The End, My Friend

"Through me you enter into the city of woes,through me you enter into eternal pain,

through me you enter the population of loss.

. . . Abandon all hope, you who enter here."

~ Dante's Inferno

The next thing I knew, Jimmy ran into the room and stepped over Richard who groaned on the floor. He was closely followed by Bonzo, Mo, Pat, and Robert. Jimmy pushed my head up and forced me to focus on him. I didn't want to move from where I was sprawled on the bed so I managed to stay limp.

"Are you okay? What happened?" everyone muttered. Jimmy, being the man of few words that he was, signaled for the mass to leave. Bonzo picked up Ricardo and cared him out the door after the others.

Once alone, Jimmy brought his face close to mine. The frustration of possibly having to explain what just happened made me bust into soft, rolling tears. I was exhausted, drunk, and violated. Luckily Jimmy could tell and crooned, "Second time this's happened. You must be simply irresistible." He didn't ask me to give him a play-by-play and he hadn't mentioned my crying, both of which I would have become twice as frustrated with. I was grateful. Instead, he wiped away my tears-- if any.

I pulled my self up and leaned on my pillows. He sat at my feet and placed a hand on my leg. We said nothing for the rest of the night, even when we finally arrived home to Henderson Collige at 9, the cabin devastated and a random girl joining us for Ricardo's benefit. Jimmy put me to bed in his room because it was "warmer" and spend the rest of the night dribbling some tunes in the sound room  trying to figure out Stairway alternatives.

At a quarter to four in the a.m., I darted awake, gasping for air. My eyes were automatically acclimated to the blue room, even with tear crust on the corners, and I watched, petrified, as a black figure floated from my nightstand to the King's doors and disappeared in the plum carpet. I threw the covers from my overheating legs and sprinted to the doors, throwing one open and running right toward the grand case. I skipped down the steps and hurled down the hall off the foyer toward the soundroom stairs. No lights were on, so it seemed from the top, and I collapsed in fear on the first step, where sleep overtook me again.

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"No, she really was," I explained seriously to John Paul as he cupped his tea in his hands at the dining table. He nodded understandingly and I continued. "Richard really shook her up. After Syd, and now this--"

"You didn't leave her on the steps, did you?" John Paul asked as he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, prepared to leave. I shook my head and explained that she was in her room. "Jim, you've gotta get her out. She never goes anywhere, she's probably lonely. She's not the strongest--"

"Don't say that too loud. She'll slit your throat if she heard she wasn't strong," I cautioned. "You know, I've been thinking... maybe we should take her with us tomorrow when we leave for Dudley? She wouldn't mind being at a concert-- might love it. Lord knows she loves Ten Years After. Then there's something else..."

"What?"

"You don't think she hasn't been leaving the house because she hasn't got a job, do you? I mean, photography isn't the most stable job in these parts. Maybe after Dudley we should take her somewhere, like France, and get her to some real photography classes."

"Jim, you'd honestly take a friend all the way down to Paris for classes?"

I hesitated before I exploded. It was time to admit it to John Paul, nay, the entire house save Bianca what I really thought. But something else held me back. Something that told me a secret love for a woman I couldn't have was twice as hot as having the whole house know. True, it would break one of my best mate's heart, but Bianca should have seen something like this coming from a guy like me. And what if Bianca were to move out? I felt my excitement rise for the possible disarray I could cause in a secret affair with the leather-bound artisan who sleep in her gray silk sheets upstairs.

I had forgotten what John Paul had said in my lapse of excitement. "We'll take her to Dudley with us tomorrow after Christmas. That ought to get her spirits up to par-- ought to."