Title: Midnight Radio
Pairing: Hedwig Robinson/Tommy 'Gnosis' Speck
Summary: After Tommy leaves.
Notes: An attempt at Hedwig's point of view.
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Crisscrossed and thickly woven polyester fabric grates against my bare thighs as I stumble back into the cheap loveseat pushed up flush against the faux wooden paneling of my trailer. Old squealing springs and moldy cushions give way beneath me as my knees knock together. Sweet breath slips from my smudged lips, the taste of viscous pink gloss suddenly poison in my mouth. It is the same air that he pressed inside my body from his own only a few seconds prior, so fleeting and intangible, a small attempt to make us whole for maybe a moment before it inevitably slips away. My meticulously manicured fingernails chip and splint, tearing apart into tatters as I twist the course fabric beneath me. The beautifully constant pitter-patter racket of the rain continues its steady downpour, undeterred. Thin metal collides with the frame, the backdoor still rattling from where Tommy tore it open to flee, ashen face and disgusted.
How can he be the one?
How can he not?
It was so fucking perfect.
An astonishingly crystallized emotion was suddenly emblazoned so completely in his clear blue eyes. Shining so open and waiting for me to reach out and grasp it. Looking into his eyes I could do anything, he could become anything, we could build something together that was not there before.
Sweet and pure creation, devoid of the complexity of procreation and messy recreation.
It was in that moment I knew. When his thin lips finally touched mine, his intoxicating breath swirling about in my lungs, I knew that he, Tommy Speck, my own Tommy Gnosis, was my other half. The long lost piece of myself I had been desperately searching for all the way from East Berlin to America. Along the way I found false promises and a broken marriage, everyone taking bits and pieces of my body and soul. A debris of painful love loss. But none I had met or come upon could begin to compare to the divine sense of completion that crashed through my body, shooting up my spine and wrapping, embedding itself so absolutely in my mind. He was the one who had been so wrongfully ripped from my body upon my metaphysical birth. He held the sacred, ancient knowledge that had been lost so long ago. This sweet, endearing Jesus freak of a boy held all the answers to my questions.
Tommy, he could finish the senten—
A discordant note cutting through the heavy air.
Oh, no, no, no.
The slip slide, ghosting of his fingertips grazing against the sharp bones of my thin hip, roughly shoved lower by my own hand between my legs to fin—"My mom…"
NotLittle Tommy Speck.
This child, this boy, is too bound to the physical, the sickeningly commercial appearance. He is unable to reach beyond to the painfully metaphysic reality of a transcendent love—bringing us truly together, beyond the limiting mechanics of our God-given bodies.
One being, one body, one voice to croon the other half of our heart to sleep in the all-encompassing darkness of eternity.
Forever one, the eternal paradise regained.
The sweet twinkling sound of finely shattered glass manages to drown out the unending noise of the trailer beside mine belting out a "multi platinum single" on loop for a scant moment. Smashed against the opposite wall, discounted vodka drips down the old paneling before pooling on the carpeted floor alongside the broken novelty glass I flung across the trailer.
A thousand tiny pieces.
Before I know what it is that I am doing I find myself on hands and knees. There are suddenly perfect little cuts and scraps littering the flesh of my palms and legs as I try to sweep up ever last shard of glass. I stop. The sharp fragments, stained a faint red, are glinting in the fading sunlight that pours in from my window. The brilliant Sun fades over the thin line of the horizon, just barely missing the sight of its old sister Moon.
How could I expect him to be the missing piece when he is just a boy and I am so much more?
Maybe there is no other half for me. Or perhaps I am my own, neither man nor woman, a great divide between blissful unity and agonizing separation. Or even more so, maybe I am the bridge linking the two, spanning across age, sex and all physical limitations and inhibitions.
Though it really will not matter or make a difference.
I had already given a piece of myself to Tommy Speck, who will take it and run, becoming the ever stylish 'rock and roll icon' Tommy Gnosis.