The wriggling is a natural assumption. We can feel him in the folds of a coil like a mobius strip that ends at some point — right when our lifeline gets cut by the dull scissors of fate.
And at the holy end I can hear the man in leather fighting with his Zippo. I walk over to the seat he’s taken at the table at the other end of the bar.
“Hi,” I say coyly. “Anyone sitting here?”
He nods his head. Finally, he gets a flame going. “Yeah… you.” He nods the nod of a man who knows this is a goodbye.
“How many years has it been?” I ask. I really don’t know, though he may be reading it as a sort of rhetorical sentimentalism.
“Four or five. Since we’ve talked or since I’ve been with you?”
“With me.”
“A millenium. That, I promise.”
I purse my lips and shake my head. His cigarette shrinks with each slovenly inhale. Some of the leather is wasting away. The mask around his eyes and mouth is wrinkling and cracking in some places.
“You don’t oil that thing any more?” I bought him oil once. Lots of years ago. Somewhere within that millennium. I bought it so he could keep the suit in good shape. I knew eventually he’d have to find another host. Why not present himself as someone who takes care of his suit? A man who takes care of his suit takes care of his host. Isn’t that obvious?
“Once this is done, I’m done. No more hosts. Sick of living, you know?”
I don’t want to show him I’m distraught and, really, I do know. “Yeah… it’s tough isn’t it? Lots of moving parts.”
“Must be bad for y’all out of the aether. Everything’s so concrete. So emotional.”
It is emotional. I didn’t notice before, but I’m white knuckling my knee to prevent myself from crying. His cigarette runs out. He pulls the pack out of his shoulder-pocket and shakes it. He pushes a short gust of laughter through his nose. One left. He lights it anyway.
“You were always alright, you know that?” He takes a long pull this time. There’s the ghost of sorrow building up on his eyes. They’re vibrating, trying to control something. “Like you thought you were not but nobody was. I just wanted you to know that before I’m gone. Gotta stop taking everything so personally. Everybody else’s achievements and all that.”
My grip on my knee softens, and then I let loose with it. I’m choking on my joy. It’s burning through my esophagus, growing tumors and popping them in a matter of milliseconds.
He stares at the man on stage, who starts plucking away at his guitar. “You’re all so scared of everything. Nobody’s not scared. Can’t get out of your own head — that’s why you can’t see it. If you think anyone has it more figured out than you, you’re a fucking idiot.”
I laugh while I cry, then I go back to just crying. I’m sucking mucus into my throat and swallowing it by the fistful. The cigarette is almost gone. The ash on the table slowly rolls away onto the floor. He holds his mouth together, pressing his lips hard against each other.
“Nothing wrong with anyone, really. Not even me. Hurts to think I spent the last 2,000 years assuming I had to go find an answer. Better late than never…”
“Anyway…” He stands up. All that’s left is the filter, yellowed with baking nicotine. “I’ll see you around sometime. Maybe in another life? Dunno. I love you, though.”
He leaves through the front door of the bar. I don’t go after him. Just like the wall. Reminds me of the wall. So much barbed wire. Can’t bare to climb it. Can’t bare to wriggle my way out of my discomfort here. There’s a last lesson for you.