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Children don’t die. Maybe it’s because we’ve warped our minds to believe the pure innocence of youth is impenetrable by death, and the idea that such an innocent being can face the misery of death is frankly depressing. Or maybe it’s because we’ve closed our eyes to the atrocities of this world because doesn’t it really matter when it’s not you? Or maybe it’s because god really is real and all loving and hangs around children peering over their shoulders to make sure the grim reaper never comes and builds his house within a thousand feet of them. Oh wait, that’s sex offenders.
Either way would you really want children to die? Maybe you’re the problem. You know if you speak it enough times then maybe it’ll come true. Maybe if you stand in front of your mirror at three am and say “children do die” three times really fast with the lights off the grim reaper will build a Time Machine and kill you when you were a child. Maybe all the children in the world will suddenly die a tragic death. Is that what you want?
You see this isn’t about death. Or children. It’s about fantasy vs reality. Hope vs truth. Most of us build a little fence with tall pillars in the back of our heads to keep out hope that maybe life isn’t god awful and a genie will pop out of a magic bottle and grant their wishes. You can’t say you don’t do It. We all do. I keep many things secret behind the posts of my fence, which is exactly why you’ll never know. But what do you keep behind there? How tall is your fence? What’d you build it out of? If you answer those three questions I could tell a lot about you.
For example if you said 6 feet for fence you’re probably short. Anyone above a reasonable height is very aware of the fact that 6 feet isn’t keeping anyone out. Including people that aren’t quite 6 feet. I’d say 5’8 is the cut off. You could still jump up and see your secrets. If you said 10 feet you’re probably hiding something you don’t want to ever let out of your sight. You’re either a logical person who treats every problem with the most rational approach except for the problem behind that fence. Or you like to think you’re that but really your empathy and sad feelings of compassion are pulling you through life like you’re a chihuahua on a walk. You want to stop and bark at all the squirrels but your owner is pulling you along with the leash so tight there’s no choice but to move forward. If you said a wood fence one of two things applies to you. A, your dream house is straight from a suburban nightmare, or B you make arson jokes but you’re not much of a fire fighter yourself. And you’re not serious about the arson jokes either, so what are you going to do while that fence burns down? Fight the fire or hold the torch? Well neither. Because you’re a mediocre slob who things higher of yourself than you actually are. If you said metal, well counterpoint. What metal? Either you said some fancy strong metal like tungsten because you think you’re witty and all but you’re actually to broke to afford even a couple grams of that stuff much less a fence full. If you stuttered you don’t think ahead, what are you going to do when the metal prices increase because of some unnecessary thing and the corporate greed of capitalism? What will you do when the robots take your job and you can’t feed your family because sir beep bop boop is better at life than you and he’s not even alive?
I must leave now. -thom.
The notepad flips shut. He stands up and walks towards the door. For nothing in particular, just the fact his hand began to hurt and he’s paranoid he’ll get carpel tunnel and never be able to do anything that makes life feel like more than a situation. He twists open the handle and walks into the outside world. The sun hits his eyes, but it’s nice. He starts walking down the concrete path to wherever it takes him, he thinks that line sounds mysterious and nonchalant but in reality it coincidentally takes him to the same place every time, the creek. He thinks more people should visit their local creeks. He things more people would enjoy life if they regularly visited their local creek.
Along the path he reminisces on his answer to the question. Not what the fence looks like or whatever, because he doesn’t need to read himself, but if you’re curious it would be made out of wood stakes with thorns lining the outside, all eleven feet in height so you can’t even touch it without getting poked. But that’s not the important part when you already know yourself. And he knows exactly what the material and height says about him. But the real interesting part is what hopes and dreams are locked away behind there. But it’s alright because this conversation he’s having with himself is only inside his head right? It’s not like anyone could read his internal personal conversation and find that out, correct?
Well the answer you’re seeking has multiple answers. It depends whether you’re asking on a personal personal scale, personal scale, or societal scale. The personal personal scale is what he wants for himself. If he could have one wish that would never come true for just the betterment of himself, what would that be? Simple answer of course, being biologically male. Because though he’d never admit it, his dysphoria eats away at him all day, every day, every night, and every moment when he thinks everything might be okay. But careful, he can’t think about this too long or he’ll having a cross being a massive panic attack and raging fit of anger. If you ask what his wish on a personal scale is, well let’s tell you his definition of personal scale. Something that’s for the betterment of the people around him. And that answer is for them to understand. And you may be like, well that’s a very logical thing that wouldn’t need a magical genie!!! Well the problem is, if you’ve never felt dysphoria you don’t know how awful it is. You don’t know how much it effects everything, and pretty much every issue you have with him leads back to dysphoria. Now if you ask on a societal scale, and he doesn’t need to spell this one out for you it’s quite obvious, don’t you think? Well the answer is for everyone to put aside their ignorance and realize how important everyone is for a functioning society and how important nature and the earth is and how much global warming effects that so we could live healthily in a socialist leading to communist economy that helps to benefit everyone. Can you tell he’s thought about that answer?
Congratulations, you’ve officially been on the journey so long you’ve reached the creek with him. Have a seat and enjoy the raw beauty of life. Since I’m assuming you’re not actually at a creek (what the fuck are you doing bro?) I’ll give you a wonderful description.
The main portion where the water flows is only halfway full, because unfortunately they’re in a drought. Along with many people, say it with me, “global warming ties back to everything”. There’s a fallen tree that’s formed a bridge to cross the creek, and he sits in the middle of it watching the water flow. It’s right behind a sport filled with massive river-rocks causing the water to flow like a very shallow waterfall. The trees surrounding the creek glow a bright green, illuminated by the son, and around the clusters of yellow flowers yellow butterflies fly around. You can hear birds chirping throughout the forest and the water rushing through the creek. Nothing but pure bliss.
That is until it’s interrupted by the sun beginning to recede slowly behind the horizon. And as much as he’d like to stay here all night, he also doesn’t want to be hunted by a coyote. So, home he goes. He carefully wobbles his way off the log and back towards the path home, which has been ingrained into his memory by now. He wanders back onto the concrete path, leaving the creek behind. It’s a sad moment, but unfortunately being a human, a famous one at that, means you can’t just runaway to the creek never to be seen again. You have responsibilities, unfortunate isn’t it?
After about a half a kilometer of following the path back to civilization, his neighborhood begins to come into sight. Followed by his house. Except there’s a human sitting on the stairs leading up to the front door. And that human is non other than Jonny Greenwood doing a crossword puzzle. Seriously? How long has he been there? Who does crossword puzzles on peoples doorsteps? Quite rude if you ask him. But Jonny does get a pass, because he is Jonny. He stumbles over to the house, and Jonny doesn’t even seem to notice until he’s standing over the slender figure.
“Thom.” Jonny’s words are as monotone as usual, he always says ‘Thom’ the same way no matter the mood. “You can’t just disappear you know. You haven’t returned our calls or attempts to fish you out your house in three weeks.” Thom has always found the way Jonny speaks incredibly satisfying. Despite the lisp and slight stutter, there’s nothing to he’d rather listen to.
He takes a seat on the step next to Jonny. “But why nottttt. I’ll be back eventually, I always am, aren’t I?”
“Last time you didn’t even listen to Tim. When he was yelling at you because we were on tour in a day and you were no where to be seen.” He retorts, filling out a word in the puzzle.
“Fair. I’ve proven I’m alive now, am I off the hook?” Thom peers Jonny’s shoulder to the puzzle.
“No. You’ve been disappearing more and explaining less. And apparently as your friend I’m supposed to talk to you and figure out what’s wrong.” He taps the pencil as he contemplates on one of the clues.
“Since when do you loser to Tim’s advice?” Thom continues scanning the puzzle. “And it’s caviler by the way.”
“Since it gives me an excuse to bother you.” He fills in the word. “Now let be inside it’s freezing out here Thom.” He stands up and pokes the door with the eraser end of his pencil.
“Fine, fine.” He relents as he turns the keys into the door. Jonny finds his way inside and glances around as Thom shuts the door behind him. He finds the notepad Thom left on the counter from earlier.
“Children don’t die?” He shoots Thom his raised eyebrow, even though you can’t see it through the hair. “I don’t think that’s quite correct. When I was little my 9 year old cousin died of leukemia. Unless a 9 year old can fake her death I think you might be wrong.”
“It’s called symbolism Jonny.” He puts extra emphasis on the ‘symbolism’ and ‘jonny’. “People like to pretend bad things don’t happen to children because it’s not nice to think that the most innocent of us face the same miserable end as us.”
“It’s actually quite a nice read.” He finally peels his gaze away from the notebook and towards Thom, setting the puzzle and pencil down before doing so. “So. Are you going to talk about it? Or curl yourself up into your Thom shaped shell and pretend it’s a war bunker.”
“You wouldn’t understand.” Thom has learned blunt honest answers are better than lies to the people who know you. You can’t lie about the things you keep behind that fence and get away with it, you see lies through emotional reactions. Probably not best on the subject that causes those.
“Well, I’m sure I would. And if I didn’t I’m sure you could make me understand.” Thom internally curses Jonny for being so levelheaded, rational, and wise.
“Why must you be so reasonable?” He half expects a witty retort, but none comes. Maybe Jonny can sense it’s a sensitive subject. Great, just what he needs, his best friend poking at his fence.
“Come on, let’s go sit down and talk about it.” Jonny grabs Thom’s arm and pulls him to his favorite seating area. Thom likes that spot because you can see the trees in the moonlight, and sometimes you can spot owls.
Both of them take the usual seats, Thom already averting his gaze out the window. “Now, what’s bugging you.”
“Can’t you see I don’t want to talk about it?”
“But hiding it away and curling into your Thom shaped shell doesn’t help anyone. You’d feel better if you talk about it you know.”
“Again, why must you be so reasonable.”
Jonny just waits for Thom to speak. And Thom waits for Jonny to get annoyed of waiting, which he knows is not quick. But he does take Jonny’s words into account. Maybe. Maybe it would be better. But there’s a reason his fence is eleven feet tall with sharp spikes and thorns covering it all. Because he doesn’t want to let anyone in. “Fine. But it’s stupid. And you can’t be dumb about this okay?”
Jonny nods. In his way that’s maybe serious, maybe funny, maybe anything. Suitable for any occasion so it’s impossible to read. “Uh-m dysphoria. Do you know what that is? I guess it’s just awful and miserable and I don’t know how. How anything.” His words are a mix of jumbled up mumbles and stutters, and he kind of tried to hide himself away as he speaks.
Jonny had heard the term. Whether it was from Thom, or from the endless reading he did to try to understand what he was feeling, or probably from both, he’s not quite sure. He hadn’t quite figured out a response, though. I mean what do you say to someone who feels as if they’re trapped in a body that’s not their’s and the rest Of their life will be miserable? What can you say to that? And that he’s not sure. So he goes for the only reasonable answer his mind can form. “I understand, I think. As much as you can from an outside view.”’
Thom’s half relieved that his made up scenario where Jonny turns berserk and screams at him for being a twisted freak didn’t come true, but was he even holding his breath for something so irrational? It irritates him at how irrational he is about these things. He’s fumbled himself up into a little box where everyone will hate him and not understand and his life will be pathetic and sorrowful for the remainder and he’ll never find comfort.
“Do you want to talk about it more.? ..y’know maybe so I can understand a bit better.” His voice is gentle, as he can probably tell Thom isn’t the fondest of letting his feelings about this air out.
“uh.. I don’t know. What’s there to talk about. I guess I’m scared I’ll live this pitiful life where everyone around me’s got it sorted out and everything I could wish for and I’m just stuck here and there ‘s nothing I could do about it.” Thom’s mumbling is to the point it’s almost incoherent and more like a string of words you pulled directly out of his brain before he could put them into proper structures he could think about carefully before letting them exit his mouth.
But Jonny understands, he always does. He hadn’t thought about the fact Thom is probably jealous of everyone. Including women, because how do they get to feel comfortable in that body and he’s simply cursed. Maybe he was a pirate in his past life and stole the forbidden treasure when he wasn’t supposed and this was his punishment for it. He also does consider the fact his friend is likely burning with resentment towards him. Not that he minds, but he realizes how awful that must be for Thom. Because in his world Jonny has everything he could ask for, right? If Thom was created by a genie and was given three wishes his first wish would to have been born a boy. But then the genie says “sorry freak, if you want that to happen then that’s your only wish. You wouldn’t get the other two, sorry don’t make the rules.” And even so Thom would still immediately agree. There’s not a single wish Thom could come up with that he wanted more. And he doesn’t think he’d ever live in a single second of regret if that was the single wish that came true.
“Is there anything I can do to help? I understand what you’re saying, I do. Must be awful, how can I help you?” When Jonny speak like that it’s like he’s the most rational and understanding person in the world. I mean how lucky is Thom to have a friend that understands that no matter what he does there’s nothing he can do, and understanding is the best thing.
Thom shakes his head. Because the only answer he could think of is something he could never build up the courage to ask for, which is to breakdown into Jonny’s arms and sob his eyes out while Jonny holds him close. Which isn’t something that hasn’t happened before. But the little devil on Thom’s shoulder always manages to get in his head about it. It’s like he’s jumped right through his ear and squeezed his way into his head and buried himself in the right hemisphere of his brain. Who wants to hold him when he breaks down for the tenth time this month? Isn’t that something only girls do? Who holds his mate while he sobs into his chest? Jonny doesn’t want to deal with the trouble of the Yorke storm again this month.
Except he knows none of those things are true. Except maybe the girl one, but Jonny loves to comfort Thom. Despite his shy and reserved demeanor, he loves to be close with people he trusts. Especially Thom. And he’d gladly hold him during his sorrows if that means he’d get to hold him close even just one more time. They’re no strangers to physical contact, except Thom gets in his head about it. Jonny has to be the one to initiate it or Thom will be plagued by a mix of dysphoria, shame, and self loathe.
Jonny has gotten pretty good at spotting this though. Those moments when he knows Thom needs and wants a hug but is all strung up about it. So he leans his head over to Thom’s side of the small couch, not that there’s much space, no more than 9-10 cm (or I think just under 4 inches for the Americans, well I’m an American I just prefer the metric system because freedom units are stupid and make zero sense and I do not enjoy using them) between them, and he rests his head on Thom’s shoulder. Thom hums, satisfied with the physical touch.
Maybe it’s not so bad? This whole thing. Well it is so bad, just maybe not as much as Thom makes it out to be. After all, at least he’s got Jonny who’s able to read him perfectly and understand all his messy confusing thoughts and insecurities no one else would understand. He leans his head towards Jonny’s. What more could you need?