Only Human
wandering stars, for whom it is reserved
the blackness of darkness, forever
-Portishead, "Wandering Star"
when I’m looking back, I look for everyone
and when I fall down, I fall for anyone
-Everything but the Girl, "Hatfield 1980"
fear of heights
He says: you know this could kill me.
They are standing on the edge of a rocky outcropping, not quite touching one another. Dirty clothes, hands scraped from the climb. He to the left of her, arms crossed over his chest, looking out. He steps forward. Toes at the edge of the cliff. She is behind him now and can see his plug, stopped up with silicone. It’s not being used anymore so they want to keep out infection.
His arms open like wings at his sides, and he looks down. Says: I’m not even afraid. I’m so used to jumping from these heights.
She says, Neo.
Air slips from his nose; his arms fall limp.
You won’t, she says. Her hand slides around the inside of his elbow and pulls him back from the edge.
coma dreams
in a white gown playing poker with Smith gimme two cards see your bid raise you fifty-three see your bid raise you twenty see your bid raise you three call: oh, yes, bluffing always works for me
see her in the childhood home spitting watermelon seeds into the prickle bushes she is Three you are One hold her eyes go black are you paying attention ping?
fire in the house fire in the house like a siren flame to bodies that coalesce into your cold hands mmmm oh yeah One Two Three Three is beautiful like someone you knew once is she speaking? sounds like a cry from a ripped-raw red throat nothing’s red only green and black and blue blue eyes
grey?
white
The end is blinding white.
Like the death of something living, he thinks. Time stops and the machine can’t cope. Many people die but others awake – he can feel that. He closes his eyes and lets himself out. Opens his eyes to Morpheus grinning.
And so it goes, the captain says. Then Tank, crying quietly. My god, he says, we won.
Trinity, hanging back by the monitors, facing him. Arms wrapped around herself, over her chest. She steps up now and unplugs him. Watches him sit up. He forces himself to smile. One corner of her mouth turns up as if to say, you don’t have to do that.
They make a final mission report and then set a course for the city.
That night, Trinity finds him in their cabin. Shirtless, on his stomach on the bed, facing the wall. Pale pink skin prickled with gooseflesh on the grey blankets.
She says, you’re cold.
He nods. Yes, I know.
You should put a shirt on.
He does not answer.
She sits on the edge of the bunk and puts a warm hand between his shoulder-blades. Are you going to be all right?
No answer. She expects that. She lies down and wraps herself around him, over him. Slows her breathing until it is even with his. He does not respond but she stays there, feeling his skin go smooth.
pulse
Light grey, like the construct, tainted, or a newborn raincloud. Thin and dry like a film on his tongue. Fade to black and grey again. Soft noise like a swish in his ears – pulse, perhaps? Blood-drum in the ears. Pa-thump-a-pa-thump-a and it drills into his eyes from the inside.
Inside.
Oh, god, it hurts like a live wire in his guts and bolts in his brain. Sound! What’s that? Jesus, his voice, his sobbing voice.
Then people. Something warm in his arm. Grey fades to black and is gone again.
addiction/withdrawal
Cypher used to say, the Matrix is like a sweet acid trip without the side-effects. She believes him now.
Neo is not well. She finds him sometimes sitting on the floor by the wall, not moving. He sleeps too much.
I can still fly when I sleep, he says.
She has expected this, though. She reminds him to shower and to change his clothes. Sometimes she must remind him to eat. A week passes and she sits with him and helps him shave.
It will just grow back, he says.
She smiles at him. Shh. You have always hated having a beard.
He wants her to be happy, so he sits still. She leans closer to him and he finds himself staring at her neck, pale and solid and exposed beneath his chin. He wants to tell her he loves her. He wants to pull her to him and kiss her and make love to her like the goddess she is. But he can’t bring himself to start. He doesn’t remember how.
At the end of two weeks, Zion has completed a monument in their honour. It is to be unveiled in the Square in the evening. In the morning, she rises. She is meeting Morpheus for breakfast, but knows Neo will not come. She lets him sleep.
He wakes a little before she leaves.
The monument is today, she says. You’ll be there?
He nods to her. I’ll be there.
She kisses his forehead and steps out.
The unveiling is at three o’clock in the afternoon. Trinity stands between Morpheus and Tank and it feels strangely normal as they wait for Neo. She is watching the street that leads to their apartment; it is flooded with people, but Neo does not arrive. When the time comes to unveil the statue, she takes hold of an edge of the tarp alongside Morpheus and Tank and together they pull it off. Neo stands above them now, larger than life and looking out of place in a black trenchcoat in Zion. The other three are there too, below him, Morpheus and Trinity in combat gear, Tank in impossibly new civilian clothing with his headset in his hand. It is honest to all of them.
When Trinity returns home, Neo is still in bed. The alarm clock from the nightstand is on the floor, torn from the wall.
awakening
What was that?
The bright grey, again. Unblinking. There is no pain; there is no sensation at all – a numbness, like his senses are all shut down except the grey in his eyes. He lets his eyelids drop and then forces them open again. The grey begins to focus into lines and squares. A ceiling.
It is warm and he is in a bed, alone. Where’s Trinity?
"I’ll send for her."
Neo’s head turns; he didn’t realise he had actually spoken. Morpheus sits in a chair beside his bed, a book closed in his lap. "You’re awake." He smiles. "Don’t move too much. I’ll send for the doctor. And Trinity."
The air is odourless and it feels heavy in Neo’s nose. His throat is stiff and he realises he can’t feel it. There’s a tube in his nose.
A doctor strides in. "Well! Sleeping beauty awakes, again. We’re ready for you this time." He proceeds to take Neo’s vitals, then makes some minor adjustments to his IV.
Suddenly footsteps, loud and fast in the hallway, and Neo recognises them. They stop outside the door. It opens hesitantly, tentatively. When it is wide she stands in its frame.
"Neo." Trinity’s face unreadable. Hovering in the doorway.
Rx
The pills are green and the size of his thumbnail. The bottle rattles in his pocket and reminds him of a snake. The shrink says they’ll reconvene in a few weeks to see how it works.
It makes sense that you would suffer such acute withdrawal, he had said. It should have occurred to us earlier. This should alleviate it.
He has not taken any and is somehow disturbed by their presence in his pocket. He is afraid of medication, afraid of not being allowed to feel what he should be feeling right now.
Trinity walks beside him. You’ll take them, won’t you? she asks.
He nods.
She slips her hand into his and it is surprising – they are accustomed to being discreet, afraid of alienating fellow crewmembers if they are close in public. It feels bizarre but he closes his fingers around hers anyway.
All I want is your happiness, he whispers.
All I need to be happy is for you not to be unwell.
He nods again. Pulls her closer and wraps an arm over her shoulders. Decides something.
musical chairs
"You’re awake," she says from the doorway.
His mouth opens, then closes again, soundlessly. She nods.
Morpheus stands. "I’ll go to the waiting room. Come and get me if you need me." For a moment he waits, expecting Trinity to slide into the vacated chair at the head of Neo’s bed, but she does not move. Then he steps to the door, pausing to place a strong hand on Trinity’s shoulder, and leaves.
Trinity crosses her arms over her chest. "How are you?"
"I. . . ." His eyes feel thick and crusty. He moves to lift his arm and can’t do it. His gaze shifts, he notices for the first time the IV line jacked into his arm plug.
She has moved to the chair facing him, at the wall near the foot of his bed. Feet together, arms bunched tightly around herself. Eyes darting around like she’s not certain where to look. This is not his Trinity. His Trinity has a solid gaze, an unshaking gaze. This is not his Trinity.
perfection
I want to see the monument.
Trinity looks up at him and cocks her head, slightly surprised. What?
Our monument. That went up the other day. I want to see it.
She nods. All right. Turns left at the next corner and leads them in a silent stroll to the square. The monument stands at the centre.
He steps away from her for a moment, then wanders in a large circle around the statue. Catches her again as he comes around the other side. It’s impressive.
She nods.
I sort of wish they had done us in our real-world gear, though, he says. In the outfits we’ve really worn.
The difference is so important to you, isn’t it? It is barely a question. He does not answer.
I want to get food, he says, instead.
Over a plate of thin wheat noodles, he grins at her. These are better than my favourites from . . . the old world.
Her eyebrow rises. Better? The noodles are made with minimal animal products; the few living livestock are too valued for resurfacing projects to be slaughtered for food now.
Neo nods, and shovels another forkful into his mouth. Much. Wish we could have had these on the ship.
Wouldn’t that have been nice? Would have taken too much space, though.
Two hours of petty chatting over an empty noodle-plate in a Zion café. Leaning forward, hushed voices.
Where have we been for so many years? Neo rubs his eyes, shakes his head.
Later, they go to a cashier’s booth and pick up their stipend. When the girl there looks at Neo’s identification, she begins to stutter her speech, and she calls him sir very formally. Neo can barely contain his amusement; when they leave the booth, he and Trinity fall over each other, laughing. Then he says: I want to go buy something. Something we absolutely don’t need.
Trinity cocks her head. Like what?
He shrugs. Hell if I know. Let’s figure it out.
They wander through some of the downtown shops and end up buying new boots that fit more comfortably than their old, worn pairs. They leave the old pairs at the shop – everything is recycled, here; the old boots will be resoled, restitched, fixed up, and then given to somebody else. Trinity and Neo’s new pairs are not truly new, but newly mended. It is still a luxury.
They return to the Square in the evening and sit on one of the benches not far from the monument. A woman with a young daughter approaches the statue. She pauses for a moment – lifts her fingers to her lips, and then touches the stone. The small girl is frantic in her arms, wriggling. Trinity can see the child lift her arm to point in their direction. The woman shifts her gaze to see Neo and Trinity sitting on the bench, and freezes. Neo smiles, waves to her. Her hand flies to her mouth again; for a moment, she is awestruck. Then she spins, flustered, and walks hurriedly away.
We scared her, Trinity says. A flash of sadness crosses Neo’s features. We are more than human to many of these people, she whispers. Before he can react, she turns his face and brings her mouth to his. It is sudden and thrilling to him; they never kiss when others can see. He draws and draws from her, and cannot get enough.
postmortem
Don’t look at me like that. I won’t cry this time, Neo. Not now, not anymore. I’ve spent too much on this already.
You don’t understand, do you. That I can feel everything you feel. That if I touch your skin it’s like a journey into a new sensorium, a new experience, a new life, and it’s yours. That I can relive that last day from your perspective and mine. God, I guess I always hoped it worked that way for you, too. That you could see through my eyes. My love for you was fated. Yours – well, that had to come from you. Maybe it makes a difference, Neo. I never would have thought it, but maybe it does.
I’ve had too much taken from me. You know that, you watched it happen. Perhaps it’s distance we need now. Perhaps I have to let go of the rope so you don’t pull me under after you.
come and die
Tonight they barely make it home. At a dark roadside alcove, his hands are already fierce beneath her shirt and dancing at her waistband. At the stairs of their duplex apartment, his fingers move between her thighs, inside her clothes.
Jesus, Neo, she gasps, and presses closer to him. So, so relieved that he wants her again. Euphoric, terrified, blissful – this abandon is so foreign. They have not made love since they’ve been in the city. In his ear, she whispers: not here, Neo. Inside, we have all night.
In through the fire escape window. The apartment is one room, but the bed is too far away. They undress each other hurriedly and stumble to the sofa, bodies finding each other instinctively through the haze. Later, when they move to the bed, she wraps around him, arm across his chest.
I love you so much. Muttered in half-sleep before she fades away, smiling.
He watches her sleep. She has been happy, today, not worrying about him, and he loves her so much that it kills him because he knows it won’t be like this tomorrow. He can’t be like this every day, in this world where bullets and falling can kill, in this world where he can’t fly.
Slowly, gently, he slides out from under her grip. She rolls away from him, onto her back, and the movement exposes her breast. This bothers him in a way he does not understand – afraid, against logic, that somebody might see her, see her in that way that only he has ever been allowed to see her, in the flesh. It is a strange feeling of possessiveness. He pulls the sheets up around her.
His shorts lie where they were left on the floor; he puts them on. In the bathroom, he meets his gaze in the mirror. Washes his face, combs his hair. Shaves. Considers showering but he doesn’t want to rinse away the traces of her hands and lips on his skin.
The bottle of green pills is in his pocket; he pulls it out now. He pours the contents out into his palm and lines them up along the edge of the sink, fat green ants on the white ceramic. The faucet is on and he puts one pill in his mouth, chasing it with water cupped in his hands. Then another pill. And another. When there are none left, the white glares at him, stark and angry.
enough
"It wasn’t enough for you, was it." It is not a question.
"What?" His voice is clear now, his mouth accustomed to moving again.
"Being human."
And it dies in his throat.
"That’s just all I can come up with," she says, not looking up. "To explain, I mean."
"Trinity. . . I . . . ." He wants to explain. Tries to explain but can’t. Doesn’t understand how it can make perfect sense in his mind, but it does. Things weren’t getting better. He was suffering and he was making her suffer. Dammit, Trinity, you even had to remind me to eat.
She is looking down at her knees, head shaking slowly, side to side. "I wish –" Her voice cuts off.
"What?"
Inhales, and tries again. "I wish you would have talked to me."
"I was making you miserable."
"No, Neo, your misery was making me miserable. I hated that I couldn’t make you happy." She begins to shake her head faster, more frantically. "What was it you wanted? More time with me? Or less? A new lifestyle, a new beginning? God, more sex, even? I could have given you any of those, if you had just asked." Her gaze shoots up to his, now, fast and determined, sad. "Nobody ever said you had to love me, Neo. I could even step away, let you find someone else, if it’s what you want."
And so she blames herself, and it makes him want to die all over again. He looks at her past his toes at the end of his bed. She is still, now, looking up at him, face frozen in a crumpled mess of confusion. His hand stretches out toward her, palm up, and she does not react. It falls back to the edge of the bed.
"There was no purpose left here for me, Trinity. And I was a burden on you. You would have been better without me."
Finally, a reaction. Her jaw sets, eyes narrowing, shoulders pulling up square. "How could you be so fucking selfish?"
He is bewildered.
"I could live knowing you were happy, even if it was away from me. But you know I couldn’t long outlive you. I would die."
His hands come to the mattress beside him and he tries to lift himself up. Can’t get a grip, can’t find the energy.
"Shh, lie down," she says. Half-rises, and then sits again, resolutely. "Don’t hurt yourself."
She can hear his breathing hard, in long gasps, as though he wants to cry. He says: "Tell me you forgive me."
"Of course I forgive you." There is no hesitation.
"Tell me. . . we can try again. I swear to God, Trinity, I will never want anybody else. Never suggest that."
Her fingers touch her lips. Her head shakes to say, I don’t know. "I can’t let you make me want to die."
Rises. Leaves.
stay with me
She wakes in the dark to a sense of unease and notices she is alone in the bed.
Neo? There is light seeping out from under the bathroom door. Then she hears thump.
Neo! She surges out of the bed to the bathroom; the door is locked. Takes two steps back, then looses a kick that breaks the doorjamb.
He is on the floor next to the shower, on his back. Shivering, sweating, pale. The empty pill bottle is beside him.
Oh God. She falls to her knees over him; finds his hand and grips it. Taps his cheek gently. Oh God, Neo, oh God oh God –
His eyes crinkle. Smile at her. You’re so beautiful. She barely remembers she is still undressed.
Stay with me, Neo. Stay with me. I’m going to get the phone. I want you to talk to me, Neo. Keep talking.
She runs back into the bedroom and finds a phone. Neo sings: The eensy-weensy spider went up the water spout, down came the rain and washed the spider out. . . .
Trinity calls for an ambulance, then reaches for her clothes and pulls them on hurriedly. She pulls the threadbare blanket from their bed and brings it with her to the bathroom, kneeling on the floor and wrapping him up in it. Looks at him and thinks, maybe I should make him throw up. Maybe I should make him stand up. Maybe I should make him drink water or talk to me. Finally decides nothing and holds him fiercely from behind, against her chest; her body rocks him gently. Stay with me, Neo. Stay with me.
transitions
She knows she should have waited longer. Not lashed out the instant he woke up. She may have hurt him. But ten days of waiting is waiting enough amidst fear and tears and oh-my-god-I-wasn’t-good-enough. He’ll be out tomorrow.
She supposes she’ll sleep on the couch for a few days until she can find her own place. They will need the distance. She’ll sleep on the couch but it’s a one-room duplex so she’ll hear him breathing on the bed and think about the last time they were there together and what happened then on the bed and oh what happened on the couch that couch where she’s lying now and oh forgive me let’s try again we can make it this time and we—
No, she won’t sleep on the couch. Perhaps she’ll stay with Morpheus. Neo will keep the apartment because it’s so nice and everyone knows the city set it aside for him, not her. Find a new place and let time pass. Furnish it somehow.
It is like the old life. She was accustomed to poverty, once, long ago. And she will get herself together and not be poor long. Work and earn more than her military stipend. Government, perhaps. She can lead and she is trusted. Psycho-socio rehabilitation for the last unplugged, just starting to wake after muscle reconstruction in the medical caverns. There will be thousands and she could help them.
She will survive. She always has. She has come too far to let herself be killed now.
in between
He does not remember the first death. He remembers this one.
It is dark and drowning. Sucks and sucks at him outside in like drowning backwards or falling up. Nausea. Voices and a pressure in his gut.
Hot. So hot. Hot for moments then nothing.
Instants in hours. Days in moments. It is timeless. Waiting for somebody who never shows up. Not like the first time. There was no waiting then. Nothing.
Nothing and Smith – Smith face outlined in black with square glass eyes. Neo himself in a white gown. In a white gown playing poker with Smith gimme two cards see your bid –
roadways (resolution)
Tank brings him home from the hospital and makes sure he has everything he needs. Neo knows he really doesn’t need anything, anymore. He spends one night at the apartment. Doesn’t sleep. The smell is too distinct and there is too much space in the bed.
He had asked Tank, Where is Trinity?
Tank wouldn’t look at him. Staying with Morpheus while she looks for an apartment.
Neo begins to sleep outside in the outside that is inside, deep inside the earth like a large tomb. Perhaps he is dead and buried after all. Perhaps it worked.
Every few days he returns to shower and clean his clothes. At least once a week. Forces himself to eat daily, his conscience a soft, strong, feminine voice in his head. Once in awhile he shaves, when he remembers.
Tank and Morpheus are working on resurfacing plans, he learns. Tank wants to unscorch the sky. Morpheus, ever the builder, is designing ways to transport civilisation to the destroyed outer world.
Trinity is known in more immediate circles – active in projects to accommodate the thousands of newly unplugged. Housing and teaching for the homeless and the truthless. He has heard that the Governor wants her as an advisor.
This is over several weeks, a few months. He watches himself erased, forgotten. Where is the One? he hears. Perhaps we hallucinated him, too. It seems that everything good was a hallucination – why should this be different? .
Many people feel he has abandoned them. Morpheus, Tank, and Trinity are vocal that this is untrue. The people say, Show him to us. But they can’t do it.
A woman says she saw the One, once, in the Square by the monument, sitting with Trinity. Her daughter noticed them. Trinity and the One are lovers, the woman says. I could tell. I’m sure she knows what’s come of him.
Another woman affirms this. I cashed the One’s stipend cheque, and she was with him. He held her hand. I don’t think he’s cashed in since that day.
He worries, then, that all will descend upon Trinity, this woman who may have dared to love the One. She says simply: I have not seen Neo in some time. Her voice tinged with sadness, though that may be how it always is.
People pass before his eyes like black stuttering lines of charcoal on an off-white page. They are strings of moving shapes, loosely connected. Their routine is distantly familiar like a song whose lyrics he can’t remember. The chorus goes, I hate living here. Wouldn’t sunlight be good for us. I miss the old life. Voices full and stark, from such pale figures. He marvels at how skin and muscle flow over bones.
He spends his time near the tenements where the newly freed are housed. There is an honesty about the people here that is relieving to him, and they are too concerned with their own affairs to notice him. The tenements are small and families are broken – many have been lost to the deaths of the victory. The adjustment has been brutal and many people struggle. When they meet him on the road they take him for one of them, broken and tired and depressed for loss of the old comforts. Trinity is working to help them, and he sees her twice, here, from a distance, talking to people near their front doors. There are lines at the edges of her eyes that weren’t there before, and darkness beneath her eyes. Always he avoids her.
Newspapers call to him. He reads them daily in gritty coffeeshops, scrolling through them on the electronic tabletops. The mystery of The One appears often in small contexts, so that he is never certain how seriously he should take it. They all want to know what has come of him. Where he is now that they want him, as though he must have all the answers – solutions to the lack of tenements for the newly unplugged. Sunlight in a bottle for people to see and touch. Some magical unity to drive them forward.
Where he is mentioned, there are frequent mentions of Trinity. She must know where he is. Or, she must know what has come of him. Or, she must be hiding him. Or even, on occasion, she must have done something to him.
He thinks he should find somebody to tell. To say, I’m all right, just let it go, and leave her alone
But she has always been able to move without sound, a ghost in the shadows. Her voice is still so familiar when she finds him that it does not surprise him to hear it calling him from sleep.
Neo.
In half-sleep he reaches for her, as he might have when they shared a bed. Mmm.
Neo. Wake up, Neo.
It is then he realises. Sits up quickly. Shit. The lines harden into form and colour and his sight becomes clear again.
Her eyes are wide and turned downward at the edges. I’ve been so worried… can I get you some coffee?
He doesn’t know how to react. You want to?
Yes. Uttered firmly.
They find a place on an off-road, cramped and dark, and drink bad coffee over a small table in the back.
She says: tell me you haven’t been living in the tenements.
He shakes his head. I spend days there, often, that’s all. I couldn’t live in the tenements.
Thank goodness. Her shoulders fall in relief. Nobody should have to live in the tenements. I keep telling the city council that they need to appropriate more money… they don’t listen to me.
Why not?
A slow, shuddering sigh. They don’t trust me. They blame me for losing you.
Neo feels anger and sadness bubble behind his eyes. That’s stupid. It was never your responsibility to look after me. I thought the Governor liked you.
The governor will stop liking me when he gets it into his head that there is no room for him in my bed. That the vacancy is only temporary, while you. . . . Pause. I did lose you, Neo. It terrified me.
Don’t be ridiculous. He laughs. You are never afraid.
She repeats, It terrified me. She is not laughing.
The words of people he has heard on the streets are a refrain in his mind. Perhaps he was a hallucination. All good things have been a hallucination.
They’ve put you through hell over me, haven’t they. He doesn’t look up.
Her head shakes, side to side. I didn’t care about them. I was worried about you, that something had happened to you. That you’d been hurt.
You haven’t slept enough. The dark circles under her eyes glare at him.
Well. I don’t sleep well anymore.
He wants to ask since when but he doesn’t. Instead he says, people will listen to me if I have things to say. The council will listen to me. It is almost a question.
Yes. They will.
I miss comfort, he says, eyes unfocused, remembering. Being comfortable. And I miss beauty. I want people to be able to be comfortable and find beauty in this life.
You can do that. Her hand grasps his over the table. It is so familiar that neither one notices.
Okay. He smiles. We can start by getting funding for better tenements.
Yes, she says, we can start there.
FIN