I watch Blair and know heís pulling away. Maybe
not deliberately, he doesnít want to go. But he does, helped by his own failed
expectations. I watch and mourn a little at the distance between us. I long for
the days when things were easy, relaxed, to be friends without the burden of
responsibility lying so heavy on Blairís shoulders. We pretend that
everythingís fine, that weíre the same, but weíre not -- we canít be.
With one touch Incacha set off a train of events that canít be halted, and we react with deceptions and masks that hide the pain inside. If I concentrate I imagine I can see bloodstains on the floor, tiny droplets that remind me of that night. I itch to drop to my knees and scrub them away, but donít. I know theyíre only there in my mind. At night as I lie in my bed, I listen as Blair reads all he can about Shamans. Words whispered under his breath as he looks up web sites and ploughs through ancient books that crackle with age as he turns the pages. Trying so hard to become what he thinks he has to be.
He fails every time.
Itís not so bad now, Blair seems to understand that heís no Shaman, that the bloody hand print on his arm was just that -- nothing more. The experiments with herbs and self-hypnotism have become less frequent, the ancient books abandoned under a pile of pillows. I should rejoice, but each failure seems to dull Blairís spirit just a little more. On the surface heís all babbling words and smiles, but underneath heís beginning to fade, dulling a little with every failed experience. Iíve tried to explain that I donít need a Shaman and Blair listens, but I can tell that he doesnít believe me. He tells me he does, and his lies are so slick he believes them himself. That is until heís alone and he remembers that bloody hand print on his arm.
Blair thinks Iím the special one, and heís right. But what he doesnít see is heís special too. I donít need a Shaman, I need a friend, someone that says ĎYes youíre special, but youíre not a freak. Thereís a differenceí. I need someone whoíll watch my back, be there through thick and thin. Someone whoíll fight my battles even if I donít want them fought. Someone to talk with, to laugh and play.
Thatís not a Shaman -- thatís Blair.
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