Shelf

I was in a small quaint village this time. I could hear the bustle of suburbia off to my right; the cars rolling along the cobblestone pathways, the brakes of the delivery trucks, and the mumbles of distant conversations.  I could see the faded white figures rushing around me, bouncing from storefront to storefront. The smaller figures ran to the playground to start chasing each other and playing on the equipment. Taller figures looked on, while others walked right past. Some figures reached out at the crowds to invite them into their shops.

“It’s about time that you came around.” A voice said from the street. I turned around, and Good had positioned himself on top of crutches.

“What happened to you?” I asked him, helping him get up onto the sidewalk.

“You did smart guy.” He laughed, wincing a little as he jumped the curb.

“Yeah,” I fumbled, “sorry about that.”

“You know normally I would be willing to accept your apology pretty quickly.” He started, going towards a bench further down the road. “But I’m not going to. It wouldn’t be right.”

“I understand.” I announced, placing my hand on the back of his shoulder and helping him to sit down.

“So did Soul teach you anything worth while?” He exasperated.

“Something about healing.”

“So, you did not in fact learn anything?”

“No, I did.” I stuttered. “It just didn’t ‘stick’ as well; I’m used to hearing things like that coming from you.”

“Yeah,” he said, staring into one of the nearby storefronts, “it’s weird, isn’t it? To have another voice of reason shouting as loud as they can in a desperate attempt to be heard?”

“You’re particularly salty today,” I said, glaring at him, “aren’t you?”

“How would you feel if someone broke you up into a thousand different pieces; split up your entire being into it’s core expressions, and then expected you to be completely normal?”

“Well first, I don’t think humans are capable of that.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“And second, I didn’t know what it was going to do.” I pleaded, turning my body towards him. “How was I supposed to know it did whatever it did?”

“Well to start with,” he lectured, “you could have listened to me, and not him.”

“You know I have a tendency to not do that.”

“I’m aware.” He stated, sighing deeply. “Forget about it. Bad is in just a bad of a shape as I’m in. Actually, I think he got hit more by it.”

“You two talk to each other when I’m not here?”

“Believe it or not, yes we do. As a matter of fact, we live together.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” he grinned, “we live together.”

“Please tell me that that was on accident? And not on purpose?”

“How about we settle with ‘a little bit of both,’ huh?”

“Would it be to much to see the living situation?”

“Not at all.” He grinned, still looking into a store window as a bus pulled up behind him. “Not at all.”

*****

“I know it doesn’t seem like it,” Good winced as he hobbled up the driveway, the bus pulling off behind us, “but I still have the utmost faith in you.”

“Considering all of the shit I’ve pulled,” I replied, “that seems like a stupid decision.”

“There’s a reason for it though.”

“Does that reason involve ‘blinding optimism,’ or anything of the like?”

“Well,” he stopped short, pausing to cross his eyes slightly, “yes as a matter of fact. I won’t lie to you, but yes it does.”

“Then therein lies the problem, does it not.”

“At some point, you’ll learn that optimism can be considered a good thing.”

“But let me guess, not today?”

“Nope.” He grinned, leading me up to the steps of a small cottage. The bus had taken us for a five minute ride outside the village. We were now in a neighborhood with many small, white cottages, just like the one that Good was leading me towards.

“What’s that?” I asked him. I pointed to a cluster of light a few blocks down. It was getting higher, and materializing into the shape of a mansion.

“That’s where the others live.” He said simply, fumbling with his keys to open the front door. “They won’t show up until the houses are done. They haven’t need them until a certain someone screwed up that concept.”

“Whoops.”

He swung the door open, and dropped the keys on top of a chair that sat next to the door.

“Honey! I’m home!” He called out. I heard mumbling from the other end of the single-story house. The house was divided up the middle, with a brighter light and fancier silhouettes of objects strewn across the walls on one end, and the other half of the house was darker, and had less ornate decorations.

“What do you want this time?” Bad mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he left his room. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Surprise!” Good said without enthusiasm. He turned around, and grumbled as he slunk down into a chair. Bad groaned, and walked into the kitchen, which fell in the middle of the divide.

“Well,” Good said, “make yourself at home.”

“Thanks?” I said, unsure if he had forgotten that what I see if much different from what he sees. To him, he sees an innate, detailed world like I would in my life. But all I see is white walls and white shelves.

“So there’s a reason outside of optimism as to why I still have faith in you.”

“What’s that?”

He smiled, and motioned towards the wall to his right. A collection of five shelves, mounted above one another, were hung from the wall. They all housed objects, all in color and detail, the kind that I could differentiate. There were trophies, hand-sewn felt ornaments, and pictures.  I walked up to one of the pictures, and it encapsulated me at my high school graduation. The picture captured what I saw as I looked up into the stands after shaking hands with the principal.

“Every Time you do something amazing, or worthwhile, some new thing pops onto the shelf.” He smiled, standing up out of his chair and coming over to my shoulder.

“Everytime?” I asked him.

"Every Time; this is the shelf." Good said, holding his hand up to the shelves, "this is the shelf upon which I hold everything dear to me."

"These are the fields upon which I grow my fucks." Bad mocked from the kitchen. "As you can see, the fields are bare!"

We both stopped, and glared in the direction of the entryway of the kitchen.

"Regardless of what happens,” Good continued, finally looking back at the shelf with fond eyes, “regardless of whatever shit you so happen to pull on any given day, I keep coming home to this. I never lose track of what we've done. And that helps me to think about what we could still do.”

“That’s optimism you imbecile.” Bad said from the entryway with a cup of coffee cradled in one hand. His right eye was blue and swollen, and he had a thick cast wrapped around his left leg.

“Will you go back to bed?” Good pleaded, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t wanna.” Bad mumbled, slowly shuffling in the direction of his room.

They kept bickering, and my attention wandered to a window near the shelves. It pointed out at the front of the house. The mansion had finally materialized, and another, smaller house started to be build next to it. In the top level of the mansion, I could make out a figure; pointing in my direction.”

"Who is that?” I asked, panicked. They stopped arguing, and both looked out the window with me.

“Oh you’ll like him.” Bad laughed, clearly amused. “You’ll love him! He’s a poetic little bastard that one is.”

“God damn it.” Good grumbled. “Not him.”

“Who?” I asked again. “Who is that?”

“You’ll figure it out in time.” Bad laughed, the white light beginning to overtake the room.

Good looked down and sighed. I looked back out the window; the figure had vanished.