Madeline. Madeline. Wake up. Wake up Madeline. There's someone here. You need to hear this. He's reciting poems - sonnets, ballads and quatrains - dedicated to you and I think he hopes you'll see him. He says he's 'braved Hades to beseech the dark lord for safe return of his lady, Eurydice.' He called me the dark lord; do you fucking believe that?! A languid smile spread across Madeline's waking face. She stretched and yawned like a cat as she slowly slid the blankets off and leapt to her feet. The skin of her well muscled legs, from the chill of the cold air, acquired the texture of a basketball's leather as she walked across the wood floor and picked up a pair of jeans, pulling them up over her green briefs while shaking her hips from side to side; great denim snakes rising up to devour her legs. She walked back across the room to her dresser and grabbed a white tank-top, quickly pulling it over her head before glancing into the mirror and wiping the crust from the corners of her eyes. She pulled down a beige sweatshirt hanging from the door of her room and headed to the stairs.
A haiku for you, tempestuous mean maidens, if you'll allow me. Pay attention now, you've already missed the first. Lo! Eurydice!
Madeline emerged, she stood in the doorway there, her hands on her hips.
Thine green eyes bait my
Enamored heart's damned beating.
Bear-trap irises.
Oh he's a clever one, Madeline's roommate Aalison whispered. Can you ask him to do one about me? Madeline smiled and stepped out from the doorway to the head of the stairs. Below her, at the foot of the stairs Peter stood smiling and bowed in supplication. Another gesture of grandiosity to add to the cartoonish display he was making. What, do you think you're Byron? Peter raised his pointer finger to signify a clarification and quietly said 'Lord.' You're unbelievable. You called Monica the dark lord? That's unnecessary and borderline racist. Interrupting, with raised finger, Peter said: I was referring to Hades. I'd considered quoting Sophocles but thought the reference would be lost on her. I'm not racist, she's xenophobic and doesn't like to read. Look, I'm sorry; I'll apologize to her if you want. She isn't the reason I came here though. I came to see you. I know you said you needed some time, but every inch of me writhes and reaches out for you. I feel like Tantalus. You're the apple and the serpent, the curse and the cure.
Your literary references aren't funny or impressive, they're pedantic and attention seeking. I know you think you're being clever and cute but you really need to wake up.
I've tried waking, but it's only when I'm asleep that I'm wrapped in the warm blankets of my dream's illusion. So I'd prefer to just go on sleepwalking, wandering deaf and blind into oncoming traffic; car horns blaring and lights flashing while I go on dreaming, made invulnerable by my ignorance. If I'm struck dead I'll be catapulted into a still deeper sleep.
Still with the theatrics. Why do you do this, Madeline asked. Where's your head at?
Well, given you're standing at the head of the stairs, I'd say the symbolism is rife.
Funny. You know what I don't understand about all of this? Where were you when you had the chance to fix things? When I came to you. Three times you denied me. Tell me about the symbolism there Peter. What was it that happened to Jesus again?
Jesus Christ! Are you comparing yourself to Jesus? You always did have a knack for painting yourself as the victim, but this...and anyway, Jesus came back; he didn't stay entombed in his room burning incense and listening to sad songs while his apostles went mad with grief.
There we go, now I've got you to give up the charade and be honest with me. And really, if anyone is Jesus, it's you - you're asking for miracles over here.
C'mon Madeline, let me walk on water. Then we'll turn it to wine and drink up the red sea; see what I did there? Peter moved toward her, placing his left foot on the bottom step before pausing and gazing up at her. You complete me, he said.
Madeline fought hard to suppress the smirk forcing a bend in her lips. A chuckle broke free from behind her teeth like prison bars pealed by an empty metal cup. Soon it bloomed into a sweet laughter that rang from her throat like a bell. Jerry Maguire?! Jesus!
Which one is it, Peter asked laughing, Jerry or Jesus. They looked at one another smiling and Peter said: I thought you might like that one. Everything else was just filler leading up to it. I knew coming here would be Risky Business, an impossible mission.
Ok, Madeline said laughing, this is deplorable, even for you. Your desperation is shameful. You're trying to win me back with Tom Cruise jokes. Oh, I feel such pity for you that I might just have to agree to your demands; to spare you the mortification you're willing to endure. It's almost Christian in severity.
A baptism then, to save me from my sins. Good old religious terrorism; a kind of holy-waterboarding. He rose another two steps to the middle and extended his hand. Just a walk, I only want to talk.
Okay, Madeline said, walking past Peter's outstretched hand.
Let's walk.
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