Goodbye yellow brick road - chapter 1
This story takes place after Wayward Son
This boy's too young to be singing the blues
I park the car, turn off the ignition - and sit quietly to listen to the rest of the song.
6 thousand songs, most of fall, several Keats poems and 20 packs of cigarettes.
I should have stayed on the farm
I should have listened to my old man
I am a bad cliche. A teenage gay vampire, bent on the road towards self-destruction, with an excelent sense of fashion and a bad habit of reading sad poetry. A broken- hearted fool, who can’t stop glancing back at every curly haired bloke that passes by - but it is never you.
The day when we came home, I finally decided I was going to start living my best life. No more binge drinking. No more avoiding my therapist. No more pretending I am a hero I’m not. No more dragging Baz down with me, even if it means breaking both our hearts in the process.
I don’t remember the flight home or the cab drive. Your sternness was so unlike you that day, I knew something was off. It was like watching the seconds before a terrible car accident, when you can almost see the smashed metal and smell burnt rubber before it actually happens. I couldn’t tell if you were so hunched forward because your wings bothered you under your coat, or if you couldn’t stand straight because of tiredness. I remember the warmth of your fingers as you held mine, and how you determinedly refused to meet my eyes. You hopped off the cab when we reached my flat, and told Bunce “I’ll see you at home”.
Because, of course, my life is a bad, sad, predictable cliché, drizzle softly started falling around us.
“Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell.”
“Snow - are you quoting Keats to me?”
“Baz, I don’t know how to do this. I thought I could be your terrible, normal boyfriend - but I don’t know how that is -”
This can’t be happening to me, I thought. There were very few certainties in my heart, you being first and foremost. I knew I wasn’t terrible, or a monster, or a freak - because someone nice actually likes me. You, Snow.
“You left a poetry book behind, one day. It confused me, I don’t think I understood any of it - and then there was this line... Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all. And I thought: this is exactly like Baz. Baz is always truthful, and beautiful. It was like someone had looked inside my chest and saw exactly how I felt, when not even I could explain it.”
I half choked, half laughed, and sternly thought: you are a vampire. You have just survived America, the Midwest sun, a crazy sect, and getting drunk with a bloke that wanted you to actually drink from people. You are not going to cry now.
Simon put one of his stupid, warm, lovely hands on my face and held it as if it was precious. A single traitorous tear trickled down my face, and Simon gently brushed it aside.
“I had loads of time to think during this trip, and in the plane back here. I thought I was going to find myself in America. I thought Penny could help me, or you. But you can’t tell me who I am, can you?”
“Of course I can!” I exploded. “You are Simon fucking Snow, former Chosen One by everyone!”, I shouted. He grimaced, and I continued: “But now only chosen by me! Which is apparently insufficient, mind you!”
He let out an audible sight, and continued: “But why would you choose me, Baz? Just to keep your word? I think you haven’t fully understood who I am now, or who you are - and I need to figure out what my truth is, before I offer it to you.”
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk.
I was crying in earnest now, all the ugly glory of it: I felt my eyes turning puffy. There was the indignation of a runny nose, because the humiliation had to be complete.
“When I know what my truth is - I’ll find you. And then you’ll decide whether you want it or not.”
He turned away then, and if I had a little less dignity, I’d have begged him to stay. But I didn’t; instead, I watched him slowly fading away into the rain.
This was more difficult than facing the Humdrum. When you face villains, you never thought I am sorry, horrible creature, for killing you. But now I wanted to lay down in the middle of the road and cry. I am sorry, Baz, for breaking your heart.
Baz had ran after me, and was angrily pulling at my wrist and tying something around it.
“If you lose my mother’s scarf, I’ll kill you”.
He ran back to his flat, and disappeared into the night.
We hadn’t been back from America for 3 hours, and I was already packing a new bag.
“Simon! Is that you? Do you want me to pack your things for Watford?”
I turned around, a pair of white, clean, knee-high socks in my left hand.
“Sorry, WHAT? What part of Watford is in danger-”
“Penny, I’ll just get in your way - and in Baz’s. The only reason I survived American was because both of you! I’ll stay here, keep the flat clean and figure out what to do with the rest of my Normal life, while you can go and save the day.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Simon! I can’t do this on my own!”
Someone cleared their throat behind us.
“Uh… guys? Agatha just texted me. She’ll be here in an hour.”
Wait - Agatha had Shepard’s number?
“Exactly, Simon!” I shouted. “Agatha just went to pick up her car, she’s driving us to Watford. We need to go! Something’s not right!”
“Are you going?” Simon asked Shepard.
“Of course he is! I’ll need help!” Penny is saying more calmly now, but still visibly upset.
“Then - let me know when you guys get there.” Simon then hugged me, and kissed me on the cheek. “Be careful, ok?”
