chapter eleven
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
interlude: from the outside looking in
“I’m sorry,” Kurt chokes, as the full weight of everything he’s just said falls inwards. “I haven’t had a chance to - ”
“Let your feelings out? Let go? Lose your responsibility for once?”
“Yeah, that. Not since he became ill.”
“I had no idea how hard this has really been for you. Blaine, maybe. But not you. You always seem so - so okay with everything. I’m so, so sorry, Kurt,” Clare comforts, her fingers in his hair, their heads bowed together, almost like lovers.
-
The phone rings at quarter to eleven that night.
Kurt almost doesn’t hear it over Blaine, who’s weaving his way around an Andante.
Quietly, he slips out to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Kurt, it’s Clare.”
“Oh, hey.”
“How are you?”
“Fine. Better now, actually. Blaine is too. He’s playing the piano again.”
“Great - yes, sweetheart, I’m just checking that Kurt’s okay - no, I’ll talk to you about it later, just let me finish on the phone now - sorry, my husband. Anyway, I’m glad.”
“How about you?”
“Better now I know you’re okay. There’s something I’ll talk to you about next time I see you, which will be in a few days, so I can confirm or reject the visit as well. Anyway, I have to go now. Night, Kurt.”
“Night, Clare. See you soon.”
-
When Kurt goes back in to hear the end of Blaine’s piece, Blaine takes no notice. Not until after, when his face breaks like sunrise and his smile reminds Kurt of exactly why he’s stayed behind.
-
“You said you had something to talk to me about?”
“Yes, yes, I did. I’ve been thinking about what you told me the other day, about how you’d not had time for yourself since Blaine became ill. I was wondering if it would do you any good to go away for a few days. Go back home. See your family. And in the meantime, someone else could care for Blaine.”
“Are you suggesting - ? Those pamphlets - ?”
“Are simply options. There could be other people as well who could help. There are other carers who could stay here, so Blaine wouldn’t have to go anywhere. Or there might be a friend - Rachel, you say? Or someone from your family.” She pauses for a moment, wondering whether to add the next part. “Or, I could do it. Only for a few days, mind you, but I could take time off work.”
“But what about your husband? Your children?”
She laughs, only somewhat genuine. “Kids? None. Not yet, anyway. Maybe sometime in the future. My husband’s getting pretty desperate.”
“I’ll think about it.”
-
He plans it over the next few days; drive to Lima, stay with his parents for two nights, then drive back via Westerville on the anniversary of Blaine’s parents’ death.
-
To: khummelfreelance@hummel.com
From: claresmith@gmail.com
Subject: Final Arrangements (+ a little surprise!)
Attachments: JCN Copy Download.pdf
Kurt,
Final arrangements for Friday:
Go to the clinic - 280 Madison Avenue, Suite 1402, New York, New York 10016 in case you don’t remember, and we’ll meet Professor Buckham at 2pm, after she’s finished her briefing. She’ll then brief us before we go in and meet the researchers - she expects six or so. No more, anyway.
I can’t be certain what she wants until we get there. All she’s said so far is bring along Blaine’s cello if possible.
We shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours, and of course, you will be there the whole time.
Also, attached is the published version of the Journal I submitted to. We’re in!
See you on Friday,
Clare
-
Kurt knows the report as soon as he spots the title:
“Incapable of Thinking”: An observation into the effects of severe memory loss on cognitive processes and emotional expression.
Clare Smith
-
Already in the first paragraph, he’s picked out four words he doesn’t understand.
He opens a second tab, finds a dictionary for the terms, and continues to read.
-
The first indication we had of memory-related damage was upon BA’s waking up, where he failed to identify a close friend and himself in a picture of a school reunion.
-
A picture; annotations of the drifting galaxies of Blaine’s mind, the universe breaking apart with a shower of sparks...
-
Through the following days, it was noticed that only one person ever seemed to be at the forefront of BA’s thoughts.
BA had met KH during High School, proceeded to move to New York with him, and the pair had then married. Throughout BA’s illness, KH had stayed with him. The emotional connection between the two was so strong, so significant, that KH was the only person he could recognize.
-
Despite the damage, BA retained a number of skills; his ability to read and write remained unimpaired, although he was unable to follow longer sentences. However, even more impressive was his musical ability. His skill on both the piano and the cello was not affected, and he handled complex pieces with ease. As well as this, he could recall melodies and lyrics to songs significant to him, such as the one played at his wedding ceremony.
-
One phrase stood out amongst all written in his diary, one which gives the closest possible insight into the reality BA experiences: I am incapable of thinking.
-
It takes him at least an hour to work his way through the pages, stopping to check foreign phrases on the way.
When he finishes, finally, maybe he knows just a little more about what’s going on inside Blaine’s head.
Maybe.
-
Kurt wakes up on Friday morning, his stomach tense.
He helps Blaine to shave, lets him dress in peace, before fine-tuning his cello and preparing breakfast. They spend a morning in the music room, playing the piano, singing together, as Kurt tries to help Blaine relax, to be comfortable, to let any seed of anger or irritability drain away.
-
“Blaine - shit, come back here Blaine!”
The car stops in the middle of the road, the driver raising his fists, as Blaine stands lost, wondering at the setting around him. The driver loses patience quickly, starts beeping, the noise causing Blaine to start like an animal from danger.
Kurt runs out into the road, walks to the driver, shouts through the window.
“I’m sorry - my husband, he’s ill, his memory - ”
“Don’t look ill to me, son. Just get him out of the road before I run the pair of you down.”
They stare at each other through the window, the incredulous pane of glass, before Kurt nods, a hint of superiority, and takes Blaine’s hand, leading him away from the band of car horns now sounding. They take a seat on the bench, Kurt’s hand on Blaine’s back. He’s shaking.
“Blaine, sweetheart, are you okay?”
Blaine shakes his head, but can give no better answer.
-
They arrive at the clinic five minutes late, only to be told by Dr Smith that Professor Buckham’s running behind anyway, that she should be another five minutes or so, then -
“Blaine - oh Kurt, is he alright?”
“He ran out into the middle of the road as we were coming here, nearly got knocked down. Then we got shouted at by a driver and there was a lot of noise and I think he’s confused - ”
“Oh, Blaine, it’s okay. You’re fine now.” She eyes him kindly, notices how he tilts to the side a little to acknowledge her words, but keeps his gaze firmly on the floor, his hands twisting behind his back.
“Maybe if we asked if he could play first, assuming that’s why she wanted us to bring this,” he lifts the cello, still held tightly in his hand. “Playing generally tends to make him feel better.”
A door opens from along the corridor. Blaine looks up, stares blankly at Professor Buckham as she approaches them, despite the warmth on her face. They shake hands, tentatively.
“I’m so pleased you could come. It’s lovely to see you all again.”
“You too, Professor.”
“Today’s not going to be very special or anything. What we’re going to do is first, I’ll introduce you to our visitors, then I’ll use some of those tests we used with Blaine last time, then maybe, just before we go, Blaine could demonstrate his skills to us?”
“Actually, we were wondering if he could do that first? We were thinking it might help Blaine relax - obviously he’ll be a bit nervous around so many unfamiliar people, and it makes him feel better.”
“Of course. Shall we go in now and set up?”
-
Blaine settles into playing Tchaikovsky’s Valse Sentimentale with ease. Kurt holds the music, and, surrounded by the torchlights of eyes, he swirls a pattern of notes in the air, takes cues from the music, breathes in rhythm as he folds and stretches and curls and moulds the music to his own. And, as he works across the staves, he starts to relax, and to smile.
The notes shiver in the air for a few moments before fading to applause.
-
They are introduced to Professors Reynolds and Havers, Doctor Rollin and her research partner, Emily, to Doctor Cuningham and her husband, all of whom seem to be fascinated by Blaine’s ability.
As they ask questions, take notes, just observe, Kurt can only sit back in the corner, ready for the chance to jump in if needs be. Though Blaine can answer nearly every question, or Dr Smith can answer them for him.
Kurt wonders why he really needed to stay in amongst them in the first place.
-
Blaine works through the list of statements again, giving answers, some new, some old, and hands it back before accepting a cup of coffee for a break.
Emily has struck up a conversation with Professor Havers, and Blaine shuffles closer.
As they discuss their respective partners, Blaine can’t help but ask questions. The same questions. The phrase “Blaine, you asked that just a minute ago”, followed by the response “No I didn’t”, followed by a sigh, starts to come up far too often for Kurt’s comfort, and he shifts in his seat, watches closely as the lines begin to draw on his forehead, and his eyes show the first flashes of panic.
“Blaine, I said Chelsea was a place in London, in England, not long ago.”
“No you didn’t!”
It’s like the elastic band, pulled tighter and tighter, has finally snapped, and Blaine stands up and shouts unintelligibly, something burning inside, and Kurt’s at his side trying to calm him but he won’t stop stop yelling and screaming and crying oh the crying it hurts it hurts I don’t know anymore until Clare’s at his other side and he’s reduced to soft, pitifully childlike sobs as the rest of the room stares at them.
Some take their pens and begin to write.
-
It’s quickly that Clare takes the cello out of the case again, finds a new piece of music, hands the sheet to Kurt and the bow to Blaine who accepts it, along with a final kiss on the forehead. Kurt unfolds the music, Blaine lifts the instruments, and begins one of the many Primaveras.
Now, more than ever, it’s easy to see how music has become Blaine’s repose, his safety, the one thread of his past life that he can cling to, whether he knows it or not. The playing is broken by the feelings he refuses to let slip in his day-to-day, within the routine of his normality that still comes new and fresh each day, and there’s bright and dark and summer and winter and the endless stretches of time past to future all captured in this one present. The notes fall through the void, through crimson stars and silent stars and tumbling nebulas like oceans set on fire, through empires of glass and civilizations of pure thought and a whole, terrible, wonderful universe of impossibilities.
“Oh, look, Kurt, we have an audience.”
chapter twelve; part one