THE VISION IS A PLACE | ✓ {complete}

Chapter 26 - the balcony

I woke up sweating and gasping. I put my hand over my mouth, trying to be quiet, looking to see if I'd woken Addison, but he wasn't on his bed anymore and neither were his sheets. He'd moved to the floor, his eyelids fluttering in a dream.

As I came down from the surge of my own dream, I wondered where he was in his. He looked so peaceful, even though it should have been impossible for him to be that calm, considering everything that was happening in his life. But the longer I watched him, the more I believed it, and soon his inexplicably dark eyelashes, laid against those stormy violet under eyes, became an anchor to this reality for me, the same way the pain in my wrist had earlier.

I was glad to not be alone. As I looked at him, slowly, the burning spotlight that was trapped in my own flesh started to turn around and shine outwards onto him, and I found myself wishing, so deeply, that I knew more about him.

I'd never known someone who'd been to prison before. Six months is a long time for anyone, especially when you're innocent. It's even longer when you think you're going to be locked away for six years. I knew nothing about that world, but I wanted to. Anything that had to do with him, I wanted to know. I had so many questions I wished I could ask, starting with if he was really as okay as he seemed. And if he was...then how? How was he doing it?

After that, if I could have asked him anything, I'd want to know if he ever felt scared. I wanted to know about his worst days and best days, and what made them that way. I wanted to know what he missed the most when we has inside, who he missed the most, if he made any friends, if he had any enemies, if he saw horrible things... I wanted to know what his conversations with his lawyer were like. I wanted to know about the day he got arrested—how he got arrested; the day he was sentenced, the day he learned he was getting out... I wanted to know about his relationships and what happened to them during that time, and who Juliet was, and why he didn't want to see any of his friends in Denver, and if, after what happened, his idea of the Free-World meant something different to him now—if having your freedom taken away, the way he had, would shatter the illusion that you were ever free to begin with, or if it would make you feel grateful for it in a way you never had before. And I wanted to know what he did before all that, too, in the years leading up to the fire.

His story felt so deep and never-ending. It seemed like the kind of story someone would write an entire book about someday if they could get him to talk about it. All I knew was that, if I kept shutting down every time he asked me a question about myself, he would start to do the same, and soon he'd be dropping me off somewhere, and I'd forever regret not knowing Addison Walker.

I looked at the digital clock on the bedside. It read half-past one.

I lay there, trying to fall back asleep, but nothing was happening, so I got up, put on a jacket, and left with my guitar.

With my hood up to cover my still damp hair, I walked around to the other side of the building to look out over the freeway. It had quieted down. The air was cool, but not biting, which was strange for March. I sat with my back against the door of a vacant room and began to play along with the far away sounds. When a plane flew overhead, I climbed up the neck to meet its distant engine, then descended an octave lower when the lonely howls of neighbourhood dogs entered the soundscape. Playing that way made me feel trancy.

I remembered a song I loved, but hadn't thought of in a long time. I unwound in the familiarity of it, letting each string ring out. I half whispered, half sung, my fingers barely grazing the strings, until I heard someone coming. I stopped playing, expecting a stranger to round the corner.