The Main Character

MC needed some space so she locked herself in her apartment, took her phone off the receiver, and put on her sound-proof headphones to block out the sound of the river. The flower Finch had retrieved for her sat in a vase on her kitchen counter. It was a bit disheveled looking since they had had to jam it inside her handbag in order for her to sneak it past his co-workers, but it still looked delicate and beautiful as ever. It stared at her. She wanted to clear her head so she got out her sketch books, some pencils, and her laptop. She was going to make something. She wanted to create something new. So many things in her life that had once existed no longer were, it made her feel better to make new things. Her favorite thing to make art about were the things in her ‘coincidence of the universe journal’. It helped her compose art spaces that worked by themselves but still held or sometimes became even more complex and beautiful when an audience was introduced and interacted. Everything had to work together, change together, adapt around any stimuli: planned or unplanned. Pieces that worked in those circumstances were what MC considered to be truly beautiful. When they worked, they were like miniature universes. Universes inside the universe. They told their own stories which, despite being impacted by the universe they existed in, were more independent of it than dependent on it. She did it all using light and shadow. The art itself was not tangible. You couldn’t possess it really, just the lightbulbs.

She sprawled her things out on her coffee table. It was where she did her best work. MC was methodical. She followed the same basic formula when she drew up new plans for pieces. She put “What Tomorrow Brings” by Badly Drawn Boy on a loop, plugged in her headphones, and closed her eyes. Pencil in hand, she tapped on her sketch book while the song ran through a few times. She opened her notebook to the last page she wrote on and scanned for something to use. She added two from today:

Running into Finch at his apartment seconds before he was about to go on an excursion he conveniently had already gotten clearance for so that she could go

Not having allergies to any of the plants or insects they encountered despite being horribly allergic to lots of normal everyday things like fabric softener, aloe, red food dye, and most anti-histamines

Finch conveniently stumbling upon that flower that he was looking for

MC closed her eyes again and contemplated each one of these ‘coincidences’ separately and together. They made her think of Finch. And Jack. Even though MC hated to admit it, MC’s attachment and memories of Jack were the inspiration of a lot of her art pieces. They used to live together, and now his smell was once again in the apartment, she felt like he was still in the apartment now, just around the corner.

Jack was a unique guy. Scrawny, grungy, off-beat, quiet, thoughtful, caring. He was unique in the way that he was largely invisible to the world despite being a very influential artist. He published all his work under a pseudonym to avoid being influenced by patrons who wanted work commissioned and to keep his friends from treating him differently. Because no one knew who he was, no one cared. Even before his death he was a ghost, but MC noticed him. He had dark curly hair, pale skin, and very large piercing blue eyes. His parents were South African but he didn’t keep much of their accent. However, it was his nose that caught her eye. He had horribly asymmetrical nostrils. He had messed it a few years before they met in a drunk fight with a friend. She had a lot of sketches of it in her journal, even still.

They met at one of Rémy’s shows, when he was still a hit. He had been watching her and asked to buy her a drink. She had said no, but they got to talking anyway. They talked about how upset they were with the world, their friends, and where they both were in their lives. They both felt stuck, waiting for what they knew they could be to happen. He had described it as being stressed because he had so many things that he wanted to do, he knew who he was and who he wanted to become, but just couldn’t bring himself to put in the time and work to do it; though even when he did, it didn’t work out. MC had said she had felt the same, but somehow, it turned into a competition. A ‘depression-off’. She had won. And then he told jokes. Really terrible and inappropriate jokes to change the mood. It was sweet. From there they kept running into each other, a product of both of their conspiring. They were quick friends that turned into passionate lovers. He was patient and understanding when she was wild and restless, and vice-versa. They were always better together, they even made better art.

His death left a huge hole in MC. He jumped into the river from the window of her apartment.

MC had always thought it was fair though, things were too perfect to continue and be interesting to the world. People don’t live happily ever after if they hope to accomplish other things in their life, which both of them did. Well, now only one of them could. And she would.

After his death, MC threw herself into finding out how to make herself happy, how to keep living, how to live well, and how to help others do the same. But it was Quinn who helped her get to that point. That was why she never moved. He was her whole support system, she could not leave and expect him to follow her. His family owned the building. He helped her, not by being a cuddly motivational teddy bear, but by being fed up with her prolonged period of mourning to the point where she felt obligated to move on. He gave her a book he thought was about all the good things that exist in life, but it was a book with excerpts from the greatest philosophical thinkers throughout history putting in their two cents about what should make you a good and happy person. Key word being should. It was his Uncle’s book. The problem was, none of it did make MC happy, but she found what George Sher said to be helpful in her pursuit. Sher identified ‘6 features of good living’ and MC had made it her mission to achieve them all. It never worked, but she tried. She reasoned that it would be boring to be happy all the time anyway. The features were: knowledge, rational activity, close personal relations, an appreciation of true beauty, the development of one’s capabilities, and moral goodness. The one she had the most trouble with was relations. She’d never been able to get the degree of closeness correct. She only had acquaintances, best friends, or lovers. People were either forefront in her life or completely forgotten. And since Jack’s death, everyone was kept at arms-length.

She opened her eyes in an attempt to get perspective. Her sketch book was still blank. She did not want to think about Jack anymore. She did not want to look at the stupid flower with the Jack-like smell. She wanted a cigarette and a walk. She still needed to apologize to Quinn. Something that Alastair had said during their after-breakfast chat came back to her mind. They had spoken about all the suicides and she had commented that she was angry at them for leaving her. He had pointed out that she had made sure she was alone ever since Jack passed, so hadn’t she done the same thing to everyone else? He said, “You can stay in the same place but still manage to leave people.”