The Inbetween – Lesson 2

“Wait, do we sleep in the Inbetween?”

The author looks away.

You cock an eyebrow and pick yourself up from the ground.

“OK, now you have to tell me.”

“In the Inbetween,” he begins slowly, “There is sleep, of a sort. Dreaming, of a sort. And waking, of a sort. These are, however, very different from the states of the same name in the World.”

And he stops.

“And?”

He looks up. In his eyes, you see the darkness of doubt. He licks his lips and shakes his head.

“It doesn’t make sense anymore.”

“What doesn’t make sense?”

He throws an arm out, “This, the Inbetween, the World, Beyond – none of it.”

“But how? What’s different?”

“You . . . or us. We shouldn’t be talking. I shouldn’t have your book,” and as he says this he draws a small, light-brown volume out of his coat. He gazes down at it and swallows, “It – it shouldn’t be this way. And if it’s this way, what else may change? Will . . .” he shudders.

“Will what?” you ask softly, eyes wide with fear and wonder.

“Will he come back? Will he find me? Find us . . .” his head jerks up suddenly and a cold light flashes from his eyes.

“Hope that time has paused for your foolish actions,” he spits.

“Whoa, hold on,” you step back, “Are you saying this is my fault?”

Through the stillness you hear a faint grinding sound. The muscles along William’s jawline ripple as his lips press tightly together.

Then he turns, and strides away.

You don’t follow.

You don’t want to.

Whatever it is he’s not telling you, you have no interest in talking to him anymore.

If he won’t be clear, you’ll find someone else who will be.

Last chance, William, you think, I know you’re still writing this.

No response.

“Very well,” you say.

Looking through the undulating landscape of gray and black mist, you pick a direction and start walking.

(I Want to Help)

~ ~ ~

Funny how quick it all changes. One moment I’m laughing, learning and getting to feel at least a little familiar with this new place and my author-teacher. Next moment, I’m alone, confused, angry and afraid.

What is going on?

I don’t know.

Question is – do I really want to know?

“Yes, I want to know,” the author whispers, “If I don’t learn something, I’ll never figure out what I’m supposed to do . . .

Or how I’m supposed to help him.”

Now that the reader and author are so far apart-

I wonder if I’ll ever see him again. I wonder if he’s reading this? Probably. But why doesn’t he close the book? Too many questions.

But I still feel sorry for him.

Somehow, I feel more sorry for him when I can’t talk to him.

There HAS to be hope. There HAS to be a way out.

Wait, why do I want a way out?

I wonder . . .

I need answers.

The author sighs and plugs on. Mile after mile after mile, the same unchanging landscape. For a while, the author had pushed apart the surrounding shadows, but this never helped. If anything, it made the shadows beyond that much darker. The landscape is so dreary and empty.

I wonder if anyone else lives here. William talked about a he but I have a feeling I don’t want to meet him.

Are you there, William?

Can you hear me?

Please just say something.

Silence.

I don’t know what to do.

Do you want me to apologize?

OK, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for everything

Everything except caring, because that’s not wrong.

A faint whisper steals through the author’s mind.

“Leave me alone.”

The author stops.

“Why?”

Silence.

“C’mon, William. What are you afraid of?”

“Everything.”

The author opens a black, gray and red book-

~ ~ ~

(This Book is NOT Worth Reading)

Why everything? You think.

Another long silence.

Please? I’ll never understand unless you tell me.

A long, low sigh.

Everything, the author replies, Because nothing makes sense now, and so everything is unknown.

Which means?

Which means that I knew – I understood – this reality and those surrounding, but now that one . . . ONE. Single. Person has defied the laws, I no longer know what to make of them.

Well, what if there were laws you didn’t know about?

What if I learned one day that the moon is actually a black hole that will consume the earth?

. . .

That would be pretty scary.

Exactly.

The reader sighs softly, and sitting on the hard ground, thinks.

And thinks.

And thinks.

And thinks.

And thinks.

And thinks.

And thinks.

And thinks.

And-

“Comes to a conclusion eventually?” the reader interrupts.

Sorry, I was thinking.

“Wait, I thought I was thinking?”

Cannot the reader and the writer think simultaneously?

“But you didn’t say you were thinking.”

Cannot the writer choose what he will and will not record?

“You tell me.”

Nutcase.

If I were to record every single little happening I would have to tell you that, right now, your breakfast has made its way into your small intestine; that my brain just fired off a million neurons; that the movement of your breathing is disturbing the fog around you; that rolling my eyes has stretched a few muscles and bunched a few others; that I am breathing in . . . and out . . . and in . . . and out . . . and in . . . and out . . . and in . . . and out-

“OK, I get the idea.”

Excellent. Now let me think.

And the reader does so, strangely enough. Somehow you manages to remain silent for exactly two minutes, thirteen seconds and a half, after which-

“Watcha thinking about?”

I’m thinking about thinking up a duct-tape muzzle for you.

“But if you did that, you would have to keep thinking about it, and so not be able to think about anything else.”

You assume that my mind is as weak and incapable as yours at mentally multitasking.

“Hmph.”

That is exactly what you would sound like with a duct-tape muzzle. Keep it up.

“OK, seriously, you can’t be that upset if you’re already snarking again.”

Old habits are hard to break.

And I make a point of being optimistic.

“Really? Like the optimism of there’s a point to all this and you do have a purpose in writing, not just existing all alone in this emptiness?”

.

.

.

That’s not optimism – it’s denial.

“Funny, I thought insisting that life is pointless was denial.”

Depends on your perspective.

The reader sighs and stands.

Here it comes-

“OK, but if there’s an issue with this ‘he’ you’ve mentioned, and he’s dangerous, and I’ve caused a problem that I need to fix, I can’t do that by myself.”

There is no way to fix this.

“Uh, yeah there is. We just have to find it.”

And what makes you think it can be found?

The reader smirks, “Optimism.”