Johnny rolls over and looks up at the stars. He does this on nights he can’t sleep, when he dreams of the soldiers coming for them.
The house is quiet, no soldiers.
He starts in southwest corner as he always does. That big one there is number one. He thinks about his mother painting every star. Did she count them as she painted them? He has only been able to get up to four hundred and something. Maybe she once got further. He has pondered this for hours.
He tries to picture her up on a scaffolding, painting like Michelangelo. They say she had long brown hair with a white streak. He pictures it falling down from the scaffolding, cascading down in a dark curtain, almost touching the floor. He pictures her laying there, with her long hair falling down, reaching up and painting stars, some that are five-point stars, some that are mere diamonds, some that are just tiny dots of silver on the indigo wall. He pictures her lying with a slight smile on her face, him a tiny peanut in her belly, curled up tight and content.
Aunt Jean said she couldn’t touch anyone for a long time. He imagines his mother in long sleeves and gloves, even in the summer. How did she go swimming? He wants so badly to know, so badly it’s like an ache. There are little things that the people around him have, but that he doesn’t. Memories of little things.
Sometimes he wants to shake them, which is impossible because he is a kid and they are big grownups, but he wants to shake them anyway, and make them tell him every single memory they have of his mother. He wants to scream and cry and hit until he can feel what he lost, finally touch that memory that is just beyond his reach.
But he is never quite able to articulate what he needs. The words don’t come out right. The words are like the memory, just beyond his grasp.
He senses a presence in his doorway and sees Aunt Jean, like a wisp of smoke in her white nightgown. He can feel her in his head, just lightly.
“You still awake, kiddo?”
Johnny nods. He knows she can feel his ache.
She slowly walks across the room and sits down on his bed. “Whatcha thinkin’ honey?”
“My Mamma.”
Aunt Jean lies down next to Johnny and pulls him close. “Let me tell you a story about your momma.” Johnny closes his eyes and the stars disappear.
“One day I was working in the garden. I lived here but at the time your mom didn’t. She was in college in the city. She was almost ready to graduate and studying really hard so we didn’t see her much.” Aunt Jean pushes a piece of hair back from his head. “But that day I was pulling weeds and I looked up and she was there.”
“What was she wearing?” Johnny still keeps his eyes closed.
“Hmm. I think it was a green sundress and sandals. She could touch by then.”
“Was her hair long?”
“Yes, it was long and very pretty. We all wanted hair like your mom’s. I think that day she had it up.”
“Go on.”
“Okay, well. I was surprised to see her, because she was at college. We were close, and she usually told me or Uncle Scott if she was coming home. But she had a very happy smile on her face. We almost never saw her smile like that. She wasn’t sad, usually, but this particular day she was really really happy. I realized it right away.
“So we sat down under that tree out back, the weeping willow with the tire swing, and I said ‘Rogue, what’s up, you’re smiling ear to ear.’”
“Rogue,” Johnny repeats, just because he likes the sound of it, his mother’s name, the O he forms with his mouth to say it.
“And she put her hand on her belly, and she told me that she was going to have you. She was so excited. She told me that she already had your name picked out, Johnny if you were a boy, and Chloe if you were a girl.”
“Chloe?” He half-remembers hearing this before.
“She was so excited to have you, even though she wasn’t married. We never saw her so happy. And then nine months later you were born. I helped pull you out of your Mamma’s body and I wrapped you up… and handed you to her.”
“What did she say?”
“I told her ’it’s a little boy,’ and she was crying.”
“Why was she crying?”
“Because she was so happy.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t because she wanted a girl?”
Aunt Jean laughs and hugs Johnny close.
“I’m positive. I’m a telepath, remember?”
“Yeah.” He feels warm and for a little while it makes his ache go away. His Mamma wanted him. She kisses his cheek.
“What did she say?” he asks Aunt Jean. They both look up at the stars. One, two, three, four...
“Well, she looked down at you, and she said ‘he’s so beautiful. He’s so perfect.’”
“I’m not perfect,” Johnny says.
“Well she thought you were.”
“Did she sing to me?”
“Yeah. She did.”
“I remember.”
“You couldn’t, honey, you were too young.”
“I remember.”
“Okay.”
“I do!”
Aunt Jean hugs him. “I believe you.”
He opens his mouth and starts mouthing words. His breath is just enough to get the words out, not the melody. “That star can twinkle...” He holds his fingers up toward the ceiling and frames a single star between his finger and thumb, squeezing one eye shut.
Aunt Jean looks at him. She looks really surprised. He keeps singing. “And you’re watching it do...”
“I know a girl twice as hard...” Jean joins in.
Johnny looks at her. “and I’m sure... said I’m sure...” they sing together. Aunt Jean didn’t know that she remembers the words to this song, but she does, and she sings with Johnny.
Then it is quiet. The lullaby hangs in the air between them and the stars. Johnny curls into Aunt Jean’s warm hug and sleeps.
The Lyric Wheel is an exercise wherein one writes a story based on song lyrics that another writer gives them. The story must either relate thematically to the song, or include a phrase from the song. My lyrics were sent to me by Erin Jester, and are from "I'm Afraid of Americans" by David Bowie. No disrespect intended by also using words from "Twinkle" from Tori Amos. They wormed their way into this and wouldn't come out.
"I'm Afraid of Americans"
Ah-ah-ah-ah ah-ah ah-ah-ah
Johnny's in America
Low techs at the wheel
Ah-ah-ah-ah ah-ah ah-ah-ah
Nobody needs anyone
They don't even just pretend
Ah-ah-ah-ah ah-ah ah-ah-ah
Johnny's in America
I'm afraid of Americans
I'm afraid of the world
I'm afraid I can't help it
I'm afraid I can't
I'm afraid of Americans
I'm afraid of the world
I'm afraid I can't help it
I'm afraid I can't
I'm afraid of Americans
Johnny's in America
Ah-ah-ah-ah ah-ah ah-ah-ah
Johnny wants a brain
Johnny wants to suck on a Coke
Johnny wants a woman
Johnny wants to think of a joke
Ah-ah-ah-ah ah-ah ah-ah-ah
Johnny's in America
Ah-ah-ah-ah ah-ah ah-ah-ah
I'm afraid of Americans
I'm afraid of the world
I'm afraid I can't help it
I'm afraid I can't
I'm afraid of Americans
I'm afraid of the world
I'm afraid I can't help it
I'm afraid I can't
I'm afraid of Americans
Ah-ah-ah-ah ah-ah ah-ah-ah
Johnny's in America
Johnny looks up at the stars
Johnny combs his hair
And Johnny wants pussy and cars
Johnny's in America, Ah-ah-ah-ah ah-ah ah-ah-ah
Johnny's in America, Ah-ah-ah-ah ah-ah ah-ah-ah
I'm afraid of Americans
I'm afraid of the world
I'm afraid I can't help it
I'm afraid I can't
I'm afraid of Americans
I'm afraid of the world
I'm afraid I can't help it
I'm afraid I can't
I'm afraid of Americans
God is an American
God is an American
I'm afraid of Americans
I'm afraid of the world
I'm afraid I can't help it
I'm afraid I can't
Yeah, I'm afraid of Americans
I'm afraid of the words
I'm afraid I can't help it
I'm afraid I can't
I'm afraid of Americans
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Story Notes:
I was delighted when Erin sent me lyrics from a song produced by my favorite artist. I was pages into this love-triangle and it was just coming out horribly. It was from an OC, Johnny's, point of view and it was awful. I scrapped it and started over. This is the result. Some Tori Amos songs wormed their way into this as well.