My Dreams Made Music in the Night

"Last Words of a Shooting Star" by Mitski

All of this turbulence wasn't forecasted

Apologies from the intercom

And I am relieved that I'd left my room tidy

They'll think of me kindly

When they come for my things

They'll never know how I'd stared at the dark in that room

With no thoughts

Like a blood-sniffing shark

And while my dreams made music in the night

Carefully

I was going to live

You wouldn't leave till we loved in the morning

You'd learned from movies how love ought to be

And you'd say you love me and look in my eyes

But I know through mine you were

Looking in yours

And did you know the liberty bell is a replica

Silently housed in its original walls

And while its dreams played music in the night

Quietly

It was told to believe

I always wanted to die clean and pretty

But I'd be too busy on working days

So I am relieved that the turbulence wasn't forecasted

I couldn't have changed anyways

I am relieved that I'd left my room tidy

Goodbye

~

It was raining when Dana Scully stared out of the motel room window and into the parking lot. It was empty, like most of the places they stayed. Glancing at the sign shining out at the road, she read "The Bend Hotel, Vacancy" in flickering neon. They were towards the top of Minnesota, and were situated on a bend in the highway, suggested by the sign. Mulder was out doing something, so she was alone. Three weeks might have gone by, but she didn't keep track of the time anymore. Her chest hurt too much.

It had been awhile since they disappeared. Longer since she herself disappeared. Long days spent in the car zig zagging across the country to evade capture had been silent for a long time. Everything felt like a parody of itself now— and she played the part. Mulder spent his time doing small jobs for an income and "researching". Whatever that means. At first, she would help, but it felt futile now. She wouldn't see William again. She wouldn't see her mother, her brothers; her friends. The whisper of communication came through from Monica or John, and they never even saw them. Just electronic correspondence on protected accounts. She was lonely, and had no one but Mulder. And she loved him. And he loved her. But it was different now.

Dana Scully pulled the curtains closed and walked across the dark room into the small bathroom. She sat in the tub and turned on the shower to let the hot water fall onto her. She hadn't undressed, and stared at the socks on her feet as they became soaked with water. It was hard to cry now, like her tears were gone and her ability to feel was taken away. She closed her eyes and thought of her apartment. Where everything was. A medical school textbook in the corner of the bookshelf in her living room, seven knives in the silverware drawer (she had broken the eighth in self defense at some point), a secret pack of marbys hidden in the back of her nightstand, straight razors on the top of the medicine cabinet. All of these things are gone in reality, but they're still present in her mind.

Before they left, she made sure everything was in order. She was a neat person, but in an almost subconscious act, she had done a big clean. It wasn't supposed to go like that— their final adventure. When her bitter thoughts got her down (which was quite often now), she squeezed her eyes shut and silently repeated that her life wasn't supposed to go like that. But here she is. Years of turbulence only led to a metaphorical plane crash, and all she got were apologies from Mulder and an insistence that it's for the good of the world. She pictured her mother and Monica silently packing up her shoes, her dishes, her books, unable to speak through the curtain of awkwardness and pain. Maybe they were happy that she had left it so tidy.

Turning the now cold water off, Dana left her soaked clothes on the floor of the bathroom and changed into sweats in the dark of the main room. Sitting on the bed, curled up against the headboard, she stared straight ahead. In the dark it felt like she had no thoughts. It was often that way outside in the light, but it was always empty and numb in the enclosed darkness of the four walls. Nothing important happened anymore, and she felt almost as if she were some creature incapable of intelligent thought, a shark set on survival, searching for a way to sustain life. Her safety lay in dreams that weaved themselves through her night, making her brain a welcoming place once again. The melodies that accompanied a happy life with her baby boy William, drinks with friends, time with family only existed there. Waking up was almost as if she was falling asleep to a nightmare, but she needed to keep going. Carefully and at a distance, she would keep going. Keep living.

It was almost unbelievable how Mulders emotional considerations for her had so quickly passed once they set off from the desert. It had always been easy for her to shut out her feelings around others, but she thought that maybe for the first time she could've been vulnerable with him. But it stayed at surface level, or even above that. She could feel his yearning for her, in the mornings when she would allow him to have her. She could feel his yearning for her, when he sat looking through papers at night beside her silent body in bed. When she looked up at him above her, she would squint into his eyes to see if he really did love her like the words coming out of his lips said. She saw her reflection, sad and cold, and wondered if he saw her for herself. Not what he wanted. His perception of love has always been skewed, with only the movies providing an example he liked. Real life isn't a movie though.

Fidgeting with the seam of the blanket below her, her thoughts turned inward. Sometimes she felt so stagnant— like she was an exhibit in a museum, an artifact that no one could touch. She was like the liberty bell on display, fragile even though it's not the real one. It was convincing at this point, she really believed that she could crumble at any moment, that she was cracked like porcelain. Maybe she already was.

She felt a surprising tear escape her eye as the image of a normal existence flashed across her mind. A reality where she could be a doctor or a successful FBI agent or even a mother ceased to exist the moment she stepped in Mulder's office. She didn't know it then, so she couldn't do anything about it anyway, right? That was the narrative she had settled in months ago in a near identical motel room somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Unknowingly, this had been true for her for years and years.

She heard a car alarm chirp to signal a locked door. It was their car, Mulder was back now. She closed her eyes again to envision her room at home— the place she only knew in the past now— and mentally counted the shoes in the closet. Perfectly neat and tidy.