The Night Marshall Showed Up At The Gallery

at the start of the night, nobody seemed to even know who he was.

he faded into the background, and was only too happy to do so, sticking to walls & corners like he was allergic to other people, only there for the art.

i suppose he was.

the first person to recognize him was the artist who was showing his work in the first place. guy's name was Jesse, Jesse Culbert. i'd been a friend of Jesse's for some time, but he still seemed a little mysterious. or if i were to say it more matter-of-factly, simply non-verbal about things we all would suppose someone might really want to know. not a man of few words, per se, he liked to talk, but although he liked to talk, he was simultaneously very private. in this way, every conversation with him was like a game with smoke & mirrors involved. despite this, or perhaps because of it, i knew right away when i saw him see Marshall that this was someone Jesse not only knew but was scared of.

i tend to be protective of strangers, even, as a standard i hold myself to, so i subtly stood in front of Jesse, who himself was positioned in the center of the room we were in, talking to several different people at once. he was perfectly happy before, and although the shift was small, apparently nonexistent to the people crowded around him, i noticed. his eyes, it was Jesse's eyes. suddenly a little wider, moving across the room a little faster.

Marshall didn't seem like a threatening man, but you never know. he walked with a limp, actually. his face was darkened by the shadow he was hiding himself in, but he had pale skin. a few tattoos visible underneath baggy clothes that must've been pretty comfortable. black & grey, with some accents of other colors. glasses.

almost as soon as he'd entered the room, he left it.

i followed him.

"hey!" i called out. "hey! who...who are you?"

"i paid to be here, don't worry; i paid the entrance fee."

"that's not why i was asking. do you know Jesse?"

"...do i know Jesse?" he thought for a moment. "yeah, i know Jesse."

"'you a friend of his? what's your name?"

"Marshall."

"Marshall..."

"right, sorry, you're still wondering what i'm doing here." suddenly, his grim, initially intimidating expression broke down into awkwardness. nervousness.

"yeah. i am."

"Jesse's my...ex. sorry, not my ex. an ex-crush. i...know this is really weird, and creepy, probably, but i first saw Jesse's art years ago when we met and...i didn't want to forget, i didn't want to not support him, i didn't want to...never see cool shit like that again."

"oh, my god."

"i should probably leave."

"well, i don't know about that, but w-hold on, why did he look scared of you?"

"he did? right, of course he did...uh, i can explain that, but it might be better if--"

just then, Jesse came into the room. nobody was following him. he was alone. and his arms were shaking, but his jaw was set.

"Kiara!" he said my name, as he stared at the other man in the room. "haven't i told you who this guy is?"

"uhhhh..." i couldn't think of what to say.

"this motherfucker has been stalking me for years." Jesse nearly shouted, but remembered the crowd in the room behind him might hear him if he did at the last moment.

"what? what!?!" i looked back and forth between him and Marshall. 

Marshall cowered under the attention.

"yeah, i'm sorry, i..." Marshall.

"wait, you're not denying it, you're saying you have been stalking him? because i was gonna say, when you told me who you were--" Kiara (me).

"hold on, how long has he been here? you were talking to him?" Jesse.

"no, i mean i haven't been stalking him, i just...have gone to a couple shows of his..." Marshall again, looking as though he was about to cry.

"Jesse," suddenly something dawns on me, "did you ever tell him you didn't want to see him again after you first met? i don't know when or how that was, but whatever, did you tell him you didn't want him to keep showing up in your life, or did you just ghost him?"

Jesse looks at me, shocked i would even consider the possibility he should've communicated that. his eyes narrow, at me.

"he should've taken the goddamned hint."

"right." i nod, glumly, obediently. "sure."

"the first time i went to one of the shows," Marshall really was softly weeping now, but it barely affected the quality of his voice, he sounded more tired than anything, "it'd been years. and no, in case you forgot, you didn't say anything, he didn't say anything. it'd been years, but i just couldn't get it out of my head, the things you were capable of making, and i thought you wouldn't even recognize me because it'd been so long..."

"Marshall, what the hell made you think i wouldn't recognize you? why did you even come? you're right, it had been years, why the fuck did you even come?"

"Jesse..." i don't want to be obedient anymore. "please think for a second..."

"you fucking retarded creep!" Jesse doesn't want to think about it, he doesn't want to question what he's been through, he doesn't want to question the malice he assumes everyone approaches him with, "you fucking freak!"

the fucking freak just stands there, and it doesn't seem the words are hitting him at all.

but then he opens the emergency exit, and he rushes out as the fire alarm goes off.

again, i follow. i leave Jesse inside. i want to see where this - where Marshall - leads. i'm a bit of a voyeur that way. or maybe i'm genuinely concerned. sometimes i can't tell.

he is fully sobbing now, outside in the rain, just folding & imploding inwards. getting drenched. he is barely audible with the alarm whooping and shrieking, but he sees me heading towards him, his mouth opens, and out comes a howl of...grief. he isn't trying to rush me, or fight me, he's just overwhelmed by his own senses, soul, basically crumbling, letting himself slide down the alley wall to the ground now, and i can only see pain in his eyes. no malice. just pain. like hot coals on skin if the skin is your past and your past is a coat some mad scientist grafted to your body so you can never take it off.

"do you understand?" Marshall cries out to me, "do you understand that i never met to hurt him?"

"whoa, dude, hey--" okay, i am feeling genuine concern. empathy?

"i never meant to hurt him, you know that, even right when i first met him? i knew i could, i knew i was likely to, i knew that my very presence was never wanted in the first place, so i stayed away! i was a coward, i didn't tell him i liked him! the only thing he saw was a freak because that's what i was! i couldn't even speak to him! i could only stare at him! i finally got brave when it was way too late, but by then -- i don't know why he showed me, b-but -- by then, i'd seen the things he can fucking do! i'd seen just a glimpse of the way he sees the world! and it's beautiful! have you seen his work in there? it's so fucking beautiful! i couldn't leave it behind! i couldn't lose it, i couldn't lose that!"

"Marshall!" i shout at him, but only so he can hear me. "it's okay!"

"what the hell are you talking about!? no, it's not! it's not okay!!"

"yes, Marshall, it is, it is because you weren't truly stalking him; you never showed up at his house, for instance, you never showed up anywhere but his shows, right?, yeah, and you were never violent; you just said you could barely even talk to the guy, i can't imagine you being aggressive towards him! it's okay, Marshall!"

"goddammit! no! i'm awful, i'm a piece of shit, i'm a freak!"

"no, Marshall, you're not any of those things!" this is said far quieter than anything before, as someone's turned off the alarm.

"...then what am i?"

"i don't know."