transjon:
so now in every universe now there is a jon & there’s a martin and in every universe they either find each other or they don’t and either way they know, even if they don’t, that they did find each other, once, and it was horrible and beautiful and so, so, unfair, and despite that, despite the horrible, beautiful, unfair briefness of that, their existence there, and in every universe, has value, even if it disappears forever, even when it does disappear forever, even when it did disappear forever, even when all that remains of them is the vague longing for what once existed, somewhere else, sometime else, someone else,
and some part of them both knows this, even when they’re different, even when jon never knew georgie, even when martins dad never left, even when they never met, even when they met each other sooner, fell out of love in uni, married as soon as it was legal, whatever happened, every time… in each universe. somehow. in some way. some parts of each other. knives and blood and tears. the tight grip of jons hand around martins wrist as he died. something about birthmarks where you died in a past life. what about birth marks where, in a past life, you killed someone you loved?
so maybe it goes like:
in this universe jon’s parents never die. he gets to grow up.
he’s
an only child, and he never meets mr spider, and he grows up and he
goes to uni and he meets georgie, and he gets a job, and he marries
georgie who did not watch her friend die, and they grow up, and realize
they don’t work anymore, not because either of them is wrong for the
other but because it just doesn’t feel right anymore. somewhere in his
mind there is a memory of someone. some image. vague shape of a person.
it’s not georgie. he doesn’t know who it is.
or:
in this universe
martin’s dad doesn’t leave and they meet in university. in this universe
they fall in love. in this universe martin’s dad is still there, and
he’s still painfully aware of the fact that his mother will eventually
die, but his dad stays and he gets to be a kid, and then a teenager, and
then a young adult, and jon is insecure about himself, still, and he doesn’t
meet georgie, and maybe he should’ve, maybe he could’ve, but he doesn’t.
they marry at twenty five, and they move in together, and the flat isnt
worth the rent but its something, and they get ordinary jobs, and they
live ordinary lives. somewhere in their bodies is the ache of something
equal parts unsettling and familiar. like biting into a peach with a bad
tooth. canine stuck in the sweet flesh of a perfectly ripe fruit. blood
and nectar.
maybe –
in this universe jon doesnt exist. martin does,
though. his mother dies, and hes alone. what happens to him?
or:
they meet each other in bad circumstances again. they hate each
other, this time, but its equal parts hate and longing. they don’t
understand why. when jon dies martin doesnt understand why it leaves a
gaping hole inside of him. something saying again. you did it again. you
didnt have to. this time you didnt have to.
or:
when martin joins the
institute jon remembers. martin doesnt. it feels like a bad dream. jon
loves him. martin loves him back, eventually, and this time it isnt too
late, and this time they dont live on borrowed time. this time. this
place. this one.
or:
when jon dies so does martin. the atoms that made up
their bodies mix together to form two people, different people, a jon
that is as much martin as he is jon, and a martin who is as much jon as
he is martin. they live in different cities in different countries and
never meet. something is always missing. something is always gone.
or:
when jon wakes up he doesn’t dare say the word. he doesn’t dare even
think it. for now everything could be anything. everything is still
everything. in the box the cat is both dead and alive. in this corner of
this particular universe who he won’t name is both dead and alive. both
here and away. both still and moving. in constant motion on the atomic
level. still in his absence. the moment stretches on forever. in another
place martin is both still and in motion. in another place martin has
his eyes closed, too. both of them are breathing. both of them are
afraid.
or maybe:
their bodies are never found. flowers start to grow
again. georgie comes by now and then, and so does basira, but nothing is
ever found. in another world they exist as two broken people holding
each other upright. blood still stains jons shirt, and martins hands,
but the knife is gone. when he coughs there’s no blood. the scars are
still there. he has nightmares again, but they’re normal. martin has
nightmares too. neither of them talk about them for weeks. they stay
together. the cabin isn’t there anymore, because it’s not their world.
they have each other, and it’s enough. most of the time it’s enough.
