Because I Don't Know What He Does With His Half

Bala

Balan

Balance.

You get out of the theater early.

A spotlight burned out,

and it won't be repaired for at least a week.

You get home two hours before you normally do.

You knock on the door,

get buzzed in by the receptionist,

take the elevator up to your apartment.

It takes you a little while

to find the proper key.

You can hear people talking from inside.

You wonder if there's a party.

Could it be yours?

No, your birthday was two months ago.

Could it be his?

No, his birthday isn't for another two months.

You shove the key into the door

and drag yourself inside.

There he is, sitting on the couch,

kissing some girl you've never seen before.

It takes you mere seconds to understand the scene.

You drop your bags and run,

tears running down your face

nearly as fast

as you run from the wreckage of your heart.

You run and run and run and run

until you can't run anymore.

You run so long and so hard and so fast

that you get to the end of the Earth.

You stand there at the edge,

staring over the brink,

waiting at the place

where the sidewalk ends.

You trip,

you fall,

you tumble.

You wake up.

You look around.

Just a bad dream.

Just a bad nightmare.

Just a bad memory.

Where strange things and shenanigans happen.

R.I.P.

to all who we have lost.

Balance.

You're at a magic show.

The magician is a new one,

but he looks like he'll put on a promising show.

You settle down in your seat,

quietly eating your cotton candy.

He gestures wildly.

He says some silly magic words

and waves his hat in the air,

and guess what shows up?

A huge elephant takes the stage,

and he's riding on top of it!

Applause fills the air.

Then,

he calls for a volunteer from the audience.

No one raises their hand.

Suddenly he lifts his arm

and points right at you.

You stand up quickly.

He hands you a huge basket.

You open it.

There's nothing inside.

He snaps his fingers,

claps three times,

waves his hands over the basket,

and says some more magic words.

Suddenly, it begins shuddering.

You hear something shrieking,

coming from inside it.

The man opens it again,

and out fly a dozen pure, snow-white doves.

They flutter around you,

and for a moment you look up into the air

waiting for them to fly away - 

but they don't.

They perch on your head, your arms,

anywhere they can reach.

They love you.

They know you're a kind person.

That you're a friend

to all.

Love you all, people.

but not myself

Today I don't feel like doing anything

I just wanna lay in my bed

Altum videtur

Fly away, little birdie,

fly far into the sky!

Balance.

They're everywhere.

Dead rats.

Mauled,

as if by a dog.
 

But I know who did this.

It's him.

Cheshire.

These -

these cuts

they can only be from his sword.

The sword in his cane.

The one he used to

to

well, you know.

Every day,

another dead rat,

eviscerated,

disemboweled,

at my doorstep.

I thought it was Sierra or Mab at first -

they are cats, after all.

But the consistency and the nature of their injuries...

He has no remorse.

Cheshire was sweet when I knew him,

when he was still Lewis Jacobs Lyman.

When he was still my Jack.

Jack wouldn't do this.

Jack would try to nurse them back to health,

no matter how bad they looked.

Jack would have given them a proper funeral,

and I would have been right by his side.

I'm scared, yes.

But I'm also strong.

I don't have to let fear consume me.

Into the gala, now's the time

We're ready and we look divine

Helping you help yourself

Let those who worship evil's might

beware my love -

my glorious light!

Balance.

You're walking down a street,

on a hot summer's day.

Joggers run by.

Cyclists race their triathlons.

And you

are taking in the sun.

But then

you hear a scream.

A man's scream,

gurgling and horrible.

It's coming from that alleyway.

You rush in.

A police officer is on the ground,

and an angry-looking man

is standing over him 

with a knife.

The man runs away before you can get to him,

but you make it to the dying officer.

You whip out your phone and dial 911.

You grasp his hand,

telling him it'll be alright.

You can't know,

of course,

but you can hope,

and you can pray,

and you can believe.

The ambulance arrives.

They pick him up.

They take him to the hospital.

It takes weeks

but eventually you get a call.

Asking you out to dinner.

Someone wants to repay a debt.

You go.

There,

waiting,

is the police officer.

He looks great.

Full of life.

And smiling.

That's the true reward,

his smile.

Schrödinger

i'm so confused

I was gonna be rich, no matter how much it cost

And I was gonna win no matter how much I'd lost

Explanation

His name was Lewis Jacobs Lyman.

He loved nothing more than Alice in Wonderland,

The Wizard of Oz,

The Chronicles of Narnia,

and The Lion King.

One year ago,

we met at an audition for a play.

He was funny,

cute,

and he really made me feel balanced.

It didn't take long for that to go away.

Three months after we had met,

he left.

He told me it was over,

and disappeared.

My strongest memory of him

from those days

is the smile he always wore.

The smile he would flash at passerby on the street,

the smile that immediately brightens your day.

The smile that

that haunts me in my dreams, now.

In my nightmares.

It was hard for a while,

living without him.

But I managed.

I had friends to help me through it.

He showed up at my flat the day after I saw him again.

He was prepared. He was alone,

but prepared.

I was unconscious before I realized it was the same man I had seen in the theater.

In his cruelty,

he was almost kind,

tender,

loving.

Then he gave me the notebook

the

I still have it.

I don't want it,

but I'm going to keep it.

In case I may need it again.

Then he gave me the notebook.

He told me to write in it.

I didn't want to.

So he took my finger.

And I wrote for all I was worth.

And then

The days after are a blur until today, I

I woke up in the small place Sir Thighpiece had rented.

He was sitting there, by the small cot,

looking as if he hadn't slept in days.

(From what he says, he hasn't slept in a long time.)

His dog, too,

Rocinante,

she's ever so sweet.

And she gets along wonderfully with Sierra and Mab.

Speaking of whom,

they are both fine.

A neighbor watched over them while I was

while I was

away.

I'm

I'm okay.

I'm getting better.

I'll be on my feet tomorrow, and then

then I'll be ready to smile again.

I hope.

He told me one last thing, before Sir Thighpiece showed up

He reminded me

He reminded me of the cat

Curiosity killed the cat

Satisfaction brought it back

He warned me

"Eight left,"

he said

but I'll make it through.

I have Sierra.

I have Mab.

I have my friends.

I have you,

whoever you are, reading.
This is me:
Kathleen Schrödinger.
That is me.
That's me.
no it's not
is it?

I'm a thousand miles away, but girl,

Tonight you look so pretty, yes, you do

Qui tacet consentit

One two three four -

we will walk right through that door!

Five six seven eight -

who do we appreciate?

Balance.

Sierra is growing so fast.

He's much better now

than he was when I found him.

And he and Mab are so cute when they play.

I'm so glad I could help them.

Also,

at rehearsal today,

I saw a man in the audience.

I couldn't make out his face,

since he was sitting way in the back,

in the dark.

I don't think anyone else noticed him.

He didn't say anything,

he didn't wave when I did,

and by the time we were done and leaving,

he had gone.

The way he walked

seemed almost familiar.

Almost doglike.

But I only saw it for a moment,

as the tails of his coat

swished out the door.

I was so intrigued,

I checked the security footage.

He only showed up for a few seconds,

and seemed out of place.

In fact,

he seemed like he belonged in the play.

The way he moved,

it was almost as if

he wanted me to memorize what he looked like.

Well, I did.

A long tailcoat,

and pants so dark

you couldn't see the creases.

A dark bow-tie,

and a top hat,

with something tucked into the ribbon.

He even had a monocle

 and cane,

and a thick, gold pocket-watch and chain.

The strangest thing about him

was that he had a cigar in his mouth,

but not lit -

he was just chewing on it.

He was a bit heavy-looking,

but mostly very athletic-looking.

Then he tipped his hat to the camera,

and disappeared.

I asked some of the other cast members

if they knew anyone like that.

Something was bugging me.

I knew him.

The way he walked,

the way he moved,

even the way he stood.

The next time I see him,

I won't wait.

I'll rush after him.

I'll remember who he is.

Maybe

I'll even get an outfit like his.

It was simply fabulous.

I loved it.

Are they wondering what we might be?

Are they thinking of you or of me?

Seven for a secret, not to be told.

It used to be that left was left

but now blue is orange.

Balance.

The Fourth of July.

Fireworks sizzle and explode,

and the festivities are so full of energy

it's as if the world itself is smiling.

You are with your parents.

They seem very nervous.

You can't tell what's wrong.

It's as if they're hiding something,

but you couldn't think what or why.

You sleep on it,

you wake on it,

you can't get it out of your mind.

Then, they hit you with it:

a present.

Not a material thing -

a kitten.

A little cat, for you to love

and take care of

and to be your friend.

You shriek,

you scream,

you cry,

and you hug them to no end.

But even as you're brushing the kitten,

late at night,

in your bed,

you're worried.

You don't know -

should you tell them your secret

or not?

~Schrödinger

Life is a highway,

and I wanna ride it all night long

I'm outside your window looking in at the pretty light in your eyes.

Can't see me.

Can't catch me.

Can't get me.

Can't hurt me.

Balance.

It's a cold,

snowy winter night.

You're sitting inside your house,

sipping hot chocolate,

eating marshmallows,

smiling and having fun by the fire.

You giggle and grin

you shuffle and snicker.

You're having a great time.

Then, you hear a scratching noise at the window.

Something's there.

For a moment, you're afraid

but then you get up and walk towards the window.

There, staring in at you,

is a half-frozen kitten.

You can't help but clutch your heart

and stifle your tears.

You hurriedly open the window and pull in the kitten.

You feed it and wash it and heal it and warm it.

Most of all, you love it.

After some time, you realize

that this is the neighbor's cat,

the neighbor who treated it so badly.

You decide not to send it back home,

but you know you can't keep it.

You take the kitten to a friend,

a good friend,

someone you know will love it as much as you did.

And when it's all grown up,

the cat recognizes you.

It knows you saved it,

and it thanks you,

silently,

and you smile and cuddle it.

You're still sad you couldn't keep it,

but you're glad that it grew up

healthy and happy.

Forever will come someday.

On the empty streets of this nowhere town

The melting shadows fade

Non omnis moriar

Saw it coming, hm?

Never saw...

THIS!

Ha ha!

Balance.

Spirits have been lifted for now,

so let's delve into my box of a life!

A few days ago, I went to the park.

As I sat there on the bench,

with that glorious sunlight on my face,

I heard a mewl from behind me.

In the bushes was this little kitten!

I've had lots of cats,

all of whom I've loved very much,

but I've always ended up giving them to the little ones

who need them more than I do.

But this was different.

This little kitten needed me.

I scrambled over to her and scooped her off the ground.

She's not very old at all. Not more than two or three months.

As soon as I picked her up, she stopped crying.

Then, she glared over at the bush again,

and I heard another sound,

another kitten,

much fainter and much sadder.

I set the first one down for a moment and crawled into the bushes,

and there was another, like I thought,

even smaller and more fragile-looking than the first.

His whimper nearly made me cry and bawl, but I gently took him out of the bush,

and saw how hurt he was.

One of his eyes is shut and scarred,

and the other is only ever half-open.

He's missing part of one ear,

and his coat is ragged,

his tail almost completely bare.

He's about as old as she is,

so I think they may be siblings,

but it's hard to be sure about these things.

I took them both home and washed them and fed them,

then brought them to a veterinarian for a check-up.

Besides his injuries, they're fine.

I haven't decided what to call them yet

(I was thinking George and Martha

or Fang and Lamb

or maybe Fange and Mamb?),

but rest assured they're in good care.

And if they don't dance, well

they're no friends of mine