Voices From the Void

The odds of our meeting were very slim. She was still in high school at the time and I a senior at the University of Santa Fe. I studied biology and she was an aspiring English major. The only reason our paths crossed was because I had to take an elective. I chose yearbook because I happened to enjoy taking pictures. She was featured in our university’s yearbook because she happened to take the New Mexico literary award for her short story Arabia. The story had nothing to do with Arabia or anything remotely exotic…and neither did she. But she was beautiful.

I have a knack for details one of the main reasons I was inclined to the sciences. The first time I saw her I gathered quickly that she was 5’5, 110-115 pounds. Long black tresses framed startling golden eyes. She wore khaki pants and a gray t-shirt that did little to show off her figure, and yet it made her all the more alluring. She held herself in a very confident manner but it was clearly a façade. Her gait did not sway and she hardly made eye contact. She did not look at all aware of the male attention that was paid to her around every corner. Her beauty did not come from well endowment but rather from a certain air of promiscuity that I was certain I could awaken. I was not confident in my ability to attract her however. I wasn't exactly a stunner. My stocky frame, sandy brown hair and sunken in green eyes that were just a little too far apart made me a good looking companion for girls wanting stability, but I was never one to attract at a first glance. Not like her.

I took all this in as my lens focused onto the furrow between her slightly unkempt eyebrows. She raised one in the direction of the interviewer in response to his rudimentary questionnaire.

"Deidra, you wrote Arabia about the city here in the US. why choose that city? Why that name?"

Deidra crossed her arms over her chest, leaned back and gazed out the window clearly disinterested in the question.

The interviewer cleared his throat and adjusted his fountain pen over his notebook gazing at her expectantly.

Suddenly Deidra looked directly at me, her eyes piercing, demanding that I look up from the viewfinder. I obliged, startled.

"What do you think the story means?" she asked pointedly.

I brushed a crumb from the top of my lens and cleared my throat.

"I have not read the story, but I heard someone say they thought it was about humans’ incapacity live peaceably."

Deidra’s eyes turned from gold to a luminescent yellow as her face flushed. She swiped the fountain pen and notebook from the interviewer and threw them against the wall swiftly turning again to face us.

"You are asleep!" She screeched. Her voice cracked on the word ‘sleep’ making the outburst less eerie and more pitiful. Tears filled her glowing eyes and she stormed past me out the door.

The interviewer rubbed the back of his neck, "Geez" he muttered. "I forgot how high school girls could be…was it something I said?"

I told myself I was being practical by following her, but I knew that wasn’t the case. Something about the vulnerability in her cracking voice made me set my camera down. Something about the glimmer of tears in her eyes made me turn to watch her leave. And something about her flushed skin made me follow her out the door and into the hallway of the media department.

I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to engage with her or not. I just wanted to watch. She caught my attention. I wanted to understand her erratic behavior.

She made it all the way to the top of the stairs that led to the exit of the department before spinning around to face me. This time her eyes did not fire. She stared at the floor, her thick bangs covering every inch of her face save her rose-colored lips.

"Tell me, do you believe in something outside of what you can see?"

I was completely caught off guard and muttered random phonemes in effort to stall.

"You mean like Aliens and shit?" I finally managed.

Deidra glared at me.

"Don’t taunt me! DO YOU BELIEVE IN ANYTHING YOU CAN’T SEE!?!"

I was tempted to go into a spiel about the importance of creating hypotheses, testing theories and not accepting things without proper using the scientific method of examination. But something made me swallow my words.

I didn’t answer in a way to placate her.

In fact, with a chill, I discovered a truth about myself.

"Yes." I said with a quiet confidence that surprised even me.

She looked into my eyes and saw what I had just discovered to be the truth. I believed in an intangible, metaphysical world.

Deidra spun towards the exit stairs. She seemed to do everything in a very erratic manner.

"What does the story mean?" I found myself blurting out.

Without looking at me she began a slow descent.

"I heard the story one night before I fell asleep. I don’t know what it means exactly."

White sneakers shuffled down the stairs and I watched her exit the building, her long black hair streaming behind her. She paused at the bottom of the stairs and tilted her head as if she were listening. She glanced back at me with wide cat-like eyes before dashing away from view.

At the time I had imagined that would be the end of it. She was right, I was asleep. I would always leave encounters, even significant ones, as just a random encounter. But she was awake and she wouldn’t let the world spin without her say in it.

∞

One-hundred and fifteen degrees seems like an impossible heat, and yet it burns the skin off of Phoenix on a daily basis in July. A week after our encounter, I hadn't forgotten Deidra, but she was for me just a memory at this point. A listless fantasy that might haunt erotic dreams. As I walked through the city pondering the necessity of going to my Summer Biology lab she was suddenly beside me. No noise, no warning.

She wore a long white dress. It hung off her skeletal form like a veil. A plum floppy sunhat haloed her face. Despite the blazing sun, she did not wear sunglasses. Her golden eyes glowed almost feverishly beneath her raven black fringe.

She was stunning.

If I didn’t know better, I might have guessed her to be a model on the way to a shoot somewhere. I didn’t say a word, I kept walking acting as though I didn’t notice her. I was unsure of how to react. For a long time, she didn’t say anything either. She simply matched my stride. Her phone rang, a song that sounded vaguely like an alternative punk band that had been popular half a decade ago. To my surprise she yanked the phone out of her bra.

"Yes" she greeted curtly.

There was a significant pause as the other side gave their long-winded message.

Deidra nodded, made an affirmative grunt, and punched the end button with her middle finger.

"Who was that?" I asked out of the desperate need to break the silence between us.

"My agent. The publisher wants me to do an interview about where the idea for Arabia came from."

"Your story really blew up didn’t it?" I say accommodating to her curt script.

She turned and looked at me.Her gaze was intense. Some people will look at you casually, their eyes reach the surface and nothing more. You wouldn’t know the difference unless you had met someone like her, who looks into your eyes and lets her pupils meet yours. I felt as though I was being really looked at and authentically seen.

She looked at me for what felt like an eternity. I wondered if she had missed my question and was waiting for me to repeat it. I opened my mouth and mumbled something unintelligible because she turned away the instant I opened my mouth.

She took a deep breath like she was about to launch into a long story but instead simply stated, "It wasn’t mine."

It was my turn to stare.

"I heard the story from somewhere else, I just wrote it down."

"You stole someone’s story?!?"

She glared, "Of course not! They wanted me to tell it!"

"Who are they? Did they not want any of the credit?"

A cool gust of wind swept the sweaty hair plastered to the back of my neck and giving me goosebumps. Deidra absently pressed her hand to her hat and squinted up at the sky.

"I’m not sure who they are exactly…they don’t have names."

It was highly probable that she was crazy, but my static skin told me she was unequivocally right.

"Do you wanna get a drink?" I asked knowing full well she was underage. The way she walked and spoke. The look in those strange eyes told me her soul was old. Alcohol would not have been something new to her.

Without answering she positioned herself only slightly behind me implying that I was to take the lead.

So I did.

∞

We walked to a small bar on the corner of fifth avenue. It was early evening on a Tuesday so I was sure the bar wouldn’t be crowded. I also happened to know the bartender which would make getting Deidra a drink much easier.

The bar was called Prairie Paradise. A strange name for a bar in the heart of Phoenix, but it was well liked. It was small and hazy, like bars often are, with the typical pool table neatly placed on the back left wall. I had won many games over in that corner. It was one of the only parts of my day I actually enjoyed. The best part about the bar was the rooftop seating. The view overlooked the art district of the Phoenix area and at night the well-lit city always made girls swoon.

Bethany, the bartender, was a girl five years my senior. She was tall with a larger frame. Big blue eyes were accented by heavy charcoaled eyeliner and fake lashes. She always had her bleach blonde hair teased like an 80’s rock band singer. She was pretty, but not in the way that demanded a second glance. She had been the girlfriend of my roommate back in my first year of university. She was always nice to me. I had guessed she rather liked my casual and maybe unconcerned way of talking with her. She was probably used to making drunk guys nervous. She had become a kind of older sister figure to me. I often sat and made casual conversation during her long weekend shifts.

"What can I get ya!" she called out before I even sat down.

"I’ll take an Indian Pale Ale." I said after some thought.

Bethany turned to Deidra, "And what’s your drin…"

"Whiskey and coke" Deidra interrupted quickly.

"IPA and a Whiskey and Coke? I gotchya!"

The drinks were quickly served. Bethany leaned over to talk with us.

"What’s up, Thomas? I haven’t seen ya since last week!"

I could sense Deidra stiffening beside me despite Bethany’s completely relaxed and obviously comfortable demeanor.

I found myself clipping the conversation the way Deidra did, "I’ve had classes and work. Just been busy."

"Ahh I see," replied Bethany as she picked a chip off her baby blue acrylic nails.

"Patrick and I were gonna hit this place up this weekend." I continued starting to feel awkward.

"Mmmmhmm" Bethany was completely oblivious.

Deidra took a long drink from her whiskey and coke.

Silence.

Mercifully, another customer walked in.

"Just a sec," said Bethany going to help him.

I gave Deidra a sidelong glance.

Obviously sensing my gaze, Deidra simply stated. "She is asleep."

I turned to look fully at her. "What does that even mean?" I asked frustrated.

Bethany suddenly returned with the new customer.

"Hey aren’t you the girl who just won that literary prize?" asked the newcomer.

He was a middle-aged balding male with tired brown eyes and a short round frame. He had a kind face but was altogether uninteresting as a presence.

Deidra turned to look at them saying nothing. She merely blinked.

"You are! I recognize you from the picture in the paper!" said the man unfazed by her unusual response.

"Woah! That’s pretty amazing isn’t it?" continued Bethany also immune to Deidra’s eccentricities.

I was just thankful both of them had forgotten she was still in high school.

"Hey, my wife read that story, she said it was really moving!" said the man chuckling.

Deidra immediately stood up and looked the man directly in the eyes. I was certain her eyes were glowing like they had before.

"What was moving about it?" she demanded in that minimalistic way of speaking I was growing accustom to.

"Woah! Woah! I don’t actually listen to my wife past the first sentence!" The man laughed waving his hands.

Bethany laughed with him flirtatiously elbowing his ribs, "How typical of a man."

To my surprise, Deidra started shaking.

"Did you read it?" she demanded of Bethany.

Still oblivious to Deidra’s slightly desperate sounding question, Bethany giggled, "Nah! But my boyfriend had to read it in his lit class!"

"They’re already reading it at the University level?" interrupted the man.

"That sounds like it’s bound to be a classic! You should be proud of yourself…uhhh…what was your name?"

Deidra never broke her gaze from Bethany’s figure. For some reason I noticed her whiskey glass was empty. I wondered when that had happened.

"What did your boyfriend say about it?" she asked breathlessly. Her eyes were starting to look feverish.

"Um, I think he said it had something to do with like Arabians or something?"

I immediately knew that was the WRONG answer. Deidra’s face flushed and her eyebrows met in the center of her forehead.

I figured it was time I interveined. "Let me get one more of those whiskey drinks…let’s make it a double. Deidra, we’re going to the roof. It’s really beautiful."

Deidra did not look at me and she did not address Bethany or the man again. But I did notice her twitch when I said roof. I figured I had made the right move.

∞

The rooftop seating was about six floors up past some old offices that had been converted into storage spaces. The bar owned the entire building and rented out the storage space out for extra income. I guided Deidra to the Eastern corner of the roof. Lights were strung over the walls providing a warm glow in the early twilight. Soft music accented the atmosphere making the roof feel both relaxing and arousing at the same time. The sky was especially brilliant; blue, periwinkle, lavender, and coral all at once. The distant pollution helped the vespers light glow for just a bit longer than normal.

Deidra immediately started speaking after taking position in the chair across from me.

"It was just before I fell asleep sometime last September."

"What was?" I probed carefully.

"That’s where I first heard the story."

"Like…voices in your head?" I asked trying to not sound condescending.

She nodded. "Words I never spoke, pictures I’ve never seen, people I’ve never met; they came to me demanding that I listen. That I tell their story. I didn’t even know what the story was until I finished it, but I knew I had to write it."

I was surprised by her suddenly long and expository language until I noticed her glass was empty again.

She leaned back in her chair and gazed out at the sky. Her golden eyes were suddenly dark and halfway closed. She seemed like an experienced drinker so I was surprised. I remember hoping I wouldn’t have to carry her home.

"My mother killed herself when I was ten. I walked into the bathroom one morning and found her on the floor with the pills scattered across the floor." Deidra reached to the sky as if grasping for something.

"My dad didn’t take it well. Most parents don’t. I didn’t blame him for becoming an alcoholic. I didn’t blame him for getting rough with me sometimes. He knows why he is the way he is. He says sorry. He tries to get better sometimes."

I didn’t know what to say. I guessed she was drunk so I let her vent. But I was disappointed. She seemed all too human. Just another angsty teenage girl with daddy issues. She was probably clinging onto some fantasy of God, some desperation for meaning or something to keep herself sane.

"There are three types of people in this world" She continued, "The awake, the asleep, and the dead. The asleep are the most detestable of all." Her sad darkened eyes suddenly flashed.

"So the people who are awake…they can hear…voices?" I asked now slightly interested in her train of logic.

"The voices are always speaking. It’s a constant stream of information, inspiration, and illumination. But people don’t want to hear them because to hear them, you have to feel pain."

I started to wonder if she was crazy. "Okay, but really. How can you prove that you hear these ‘voices’? People will just call you crazy."

Deidra looked tired, "My story. It moves people. Do you think I could move people?!? I hate people! I hate everything!" Deidra stood up and leaned against the rail.

"It moves the people who want to be moved. We all bring our own meaning to things..." I said leaning forward on my wrist.

Deidra cried out to the city below, "He cannot hear the voices from the void! He does not acknowledge the void! No one does!"

I stood up and reached out to cover her mouth but she yanked away.

She lowered her voice and spoke only to me, "The voices are real! They have real consequences! They affect everything and they work in our lives without our permission. They whisper to us without our consent or even our knowledge. They affect us now and in turn they persuade our future."

She grabbed my wrist and squeezed so every part of me was completely enraptured by her.

"Why do you think we met? Why are you the one who is going to witness this?"

I was starting to wonder if this girl had lost touch with reality. Maybe her home life had given her some kind of disassociation disorder.

The dusk had finally given way to darkness although the sky still held a navy and crimson hue.

Deidra leaned over the rail and cocked her head slightly as if she were listening.

"It’s beautiful" she said softly.

"The view?"

"This song." She closed her eyes and I noticed small tears begin to roll down her cheeks.

I guess I must have felt pity for her in that moment so I got up to read the song title on the jukebox.

But when I turned around, I forgot the name.

They say in moments of trauma you either forget details as your brain represses to preserve itself or instead, everything stands out sharply, clearly and poignantly. Everything still stands out to me about that moment.

The silhouette of Deidra’s frame was perched on top of the railing. I ran over to her but everything was moving in slow motion.

She stood. Her white dress ballooned behind her in a spectral way. Her long black hair flitted over the dress and then, caught in a sudden breeze, flayed out behind her. The hat had long since blown away.

The song had ended and yet she still cried out, "It’s beautiful!"

"IT’S BEAUTIFUL!"

I made it to her side but I couldn’t reach her. I was stumbling over the table, chairs, myself. Everything felt heavy and thick.

Her face was calm and peaceful although big tears dripped down her pale cheeks and splashed onto railing. Long strands of black hair whipped across her face; I was honestly surprised she could keep her balance.

Then she suddenly turned and looked at me. I was frozen. My limbs wouldn’t move; I was enraptured by her gaze. Her golden eyes glowed more brightly than they ever had. They almost looked like the lights strung across the wall. It seemed she looked into me.

Her mortality was the one in question, and yet in that instant it was mine that felt at stake.

The wind was roaring in my ears and then everything stopped at once. I heard her words before I knew them.

In a breaking voice she whispered and yet shouted at the same time:

"It's beautiful...I don’t want to die."

And all at once she leaned forward; raven tresses and white tendrils trailing behind her.

I could not move. I could not yell. I could only hear one thing over and over again.

It’s beautiful

And that was all I could hear. That was all I could hear when Bethany rushed outside and started yelling. That was all I could hear when the balding man took out his phone and snapped pictures of the golden eyed specter splayed across the ground. That was all I could hear in the interviews with the police for days and days after.

Another couple sitting on the roof had seen the whole thing so I had been cleared from blame. But the questions would not cease. I was last to see the tragic beauty alive. She had so much ahead of her…why did she want to die?

But the problem was that she hadn’t wanted to die.

Her last words proved that right?

It’s beautiful

Months later, I remembered the name of the song. It was a strange song to be playing at a bar in the heart of Phoenix. It must have been requested.

I bought the song before listening to it. I wanted to sit on the roof and replay the scene in my head with the music as my guide.

And as I let the music of Yoko Kanno’s Someday permeate every part of my memory, I felt I could wholly agree with and understand Deidra.

It is beautiful.