by the fence

there was a long silence and the twittering of some strange desert bird that didn't quite register in my mind. i could almost hear the violinist trying to clear his parched throat as he rubbed at his cracked lips with the back of his hand, his bow hand. he stared at me, patiently and expectantly.

"well," i asked, "aren't you going to play for me."

"it's no use," he said sadly, "you can't dance."

he reminded me of the wizard of oz, the fraud behind the curtain running the smoke-and-mirrors show. he leaned one shoulder up against the fence. looking down at my hands, i realized i had been nervously biting at my cuticle. everything felt surreal, my senses overloaded, i saw through a fog of bitter tears that continued to come in heaves. "then tell me what to do," i said.

"i can't. i can only play. you have to follow the music. if you don't, it's all wrong." he shook his head and repeated, "all wrong. we can't be held responsible."

the tears came again and i found it hard to breathe for a moment. "then you can't tell me what to do?" i managed. the violinist shook his head grimly. "...and the cheshire cat?"

"he's gone, too." he looked down and kicked at some pebbles on the ground. "he never did help alice. anyway, he could only tell people what they thought they needed to know -- he had no real direction."

"so you killed him?" i asked, indignant, "or had him killed?"

"oh no!" said the violinist, shaking his head violently. "it was them," he said through gritted teeth, looking away as if he was talking to someone else. "millions of them!"

my tears stopped, and i trembled coldly, shocked, broken-down, and disillusioned. the violinist seemed to reflect how i felt, what i had become. but he could make beautiful music. "well?"

"you could pour us a glass of that whisky," he offered.

"but i haven't bought it yet," i whispered.

"...but i know you will. it's already here for me." he began to move away. i trembled at his words and turned to ice.

"will i see you again?" i asked softly, but he was already gone. as usual, only i had heard my words.

she floated through my field of vision, whisked away in someone's arms into another room, the type of image one vaguely remembers as an emotion revealing itself as an image. i handed the assistant my debit card and signed the receipt. she handed me some papers and a clay paw print. i gathered up what remained and left the building.