15 Sept 1999
16 Sept 1999
Fandom: The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the Eighth Dimension
Disclaimer: For more information on Buckaroo Banzai, please visit
The
Banzai Institute Online, http://www.banzai-institute.com.
Reno swears this is a true story that New Jersey told him one night
while they were working in the lab.
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I'd been playing the piano for hours, quietly, keeping an eye on Tommy.
He'd seemed fine, after all was said and done...but now, now he'd been
sitting in the corner of the room, arms wrapped around his legs, his clothes
rumpled.
Billy, the hacker kid, wandered by, and I snagged him. "Is he OK?"
Billy looked over at Tommy, and frowned. "No, of course he's not OK. Didn't
anyone tell you? He and Rawhide--" The kid broke off and shivered. "They'd
been together three years. Tommy...really relied on him. For everything."
"You mean, they were--"
"Yeah. They were." He shrugged off my hand and headed over to his computer.
I continued playing, but kept watching Tommy. He looked like a man who
wanted to get drunk, but had no opportunity. I guessed that alcohol was
verboten in the bunkhouse--Buckaroo would want his team as sharp as possible,
and Billy wasn't even legal yet.
That didn't stop Tommy from wanting it, or me from sympathizing, wishing
I could hand him a drink. I knew that look on his face, the one that said
he needed to escape the inside of his head, and he was trapped here, silent
and hurting.
I got up and went over to him, sat on my heels and touched his knee. "I'm
sorry," I said, softly. "I would have done anything to save him. I'm sorry."
He looked up at me with blank eyes. "Wasn't your fault. Nothing you could
have done."
I rubbed my thumb across his knee. "I'm still sorry."
He shuddered and lowered his head to his knees, pressing his forehead
against the back of my hand. "I didn't love him, you know. I didn't. He
loved me, but I didn't..."
I freed my hand and began stroking his hair, hair slightly coarse from
bleaching. "You loved him, Tommy, as much as you could. You were with
him a long time, worked with him, cared for him--right?" I was guessing,
but I knew the kind of people Buckaroo liked, and Buckaroo liked Tommy.
He sighed. "But I never helped him. He helped *me*. All the time. But
I never helped him."
I had no answer for that. I was sure it wasn't true, but I didn't know
them--had barely seen them together. So I didn't say anything, just kept
running my fingers through his hair until he lifted his head and looked
at me. Then he turned his face into my palm and kissed it. Leaned forward
and kissed me, softly, on the mouth. And then he kissed me again, mouth
open, his tongue sweet against mine, salt on his lips from dried tears.
I felt his fingers in the fine hair at the nape of my neck as he pulled
back and touched his forehead to mine. "Thank you," he whispered, then
stood and left the room, headed for the sleeping quarters.
Dazed, I went back to the piano, and began to play, soft and low.
---
The End
