29-May-2001
Standard disclaimers apply. "Constantly Risking Absurdity" was written by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and I'm just borrowing it. You may have to read this one a few times before it makes sense, but don't worry, it's short. Oh yeah, only slight shounen ai hints people... and 4x?.
I found it there... there, on my desk. Lying there haphazardly strewn beneath the daily newspaper, old homework assignments, and crumpled candy bar wrappers.
Yes, I eat candy, too.
I don't know what compelled me to clean my desk, at that time, of those papers. I just did. And just the same, I'm not sure why I felt... intrigued enough after I found it, to read it.
But I did.
And I had the strangest inclination that it had been left there... on purpose.
And it made me feel....made me feel...
.........
I had an idea where it came from.
I found him there... there, sitting in a red velvet armchair; the color quite offset and contrasted to his hair... though surely no less soft. His legs tucked neatly underneath himself and shadowed from view. He was in the study, surrounded by thousands of books. Not unlike the one sitting in his lap.
From the doorway I quietly watched his facial features. The way his eyebrows tucked down low as he concentrated on his reading... how his eyes crinkled at the corners with lost childhood innocence when his reading ventured upon something lighter and perhaps humorous. It was a facial feature that he even managed to maintain during the war.
The war... though that crinkle was no less then than today.
I took a step into the room, my bare feet gliding softly against the Persian rug.
He made no move to show he was aware of my presence entering the room, but as I came closer upon him, the crinkle became a little more defined, more pronounced. I'm sure he had known I was there the whole time.
He didn't look up from the book as I stood solid beside the arm of the plush chair.
"Quatre?"
"Hmm?" He turned the page lazily.
"What are you doing?"
"Reading," he said with a crooked smile.
"Quatre?" I reiterated.
"Yes?" Aha, another full word.
"Have you lost anything lately?" I prodded. Obviously he didn't know why I was there... or made a guise to not know. Either way, I could tell he wasn't going to give open information.
He blinked, but continued with his read, "No, I don't believe so." A full sentence. Wow. Sometimes it's so hard to rip him from his reading.
"Are you sure?" I let the end of my sentence damper a little... staring at the strange patterns carved into the wood of the armchair. Vaguely I wondered just how old the piece of furniture could be.
"Quite," his brows puckered in concentration again.
"Aa," I mumbled and looked down at the words on his page. The characters swirled and danced before my eyes. I made a mental note to learn his native language.
"What are you reading?" For some reason I wasn't ready to leave my stance planted beside his armchair.
"A book of poetry." He turned the page once more, smoothing the next page out so that it wouldn't rebel against the pattern of lying down its brothers had taken.
"Aa. By whom?" I watched with a strange fascination as his fingers curled around the edge of the page. His skin wasn't much darker than the ancient paper... so pale.
"Lawrence Ferlinghetti."
"Oh." I blinked. Wait a minute...
"Quatre?" The crinkle by his eyes reappeared.
"Have you purposely lost anything lately?"
He finally looked up at me... the blue of his eyes was simply...
Overpowering.
"That's absurd!" He grinned wholeheartedly.
I found myself grinning as well... and something else very out of character I suppose...
I tapped him on the nose.
"Absurd indeed," I said.
I turned and walked away, leading my feet out of the study... but not my mind. The vision of his fingers curled around that poetry page forever imprinted upon my mind.
"And Trowa?"
I glanced over my shoulder.
"Hai?"
"You should try risking it off the wire... more often."
He smiled.
I nodded and left the study, venturing back to my room, to my desk.
I picked up the poem, my fingers curling around the edge in mimic to his own. I lightly ran my fingertips over the hand written English. I read it again...
"Constantly Risking Absurdity" by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Constantly risking absurdity
and death
whenever he performs
above the heads
of his audience
the poet like an acrobat
climbs on rime
to a high wire of his own making
and balancing on eyebeams
above a sea of faces
paces his way
to the other side of day
performing entrechats
and sleight-of-foot tricks
and other high theatrics
and all without mistaking
any thing
for what it may not be
For he's the super realist
who must perforce perceive
taut truth
before the taking of each stance or step
in his supposed advance
toward that still higher perch
where Beauty stands and waits
with gravity
to start her death-defying leap
It made me feel... made me feel...
It made me feel.
And so I ventured back to the study, poem in hand, ready to return it to its owner...
... or was it simply to advance to where my "Beauty stands and waits"...
I guess I would never know unless I risked absurdity.
The End
Erm... 'scuse that one... my head hurts. Desperately craving C&C, minna... because if you know me, or my work, you know I don't write anything with Trowa or Quatre in it. I can't help it, I'm so bad at them... I'm sure you could figure out that I chose to do this piece with Trowa because the poem contrasts a poet and an acrobat. Trowa, being a circus performer, fit perfectly. And if you wondering why the poem is written in that strange pattern, the poet wrote it that way to remind you of how a tight rope walker goes across a wire... clearer now?
Kirei
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