Retrovertigo

I was sat in my studio, perched atop the rickety old stool that used to house the weight of my closest friend. My fingers plunked at the keys lazily, chiming labored tones into the anticipation-riddled air. My eyes fluttered closed, my imagination willing a fullness into the sound. I pushed myself to think of what it could be; a far cry from what it was.
Such is life, I guess.
My throat hummed along to the familiar melody, catching with emotion as the memories trickled through the dam with more force than I’d prepared for. I forced myself to stop. I pushed two deep breaths far into my lungs, centering my focus on life as it was now and not teetering atop the things that once were. Balanced like a house of cards, it fell apart.
A light tapping at the door broke my impending doom in half. I creaked my head over my shoulder to greet the intruder with curiosity.
"What're you playing?" Brian asked me, a distinct smile tugging at the ends of his bowed lips.
I smiled back, albeit far more softly than his approach, "Same old."
He nodded subtly, lingering in the doorway, "They're here."
"Okay," I sighed. "I'll be down in a minute."
He hesitated for a second longer, as if he wanted desperately to say something but had quickly changed his mind. His tattooed fingers rapped against the wooden trim as he quietly excused himself from my presence.
I let my chest relax as I studied the set of ancient keys sprawled out before me. If I really squinted, I could almost imagine a second set of hands guiding my weary fingers along. The stains of fingerprints lingered on, smudges along the ivory beige paint to mark where mastery had once been implanted. Now, those same keys would succumb to my will; far less courageous and sure than the previous owner’s fingertips. I was but an apprentice, despite how long I’d labored over the love. I’d forever fall into his shadow—it was one of the few places I found comfort to be.
Forcing myself to pull my roots from their foundation, I slid out from the keyboard and headed for the door. Snatching my thick-rimmed glasses from the shelf on the way passed, I plopped them atop the bridge of my nose and quickly cascaded down the stairwell.
"Morning, Blair!" Jude called up to me.
I waved sheepishly, "Morning."
"I brought you coffee," he smirked, stretching his arm out to offer morning java to my eternally fatigued soul.
"Thanks," I replied ever-casually, wrapping my fingers around the steaming cup.
He followed me through to the den, as he had in all the weeks previous. A crew was scattered around the room, re-linking wires and tapping against microphones to assess their order. A timid brunette named Kelly immediately got to work strapping a box to my chest, sure to tuck each wire out of eyesight. I sipped at my coffee as she proceeded through her job, mumbling into the microphone to test its efficiency as she tucked it beneath my black tee.
"Good to go," she smiled up at me.
I nodded at her, mumbling a soft thanks. With the formality of technology out of the way, I allowed myself then to shrink away and collapse into the leather sofa. Brian had meticulously picked it out in another lifetime. It felt like eternity had passed since we’d first toured these rooms, squinting our eyes to picture living within the clean walls. We’d since filled it with our clutter, lining the walls with albums and pictures of our lives. Each shelf, previously barren and lined with decoration to fill the spaces, were now occupied with mementos and keepsakes. Books of photographs, binders full of scribbled notes and lyrics, dusty binds of the novels we loved. No space was too sacred not to fill with our interests. This was, after years of chaos and comfort, our home. Each piece of furniture, each frame of wood, each scratch in the tile, was a testament to our life together. Nine years spent in this same house and it somehow still felt new.
With my knees pulled to my chest, I sat quietly as everyone buzzed around the room. My eyes fluttered to the clock hanging against the wall, it's gears exposed to the world. It seemed in that moment more of a saddened mirror than the hands of time.
"I think today we'll talk about Tyler," Jude told me as he sank into the chair across from me.
My eyes floated from the hands of the mechanical clock to the framed picture to its right. They settled there with a gleam, sparking up an unrelenting fondness despite the weight that had just been thrown my way. There he was, smiling back at me dress in his tuxedo. Tyler Brody, in all his glory, with his arm wrapped around mine. We were babies then. There were no wrinkles, no crows stomping along the edges of my eyes. He hadn’t had a chance to grow old enough to age. He would be forever young, and forever beautiful.
With a heavy breath, I nodded, "Sure."
My lovely manager, and dear friend, Gabriel had persuaded me to let strangers into my skeleton. We'd had an offer to produce a documentary series about the lulls and triumphs that made up all things Blair Haner. Like that name meant anything.
It had been an argument to say the least; I was hardly an open book and nothing about my personality suggested ‘dissect me’. But Brian had encouraged the idea and Gabriel was set against my disgruntled attitude. Gabriel was a smart man. He’d gone straight to the source. As it turns out, if you want me to do anything, just convince Brian. He’ll do all your dirty work—with a smile to boot. After much deliberation, and a bit of strong-arming on Mr. Gates’ part, I’d finally agreed.
Jude was the man I’d been getting to know. He was kind and patient. We’d established a mild form of friendship through his work, which made it only a tiny bit simpler to divulge my true-life experiences to him. I was still that same old guarded self—but I was trying to push myself. Brian hated how pent up I could let things get, and so I’d taken the opportunity as a means of self-exploration. If it helped fans to connect with me, it was a win-win.
We'd been at it for just shy of two weeks, diving deep into my past and swimming around in the depth of its crushing weight. It had started with a crawl, as most things do, but it had quickly hastened and taken a turn for the wildly personal. I did my best to answer with as much sincerity as I could muster, but most days I'd be unable to finish. I’d only stormed out once thus far, and it was less of a storm than a purposeful stagger.
The questions were always difficult and my responses were always labored. After six days of resistance, Jude had made the executive decision to start with the easier topics; the things my lips would part easily for and my mind would excitedly work through.
Those things typically did not include Tyler.
And those things certainly did not include Jimmy.
As far as The Rev topic went, it was strictly off limits. It was the spark for my explosion and my calculated departure from the day’s interviews. Jude had been careful enough not to repeat that fatal flaw.
After seven years of mourning and desperately longing for my fallen friend, I'd still found myself at a stalemate. I couldn't seem to quite bridge the gap that his death had left, no matter how hard I tried. There weren't enough words in every language in existence to coherently explain what the void had done to my soul. No amount of time that had passed had helped to soothe my battered existence.
I still couldn't bring myself to speak about it to anyone looking for answers.
After another thirty minutes of mindless introversion, we were finally given the green light to proceed. Jude swept through his note cards, keeping them scattered across his lap in an organized disorder.
“Good to go?” Jude asked me chipperly.
Dropping my feet to the floor and my fingernails from my teeth, I nodded.
"Okay, Blair. Who was Tyler Brody?" he asked casually.
I pulled the atmosphere into my lungs, "He was my best friend...My only real friend for a long time. He was, for all intents and purposes, my brother."
Jude pressed lightly, "How did you and Tyler meet?"
I fidgeted with my glasses, as if that might somehow help me see into the past with more clarity, "Um...I don’t know really... Through school, I guess. We met when we were kids...Just babies, really. We were maybe four or five..."
"You don't remember meeting him?" Jude asked, disbelief sounding through his voice.
"Do you have memories from when you were four?" I challenged cynically.
He smiled, his eyes pleading with me to remember we were allies, "A few."
"Mm," I hummed, moving my gaze out the window as the curtains danced in the breeze. "I don't have any memories from my childhood."
Jude caught this with interest, "Why do you suppose that is?"
I scoffed quietly, "Who knows."
I knew. But that didn’t mean I was ready to start confessing my sins. While I may have been open(ish) to the concept of sharing my private life with those curious enough to hear about it, I certainly was not prepared to start diving into my psyche. There would be no broadcasted psychoanalysis. Some things, I figured, were best kept to myself. But I’d learned a lot over the years; about who I was, about who I could trust. Turns out, I wasn’t one of those people.
I'd seen a counselor not long after Brody's second birthday. The high of his arrival into the world had all but imploded and I'd been left in the same shambles I'd forged for myself in my darkest hour. My mind was obsessed with the things I'd lost. No matter how hard I fought, I couldn't quite come out of it. No amount of crawling or scratching or kicking or screaming helped to relent the viciousness of my consciousness.
One night in late October, just a few days before children dressed as ghouls and goblins wandered the streets, I'd tried to take my life.
Brody had been kidnapped by the Haners for the evening, Sue and Brian Sr always willing and greedy for time alone with their grandson. In my son’s absence, I'd lingered in the doorway of his bedroom, studying the stillness. It was a far departure from our daily lives, mostly spent between just the two of us. Without Brody, even temporarily, I felt strangely disconnected…From him, from my role, and from myself.
My steps were quiet as I crept down the hall and into my bedroom, only to find it empty. Another night spent alone. Those days, it felt like Brian was always touring. He was always away. I was always completely and unarguably on my own.
With a lump in my throat, I moved forward. My eyes pierced through the blinding darkness as I meandered down the hall. I let my fingertips trace the walls and the rails, I let my touch push into the wood of the doorways. With a swipe of my hand, I lit the bathroom into existence.
My gaze lingered over our white bathtub, momentarily reliving that morning I'd woken up after a wild night with Matt. Despite the wild kink in my neck and the nausea in my organs, I remember laughing. I remember Matt’s dimpled face and our echoed joy. I'd been happy then, hadn't I? So, how then, had it gotten so bad?
Why was I out of control again?
With a clumsy calculation, my fingers reached for the mirrored cabinet, pulling it open with a heavy determination. I slipped an orange bottle into my palm with a tremble, refusing to look at myself as I twisted the lid and threw it lazily into the empty sink. I shook one white pill into my open hand, and then two...and then three. Daring myself to challenge the newfound working of my mind, I darted my green eyes up to my reflection.
Go ahead.
The Blair staring back at me begged me to continue on. She pleaded with me to put an end to the suffering; lose ourselves within it.
The way Jimmy had lost himself.
The exact way.
A heavy sigh escaped from my throat as I shook the remaining prescription into my palm. They’d been foolish to write this script in the first place, knowing my history laced with drug use and addictive afflictions. Nevertheless, I’d broken my arm following a particularly smooth drunken fall and the only remedy, apparently, was opioids. Brian had filled it without a hint of hesitation, apparently trusting my ability to set old habits aside. And rightfully so, I hadn’t taken a single one…Until then.
Without thinking any further about it, I threw them as far back as I could; forcing myself to push them down into my system with a raw swig. I left the bottle emptied in the sink, slinking away and down the stairs. With a satisfied smile, I snatched a bottle of whiskey from the bar and tossed the lid over my shoulder without a care. It bounced along the black tile and landed somewhere out of sight.
A long sip. The burn of fire.
I waltzed to my expansive record collection, running my fingers along the edges of each album as a final farewell. I pulled California from the M section and slipped the record into the player.
As the sound creaked and popped, I felt the strangest relief spill over me. The last time I'd played this album had been with Jimmy…It was different then. It was calming. The album sparked wild resentment and aching in my soul every single play after. It was nearly insufferable.
This time, though. It felt somehow like the first. The arrangements lifted up my heart and the tempo had me smiling. I could almost see Jimmy’s hips shaking, daring me to lose myself in the happiness he sprang to life.
The pace of Sweet Charity worked to appease my current demons. I spun in a slow circle, drowning myself in the bottle as my eyes danced along the ceiling. The burn against my throat had me reeling for nights where that same sensation had been mistaken for fun. Nothing was fun anymore. Everything was monotonous and tiresome.
Frantic for some final connection to the man that had accidental spun my life into discord, I stuffed the bottle under my arm and ran my fingers along our collection of VHS movies. We were retro that way. Settling on one of our expansive amounts of home movies, I pushed the tape into the player and chased it down with another parched gulp of whiskey.
“Hey!” Jimmy screeched through my television, his face mere inches from the camera lens. “Can you see me? Is it adding ten pounds?”
“You’re fine,” Brian grunted in return.
I smiled to myself, melting away into the memories before dwindling the volume down. To hear Jimmy’s voice was like raking the drums of my ears against the coals. I could take only one sense at a time; and at that moment, I needed to see him more than I’d ever needed anything.
Drowning my sorrows, I polished an impressive amount of the bottle. Waltzing around my living room as if it were a ballroom, I sang loudly along with Mike Patton.
“Save me, the heavens have opened and I'm alone. Sweet charity, save me. The heavens have opened, I'm coming home.”
I leaned into the sentiment, pulling tonnes of air into my heavy lungs. My skin began to slowly crawl with the warmth of that wonderful Oxycodone high.
“How right you are, Mr. Patton,” I grumbled to myself, downing another mouthful of fire.
By time the slow guitar of the third track had sounded through my speakers, I was well on my way. Where I was going, I wasn’t entirely sure. I could only hope it held more peace than what I’d found here.
The world began to stem chemtrails, colours extended far beyond their confines. Time itself slowed down. As my movements grew dizzying, I knew that I had to push forward one last time.
I nodded to myself, making the most of the rationality that still existed in my slowly decaying mind. With a quick pace, I trotted into the kitchen and pulled my phone from its charger. No missed calls, no new texts.
Eternally alone.
With a dedication, and a mental scan of the time differences, I opened up Brian into my inbox. He was fast asleep, there was no doubt about that. It was nearing three a.m. in California and he was an hour ahead. Trusting in my knowledge of my husband and his sleeping patterns, I placed my bets on unconsciousness. Accidental incapacitation…I'd be long gone before he'd have the opportunity to hear the chime of his phone.
I'm sorry.
I love you.
Forgive me.
I immediately switched my phone off. With a sudden sense of reality pulsing through my veins, my eyes began to well up. It wasn't enough to revert the conviction I'd created though. It was too late for that. I’d made my choice.
Instead, I dragged myself to the couch and fell into a pit of slow death. I let my mind wander to the piercing blues that had always rescued me in the past. I let myself watch his exuberance bound around inside the pixels of my television. I examined each line of his face, I strained to focus on the intense blue of his eyes. It didn’t bring the comfort I’d been seeking; instead, it stirred up the same low-lying pandemonium I’d been harboring for years.
All I wanted was to be near him again. The loss fucking consumed me.
Jimmy was the last time I remembered being happy. Truly happy without a hint of hesitation.
I needed that happiness back. I was drowning here. I was drowning in his absence. My heart had been broken and there was no force on earth strong enough to mend it.
Not Brian, not Brody, not Lauren nor Matt.
The problem was me. The problem was my life. The problem was the way that I looked at it, the way that I felt about it.
The past had become far too heavy to carry…so, eventually I knew I needed to let go. And I’d tried. I just hadn't expected it to drag me down along with it.
I'm not entirely sure what happened to me that night. I can remember a fog creeping in and clouding my vision. I can remember muttering out sounds in an attempt to sing along to Jimmy and my go-to reeling song.
But I can't remember surviving.
I can't remember living.
Needless to say, though, I did live through it.
Brian had strong-armed me into counseling immediately following my apparent perseverance. He'd been steadfast in his love—and despite the newest carousel I'd pushed him onto, he’d never wavered. Not for a second. But he’d pushed with a strength for me to seek out help. I needed assistance in ways and in calibers that no one in my life could muster.
My counselor was sure most of my issues were rooted in the death of my parents. The less I talked about it, the more concerned she grew. I didn't think it took a PhD to work out that piece of trauma's importance, but we paid her handsomely for her insights anyway.
"What's your first memory with Tyler?" Jude asked, pulling me from my trance.
I cleared my throat, blinking the shameful memory away, "Um...I don't know."
"Come on," he pressed lightly. "Anything."
I bit at my lip with a fury, decidedly throwing my chains aside, "Okay, um… we were ten. His grandmother had just died...She had this really nasty cancer...She'd been sick for a long time and everyone, um, knew she was going to die…But even knowing it's coming, it doesn't make it any easier to handle."
Jude nodded in understanding.
"Anyway, we were at her house helping to pack up her things...And we were in her attic. It was the coolest attic I'd ever seen. It was, um, kind of connected to the house," I squinted, trying to map it out in my adult mind. "But it sprawled out into this gigantic room the second you got to the top of the stairs. Maybe it looked bigger to me then...I don't know. But Tyler was sitting on top of this steamer trunk and he just...he sobbed. I can just remember him fucking sobbing. He was inconsolable. I tried to cheer him up...I don't remember that going well."
"It never does," he half-laughed.
I shook my head, "No... but then…Um, he had asked me how I'd gotten through my parents' deaths. He told me he couldn't remember a time where I’d cried about it…He asked me how I could get past it. He needed to know how."
Jude smiled sympathetically, "And what did you say?"
"Um..." I hesitated, letting my eyes fall to the floor. "I told him it was because of him. Which is true. I got through it because of Tyler…I got through everything back then because of Tyler. He never let me get too far down...He was always there. He was always with me. So, I leaned into him so that I could lean away from myself. I never had to really feel anything...Not too deeply anyway."
Jude fell quiet. I had that effect on people once I'd open up; it always stunned them into silence.
"So," I continued on, taking a long sip from my coffee. "I told him to lean on me. I told him that I'd never let him be sad. I told him that I'd be everything he needed; I'd hold his hand every step of the way."
Tyler's smile came floating across the waves of the past. His eyes beat into mine, begging for support. Begging for understanding. I could see that desperate depletion even at ten. And even as a child, I wanted nothing less than to strip him of it.
At ten, I learned to exist for Tyler and for Tyler alone.
"I told him I could take it," I choked, feeling the bitter reality nipping at my vocal chords as emotion burst up through my esophagus. "I told him I could fucking take it."
Refusing to cry on camera, I quietly cleared my throat and tried to appear as collected as possible. I clambered to my feet in a subtle panic, pushing all remnants of the past down into the depths of my soul. It's funny the way we offer ourselves without any regard for the implications. The weight I'd taken on for Tyler had nearly crippled me.
"Excuse me for a second," I forced a smiled.
My steps carried me hurriedly from the room and across the house. My destination was clear and I took no extra time to cross the distance. I pushed the back doors open and let myself break apart just enough.
"Blair?" Brian caught with panic in his eyes, instantly turning to catch me as I pushed myself into him.
"I just need you for a minute," I sniffled into his chest. "Just for a minute."
He sighed quietly, wrapping his arms around me and digging his fingers into my back, "You can have me forever if you ask nicely."
"Don't be cute," I laughed against my will. "Just...let me need you."
Something valuable that I'd learned over the years of trial and error— something I didn't learn from an overpaid shrink or prying eyes—was that everything you were searching for could often be found in one place.
The safety and connection I'd felt with Jimmy, the dependency and obligation I'd felt with Tyler, the nurture I'd felt from my parents, the home I'd longed for all my life...the family I’d always wanted…
It was all wrapped up in Brian.
And under Brian's grip, I could take anything.

Notes

Blair's back! Hopefully worth the wait!

As a fun little side-note, a special little happy birthday goes out to my favourite Aussie. Happy birthday, Sas! <3 The timing of BPH 3.0 couldn't be better, right?

I hope you guys enjoy this newest installment of the Bs! Thanks for waiting so patiently for her return.

xx