MayVaneDay Studios (Gopher Edition)

lucine, whence you came

published: 2-11-2019

You and I sit on opposite ends of the table. You sip coffee from a cracked mug. I twirl a few locks of hair in my fingers, eyes elsewhere, disinterested in the contents of whatever air we’d just gotten done exchanging.

You set down your cup. “So, about the weather…?”

I shrug. “What about it?”

“The sky’s been awfully gray recently.” You take another sip of coffee. “Listen, Lucine-”

“That’s not my name,” I hiss through my teeth.

You sigh. “That’s the name you gave me last night… But fine. Whatever. What I’m trying to say is, what’s gotten into you recently? Last year, I could have left you alone for a month and then come back, and you would have been more or less the same- but now I can’t even leave you alone for five minutes without you morphing into something… urecognizable. It’s disorienting, Lucine. Keeping up with you is like running a marathon. It was fun at first, watching you flit about everywhere, but…” You tap your fingers on the table. “It’s tiring. And I’m beyond fatigued.”

“It’s what I have to do,” I answer. “This is my soul’s fate- this is my fate. To mask myself, to hide from the light, to wander the earth. I can’t stand still, else I’ll be a moving target.”

“I thought you wanted to be respected? How is this-” you gesture towards me, towards my whole body- “deserving of any respect? You constantly antagonize people. You assume the worst of everyone. You search for reasons to cut people off-”

I wave my arm to cut you off. “Listen. I love you. I love you so, so dearly. And maybe, in a better life, you and I would have been faster friends, or maybe even something more. But this is my life- this is mine, and mine alone to find. And this place-” I gesture all around me, to the house, to the ground it rests on, to the land surrounding it- “this soil isn’t letting me grow anymore. I’ve stagnated. Any growth I’ve found is in spite of it.” I push my chair back and stand up. “I’m sorry. I need to be elsewhere so the soil can heal. So I can heal.”

“Lucine…” You rub your forehead, the skin between your eyes. “You are coming back, right?”

“Maybe someday. When fate is kinder to both of us.” I turn away and leave- but stop at the doorway, lingering, longer than I know I should. “I will make you a promise, though. You and I will meet again. But you may not know it.”

“W-why?” You kick your own chair back and bolt to your feet. “What are you saying?”

“I’ll repeat myself. You and I will meet again.” I step out the door. “But I will not be me.”