surprise, she put love above her career for the first time, working from home for a lowered paycheck.
Confessing my true nature to my rather conservative father seemed unimaginable during high school and college, but once mother was by his side again, it appeared his mind had suddenly become open to "new possibilities". In reality, he was just an insecure man terrified of losing his wife again and arguing over their only child's sexual preferences would have ruined that small chance of reconciliation. Although I would have preferred him truly accepting me for who I was, all those closeted people out there afraid for their own lives reminded me to be grateful for the circumstances I lived in.
The motivational serum Jamie injected me with drove me to initiate a project of my own as well, one I had been visualizing during my daily daydreaming sessions for years. With the generous financial support of my parents and grandparents, I decided to renovate the old, abandoned house in Thess and make it my own. The space was a wreck, but it provided me with the liberty of reinventing it from scratch and transform it into a cozy and modern space I could call home, with the name Noah Galanis Westwood written on the mailbox, having finally embraced my both of my ancestries. Decorating it was a blast once the blue paint dried up and most of the second-hand furniture gifted from family and friends got moved in. In the meantime, Jamie's career kick-started again after a justified break, and his loyal fans were more than curious to see what his next career path was, and how the tragic events preceding it influenced his work. Based on the critical appraisal, the art galleries he embellished with his work were worth the wait. Yet again, even these positive reviews came out as, well, bittersweet again, with the cost he paid for inspiration. Nevertheless, I couldn't help but smile at the image of my portrait hung up among them, attracting curious eyes. As a way of thanking him, I invited him to spend an entire month with me in Greece, and miraculously, the twenty-four-hours man accepted with delight.
But my expectations didn't exactly match reality, as he spent most of his days locked inside the art room that I left specifically for him, projecting his ideas on canvas, strings and paper. The additional installments and readjustments he made for his atelier proved to be quite costly. Put an obsessive over-thinker and a negligent spender in the same room, and soon enough a fight is bound to break out (wouldn't be our first either way). My entry was strictly unauthorized at all times since he despised being stared at while working. Sometimes we would watch a cute movie or cook dinner together and he would sprint off to his room erratically whenever a burst of inspiration kicked in. And yet, I was still twinkling like a little kid, delighted to have him around. After all, it was his ultimate life passion and who was I to intervene. At the end of the day, he was laying by my side and there was nothing more I could ask for. A dream come true.
After a while, however, the person I fell in love with became a stranger living in my own house without paying rent. As days turned to weeks, the artistic prodigy would eat, sleep, and talk to himself for hours at times, trapping himself inside that godforsaken room, leaving only for occasional bathroom breaks. I would return from work drained, looking forward to spending the night together only to find him in the same neglectful state as the day before. The rare one-sided conversations we had focused on his work, sharing the bare minimum with me. Our trash bags were filled to the top with wasted materials, shredded paper, and art supplies. Was he always like this, or was he troubled by a creator's block? Either way, the magic was slowly turning to dust. Forbidding him from realizing his career-defining moment as an artist felt selfish, but was I asking for too much? He excelled in his field, but his work took time and dedication to be fully developed, and I wasn't aware of how long that really meant as I was never present during his previous creative processes. How could I have known? We never did any of these things. That adds up to one of the many things regular couples find out about each other before engaging in a serious relationship, unlike us.
Worst of all, Jamie would often scream her name at night, alarming our neighbors, his past tormenting him in the form of nightmares and vivid flashbacks. These were frequent reminders of my mortality and fragile existence, which would then trigger severe phobic reactions from my part. This usually meant kicking and hitting the bed psychotically, terrified of my impending doom. Crying in delirium, we would hug each other and lose our minds in conjunction, only to find ourselves all curled up in the morning and laughing over it like nothing happened. We both had our own internal wars to fight, but it felt good to know we were in it together.
Our journey continued onward, but that's another story I'm yet to experience, which most refer to as life. But in this moment in time, surrounded by the deep blue of the Atlantic Ocean with faint visions of the nearby Aran Islands on the cliffs of Moher in Galway, sitting barefoot on the short grass, munching on the sweet taste of Mrs. O'Dea's blueberry tarts...life is good. His hand reached out discreetly against the red blanket, making its way to the front of the cane food basket, the tips of his fingers connecting with mine as soon as the car door shut behind us. I turn around, smiling at the ginger-haired girl whose upper face is emerging from the rear window of Ben's black car. She seems happy too. The grains of sand in my hourglass keep flowing, but nothing matters besides the contentment I feel at this point in time. In a state of temporary, blissful ignorance, we waved goodbye, expecting to see them again in the near future, before they ventured far off into the unknown, eternally.