troubled waters (FierroChase AU)

fourteen

The sounds of the city had a calming effect on Magnus. People talking, indistinct chatter, a thousand conversations mixed into a single, loud rumouring, just one sound, the combination of so many varieties, so many individuals and individual thoughts, word, lives. The cars driving around, equally producing a permanent background noise, engines running, tires on asphalt, horns joining in, adding to the cacophonic symphony of life; feet clapping on concrete, music coming out of a café, being played in a nearby park; somewhen the noise of a skateboard rolling past him on the pavement; a construction site a few blocks down; and the chatter, again, again, again, it was the most noticeable thing to hear, it underlined the omnipresence humans had in this town, in this world.

And yet, despite this impression, how many people walking around with earphones, shutting themselves off, silent, non-receiving, non-transmitting, indifferent to the incredible symphony others were witnessing. Individuals, independent of the intertwined mass of sounds; what phenomenon, what divide between the talking and the non-talking, the hearing and the deaf! And betimes, between these groups, a still, hearing, receiving observer. Magnus, listening, absorbing with all his senses, trying desperately to be conscious, more than just another part of this ignorant mass, living deliberately, understanding, feeling; it was the same verbs repeated over again, they became something like a mantra, but with Magnus, they never lost their meaning. They remained an essential part of his consciousness and there were few things more important than that. He wanted to live, to feel, to create, to leave something behind. And sitting there on the bank right at the heart of this post-modern beast, this living hyper-organism called Boston Downtown, he lived.

It was the mass that made him feel alive, but at the same time, it was the contrast, the gap between the loud, chaotic, fast, unforgiving outside world and his interior, his soul, some metaphysic entity he was sure existed somewhere, he was sure had some influence on his life. This conflict between the fast and the slow, the calm and the hurried, the loud and the still, the acting and the thinking side of the world, this dualism made waves, created a tension, perhaps also a friction, that led to heat, to fire, to life. There were only rare moments when he was able to dive in that deep into feeling and thinking. It did not happen often, and Magnus was surprised.

What uncommon effect this atmosphere had on him! People witnessed this every day, again and again and again, and nevertheless, how many of them had understood it, had established this sort of connection had intertwined the branches of their own soul with the city's, how many had opened up their mind to let indifferent and endless thoughts and impressions flow in, expand, consume, ravish their heart? How many? How many had tasted the lights' radiation, sensed the automobile cacophony, seen the taste of gas and food and sweat, or perceived the dynamics of an endless moving mass? How many had really lived life?

Magnus was just sitting there, letting his thoughts and emotions go explore his soul, his face shone upon by the afternoon sun, somehow managing not to be bothered by the permanent sounds of the city without ignoring them. It was some sort of trance, one could say, perhaps also a kind of untrained, spontaneous meditation, sitting, passive and yet so active inside his mind. He was pulled out of this state of mind by a light chuckle that was too close to him to be part of the usual voice entourage; besides, the voice sounded familiar. A soft finger touched his nose, shortly, then quickly retired, and the chuckle, after a short break, continued, now even louder, and, he thought, even closer. Magnus waited some instants, considering how to react, then he opened his eyes, seemingly unimpressed by what he saw in front of him. He saw green hair hiding a face that he did know.

It was Alex, bent over, looking at him, her finger near his nose again, that was standing in front of him. Her hair had an extraordinary nuance, somehow parting the sun, refracting its light, capturing rays, and combining them to new forms and figures of greenish light, interrupted by the shadow falling on part of Magnus' face, originating in Alex' head. The light chuckle transformed into actual laughter, a silver voice, agreeable, mysterious, ironic, and still so pure in her bell-like, ringing laughter. Apparently, Magnus had not looked so neutral and calm at her as he thought he had. Or maybe this was the cause of her laughing, the fact that he'd looked so serious, so composed. After a moment of irritation, then a moment of spontaneous, inexplicable joy at the sight of her face, the sound of her voice, he understood. She went to this college as well, she must have seen him on her way home, but most importantly, she was not mad anymore. It was like a lightning, suddenly striking his belly, evaporating any anxiety, rising up through his throat to his head, filling his entire body with lightness, with glee.

"Alex!", he exclaimed sounding almost self-confident, were it not a few notes higher than usually. "Hey! What are you doing here?", he asked, and looking at her alone, he wanted to smile, to laugh like she did, to feel so happy, so free, as she appeared to feel. He had not realized himself, how her reaction that evening had affected him. Sure, he had thought about it in the morning, debated on whether it was his fault or not, concluded it wasn't, then he had gone on with his life. This feeling of nervousness, of cloudy guilt, may have influenced what he'd written thereafter, but not in a palpable way, and until now he had been sure to have dealt with the subject and cut it from his mind. How wrong he had been! Subconsciously, he now said to himself, he had felt bad and uncomfortable all day long, why else, would he feel this light, this free right now?

Alex answered: "Hi Magnus", smiling in such a way, that Magnus knew not if it was the sun or her face that was dazzling him. "I'm just coming home from my first day at college!! Can you imagine? It was soo great..." She started telling him about her day, about her art professor, about what they were going to do this semester, what he had been talking about, what projects she was already thinking of, how she had met so many people in her course, how tomorrow she'd start with French, talking and talking, from time to time leaving room for Magnus to agree, to express his surprise or his delight, to ask one question or another, which she would answer quickly sometimes, and at others, build a whole new narrative out of his idea, talking and talking, smiling and smiling. She was so enthusiastic, so happy, so full of energy, of pleasure, of glee, Magnus could not resist. Her mood automatically rubbed off on him, he smiled at her when she was telling an anecdote, laughed at a joke she made, betimes talked himself, suddenly full of self-confidence, he smiled and he felt with her, he felt like her.

When he tried to remember this conversation, on the streets of Downtown, later on the bus back to Jamaica Plain, in the park, on their way home, he could not understand what had happened. It was as if he had lost control over his emotions, but not in a bad way, but in a way so good, so positive, so joyful, he wanted to feel it again. He had lost his anxiety, his nervousness, his unnecessary prudence, opened up, not so much in talking about his own past or something, but just in a messed-up metaphysical way, he had opened up his soul to Alex', laughing with her, smiling at her, talking and listening to her. It was as if a bond had been established between them, while they were talking, and, thinking back to the actual insignificance of the subjects they were talking about, he knew it must have had to do with them as persons, as characters, as people. When they said goodbye, everyone following their routine in the evening, Magnus sat at the window and thought and remembered and memorized what had happened that afternoon. He knew that something had fundamentally changed. Something had cracked open; some old scar had been reopened by Alex' voice. The change was real, Magnus felt it in his soul. This, he said to himself, must be life.