Chapter 122 - Elysi of the Opera As the owner of the Azokka Memorial Bookstore, I felt that I should visit the establishment and give everyone a morale boost. Oh, and a pay boost, too--needless to say, the bookstore clerk was very happy. I don't blame her, either. Ten thousand dollars an hour isn't a bad deal.
In truth, a visit to the bookstore (and making the clerk's day) was nothing more than a stalling tactic, so my mind could have time to battle itself. At times, I absolutely hate all of the conflict that makes life so intriguing. This is what I thought as I stood before the door of my father's house.
(Note: This is why I shouldn't watch a movie before writing an update!) Did you know that I hate
The Phantom of the Opera? Absolutely cannot stand it. You just don't know who to root for--which, normally, I would enjoy, but it's
so confusing! The Phantom wants to make Christine spend the rest of her life in the dark, but at the same time he's never loved or been loved, and she's the only chance at happiness he has! He's been so broken and beaten by the world, never shown compassion, always a monster.
Raoul, on the other hand, is the classic knight in shining armor/soulmate/whatever. Frankly, he peeves me. Yes,
peeves. He's just too perfect, and I do root for the Phantom--at least until I remember that he's a murderer who wants to exile Christine from the world forever. Then it's a struggle between
do I want Christine to be happy (because she and Raoul are in love, even if he's kind of a pushover) or
should she give the Phantom his only chance at happiness.
And the end--God, the end! She has to choose between losing Raoul, or--losing Raoul, but allowing him to live. I seriously doubt that it would have played out either way, considering that Raoul would either A) Live, come back down to the sewer with all the king's armies, and rescue her or B) Die, be reincarnated as Indiana Jones, and still come back down and save her.
For some reason, what I truly cannot stand about
The Phantom of the Opera is the end. He just lets them go? That would never happen in real life! People don't just have epiphanies of altruism! Grr.
Why have I forced you to sit through a review of a play, you ask? Well, right now I'm facing a conflict of my own, and I'm choosing to cast all the members and put on a show.
First up: Raoul, played in this production by Stephen Felder. He's definitely the happiest person in the equation. Unlike the other two major characters in this play, he doesn't see the trouble brewing in the Opera house--at least, not until it's too late for him to do anything but be saved by the lovely lady. People give him way too much credit. Sure, the love of his life falls in love with and is kidnapped by a madman who lives in the sewers, but don't we all have relationship problems?
Next: The tortured genius turned to madness, The Phantom of the Opera. This Phantom might not fit the profile, but Nataliya Elysi is the one and only (wo)man for the job. Nataliya wasn't born into darkness, but, as she grew older, despair and sorrow seeped into her soul. She craved the impossible, but despaired of ever reaching it. She fell in love, but betrayed that love over and over. She ignored the growing regret, but guilt raged beneath the surface, weighing her down as she tried to swim up.
Last of all: Our heroine, Christine, otherwise known as Ilene Azokka Elysi. She alone knows the full story, and the two rival forces in her life. More than knows--she
understands, and that is the full story in of itself. It would be so much easier if she only saw the happy couple that the rest of the world seems to accept, but instead she must confront the turmoil that is present in one, and that the other is oblivious to.
And . . . I still don't know what to do. Usually distancing myself from the conflict makes it so much easier: it's simple to say, "Oh, she should
definitely do that!" rather than "
I should definitely do that." At the moment, all I'm doing is stalling. I decided to knock on Stephen's door and just talk fast, then ran away after ringing the bell. My next opportunity was when I happened to meet him outside the Bistro, mumbled something about the weather, and . . . ran away again. I suppose I'm not the most decisive person.
I know you probably think I'm ridiculous for even thinking about these things. But Mother isn't just having a fling every once in a while: she sees at least two men every day, often consecutively. For me, it really is quite depressing, and when I'm depressed I'm confused, and when I'm confused I can't dream, and when I can't dream I'm depressed. It's a vicious cycle.
Lately, the three rendezvous points are the Consignment Store, the Elixir Store, and the Art Museum. She moves them constantly to keep the paparazzi from catching up, and is smart enough to pull it off without them suspecting anything. I've figured out her patterns, too: Stephen when she wants to go out and have fun, Hasan when she feels like being a "secret agent" and sneaking around, and Lionel when she's just tired and needs a pick-me-up. It's been Lionel more and more often lately.
I honestly can't remember the last time she slept--last night, she was out with Lionel until five in the morning, loaded up on caffeine, then went out to a party with Stephen at the Port-a-Party Warehouse.
Without having to worry about paparazzi (they were still around, it's just that Stephen is her "public image" boyfriend), I hope that she was able to relax a little and have some fun. It's been so long since she's had some fun, out in the daylight rather than sneaking around in the dark.
The moment school ended, I rushed over to the Warehouse to be a buzzkill. Right on cue, all of the skinny-dippers hastily climbed out of the hot tub, grumbling about "
the kid showing up everywhere." It's true that I've followed Mother everywhere ever since I was a child--not because I needed her to constantly take care of me. The opposite, in fact.
When I was younger, she sometimes went to the Grind when she was stressed, to drink it off. Mother would flirt with the bartender, buy a few rounds for the rest of the club, and dance until the place closed. I'd come, too, and read a book in the corner while keeping an eye on her. I suppose it's my self-imposed mission to keep her safe, like a Lionheart protecting her king--nope, too confused for dreams today.
At least, now that I'm older, I can have a little fun. I met one of Mom's friends, a university mascot named Bill Moody, and danced with him for a few hours. I'm not interested in him at all, of course, but I don't mind dancing with a handsome man at a party.
By the time I got out of the hot tub, Stephen was long gone. And so was Mother.
Like any respectable parent, I waited up with a book until she finally walked in, exhausted and shivery--of course, she had gone and come down with a virus. I sat by patiently as she drank three glasses of water, and tucked her into bed with instructions to drink more fluids in the morning.
The next day, she insisted on getting out of bed and teaching me to drive my new sports car. Honestly, I am absolutely terrified of driving, cars, and anything with wheels. Fortunately everyone else in town was spending the day cosily inside, so I didn't run into any innocent civilians.
Once I
finally earned my license, Mother was sent home with orders to stay in bed and I went to the library before calling Stephen to arrange a dinner at the Bistro, 8:00 P.M. There, I would tell him. It would be the best thing for him. It would be the best thing for my mother: the guilt was slowly eating her from the inside.
At 7:30 P.M., I returned home to find Mother locked in her room. No amount of pleading or threats would make her open the door, and the plate of food I slid under the door was shoved back, untouched. After an hour, I gave up and called everyone I could think of to find out what was wrong. Stephen's ex-wife, Abbie, was the one who told me that my father had passed away early in the evening.
I trudged wearily up the stairs. Frankly, I didn't know what to do next. That quiet, deep
knowing rooted in my consciousness didn't know how to deal with this.
I don't think I like being a teenager.
