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Meditation begins when you’re alone. When it’s quiet. When there’s no one around. You fold your legs into yourself like a loose pretzel, still soft and uncooked. That’s how meditation always starts, when you’re relaxed. Soft and uncooked. When your mind becomes too doughy and too pliable. When you need to reharden it. Bake it. Blaze it. No time for jokes about April. No time for jokes. Can’t afford that bro. Don’t have the cash for it.
Focus. No, you’re getting off topic. That’s bad. Focus. You have to focus.
You’re not a big fan of meditation but it’s a necessary evil. Like getting a shot from the doctor when you’re a child. Only instead of the once-a-year “Why-did-you-betray-me-mommy-I-hate-this-big-bad-guy-in a-white-coat”, your shots happen every few days. If you’re lucky you can get in a full week without having to do this, but luck hasn’t been on your side recently. Then again, it never has been.
Kanaya is out today which means by extension your friend leader/sister is out too. Terezi and Karkat headed to fuck knows where hours ago. Last you saw them they were creating a “care package” for the team at Titans East. You don’t want to know, nor do you care, what’s in that special box of troubles the two have cooking up. Though you’d bet good money that Karkat put more of the “care” into the care package.
Terezi probably put in a stink bomb. You know she put in a stink bomb.
No. Focus. Now is not the time for that. No time for other thoughts. No time for thinking about pranks. Now is the time to mediate. As much as you hate it, meditation is good for you. Meditation is needed. You’ll do it. It won’t kill you. It never does. Not that you wish it does.
Your hands fall to your legs and a familiar tingle of anticipation runs through you. As much as you dislike what’s to come next, the tingling of the “just before the fall” makes you push on. It makes you want to go on. And that’s what scares you the most. You don’t want to close your eyes.
But you do.
You close them. You close your eyes.
Stop. Think.
You breathe in. Air goes in. Hold it for five seconds.
Breathe out. Air goes out in five seconds.
Rest.
Repeat. Breathe in. Ten seconds now.
Breathe out. Ten seconds out.
Don’t open your eyes. Resist the temptation to open your eyes. Stay in darkness longer.
Air goes in. Air goes out. Repeat.
Rest.
Open your eyes. Not your actual eyes. Your mind’s eye. See where it takes you. See it first, then step into it. Then feel it. In that order. Follow that order.
Order is good. It’s balanced. Don’t think on the fly. Don’t try anything funny. You’re not that thing anymore. Not that person you mean. Can’t afford to freestyle. This isn’t a spotlight solo on stage. Don’t start swinging when you can’t afford it. Don’t you dare start swinging.
Focus. Zone in. Zoom in. Focus.
Texas. Houston. Houston, Texas. Population: 2.3 million, give or take. The Lone Star state. State bird: Northern mockingbird. Should be the crow though. Angry fuckers were everywhere you looked last time you were there. Houston. Not quite home anymore. Never is. Never was. Hard to miss something that you never liked. Easy for your mind that is. Try telling your body not to want what you hate.
No. Focus. No time for personal thought. You’re here for meditation only. Don’t get sucked in. Don’t get sucked in. Feel but don’t feel. Don’t get sucked in.
Balance. Order. Rules. Breathe in. Ten seconds. Out. Ten seconds. Rest. Repeat.
Weather: Hot. Dry. No clouds in the sky. No rain except on weekends and holidays. Drought for the last couple of years. Nothing but sun. Burning sun. Sun that cooks eggs on the street and cooks people in their tank tops.
Feel it.
It’s touching you but you’re not feeling it. You’re observing. Let it go through you. You’re glass. You’re see through. You feel it but you don’t feel it. The difference is like night and day and it should stay that way for as long as you shall live.
Smell: The scent of the city. Smoke. Dust. Dirty water with mold floating like islands in the sea. Gasoline dripping out of open holes. Car exhaust like ecstatic pants wafting into the sky. The putrid food from trash. The greasy foods from carts. The weak scent of trees. Trees that are dying. Trees that are dead. Carcass’ on the ground. The early death of a young squirrel. The late death of an old dog.
The desire to crinkle your nose, to sneeze and cough, builds in your physical body. Push it down. You have to. You’re here but not here. Remember that. Breathe in. Ten seconds. Out. Ten seconds. Rest. Repeat.
Next step: Step in. Don’t resist. Don’t hate. Don’t cringe. Feel it. Burning asphalt. Curl your toes in. Grip the ground. Feel it. Stone in skin. Skin on stone. Feel it.
Now hear it. Hear it with your ears. Echo back the memories. Hear the sounds that you hate. Hear it. Open your ears.
Hearing: ……...
You would never admit it to even yourself but the hearing is the most…. difficult part. It is, in three short words, the fucking worst. The hearing. The sounds. The twinges in reality which rubs against your every hair cell. Tiny. Microscopic. Small outside the body but huge when in the body. Every little thing that shouldn’t be important. Everything that is important. Eardrum. Cochlea. Vibrations. Waves moving every fiber back and forth. Every sound. Every sound.
Ears. Listen. Your ears. Hear. Force yourself to. Perceive. Unblock your ears. Discern.
The city first. The drops of society sizzling on to the pavement. The rush of the cars. Everyone has somewhere to go. Focus. The honking. The cry of surprised normal, boring citizens. Fuck those guys who almost ran them over. Focus. The cursing of jaywalkers. Should’ve waited for the green light bro. Focus. The dogs that meet dogs on the street. Puppy party in the park Jeff, see you there? Focus. The flirting. The fighting. The crying. The yelling. Love is dead. What’s the point of getting in a relationship if it ends like this? Goddamn it focus!
Go higher. Cicadas everywhere. Rubbing wings together. Marry me bro, make me your beautiful crunchy wife. Let me wear a wedding dress of brown wings. Focus. Hear the birds. The birds on ledges. Birds on trees. Birds cawing. Birds squawking. Birds cooing. Birds whispering secrets to their chicks. Crows that phase into night. Night that phase into crows. Cackling. Laughing. Laughing at anything. Laughing at everyone. Laughing at you. Breathe in again. Breathe out again.
Go higher. Listen. Go there. Focus. Don’t be scared. Forget emotions.
The running of a computer that is no longer yours. The vibrations of a washing machine. The click of a controller. The television switching from channel to channel. Never satisfied with what its playing. Pixels dancing and chittering at you.
Blinking: You don’t hear the blinking but you feel it. The blinking. The eyes. The eyes of millions who lack souls. Puppets that can smell you before you can smell them. You don’t care about the smell though. The eyes: Looking. Staring. Blinking. You know they’re blinking when you’re not looking.
A clink. A drop. Metal on carpet. Metal on wood. Metal on asphalt. Metal clinking, coming closer. Too much! Pull back! Metal on stone. Stop! Metal on brick. Stop! Metal on you.
No sounds. No movements. No swish of air against object. Nothing to stop gravity. Nothing to reverse time. That’s how fast it hits. Invisible to your naked eye.
Metal on you and your skin opening and falling, like peel from an orange. Peel from an apple. Skin that’s supposed to be there isn’t there. Smells that shouldn’t be there are.
Fuck! Too much! Stop! Pull back! No more! Please!
You gasp, voice cracking, heart racing. Open your eyes. Your body’s eyes. You open them. You don’t see your home. You don’t see your home. You’re still in Houston. You’re still there. You’re still here. Blood. Dripping like melted ice cream. Dripping like melted ice cubes. Too hot for ice in Texas. Too much heat. You’re burning. This isn’t right. This isn’t right. The burning moving upwards. A stab? A cut? Eyes burning. Eyes falling out. You can’t see. Can you? Your eyes. Are they still red? Did they get redder? Shifting from black to purple to red. Choose a color dipshit. Can’t have you looking like the gothic rainbow from hell. Hell. You’re in hell. Houston is hell. Both start with H’s man. Practically the same. Houston is not hell. Don’t get them confused. Don’t get yourself confused. Get out... Get out. Get out! Get out!! Out of your head. Out of Houston. It’s not real bro. It’s all in your mind. It’s not real. All in your mind. Push through it. All in your mind.
You’re being sucked in again. Shit, why’d you have to tell yourself that? All in your mind bullshit. It’s never just that. Never just that! You have to get out. Have to get out of this heat. This heat. This heat.
You splutter, shake, grabbing and pulling at anything. You need an out. Where’s your out?! The sun is too far but you still reach for it, as if there’s a door hidden there. A door out. And you scream a mess of words that you know doesn’t sound like what you want it to sound like. You’re being sucked in. You’re being sucked in. You can’t get out. You reach and reach and reach out for something, anything, anyone because you have to get out! Get out! Get out! Too close to the ground. The eyes that blink and can see you! See you trying to escape. See you when you don’t want to be seen. Seeing and watching.
You scream. A loud, piercing scream that hurts your ears from the inside out. It hurts! It fucking hurts! The sky darkens. Crows scream like you’re at the gallows. Feathery assholes singing like you’re on a noose. The sky blackens. Too dark. You can’t see. You can’t smell. You can’t see or smell but you can still fucking hear! Sun covered up like a modest maiden. Darkness everywhere. Everywhere is dark! But it’s still hot. It’s still burning. It’s searing you alive. You need to get out. You need to get out!
You hit the ceiling. Fucking ouch. “Fucking ouch.”
Hear: You say that out loud. You hear your words. “Fucking ouch!” you hear yourself say again because you just smashed into the ceiling by accident (again.)
You’re back.
Your vision blacks out and reappears, harsh and bright. Your home again. The tower. You’re back. You’re home. You would breathe a sigh of relief at being back but oh shit you’re falling. You’re falling and you can’t remember how you got up here and (more importantly) you can’t remember how to levitate. The ground is rushing up to you. You drifted too high during your meditation. You hit the high ceiling and you’re coming down faster than you floated up.
You panic and you really do scream, convulsing in the air like your drowning on nothing. Drowning in nothing. But you can’t close your eyes. Not back to darkness. Not back there. You can’t go back to Houston. You just can’t!
There’s a voice. Another scream. More correctly, a “Fuck! Dave!” sails and resonates in your ears. You know that voice. You recognize it. Comfort. Safety. Feeling of protection. Feeling of cooling breath on too hot skin. Karkat. It’s Karkat.
You gasp it aloud. Say it like lifeline. Say it with a scream. His name:
“Karkat!”
There’s a rush of air. A shifting of a body. Bones cracking and snapping. Being rearranged. Blood flowing in opposite directions, confused as to the new heart it has to support. Muscles becoming fierce and bulging from the skin. Hair going from soft to feral. A drop in the voice box. A human changing in a matter of a picosecond yet it stretches on forever for you. Karkat roars and you scream again, more scared than you care to be. You reach out and grab for him.
He catches you in soft, green fur. A stupid part of your brain recognizes the shape and the feel of Karkat’s bear form, but all you can hear and smell is Karkat, Karkat, Karkat.
You’re mumbling that, his name, over and over again as you bury your face in his fur. You mumble his name as he shifts back to a human, slower this time so he doesn’t scare you. Because you’re scared. You’re scared and you hate that you’re scared. But he’s here. He’s here and you’re here. You’re fine. You are fine.
You’re still saying his name over and over again as his arms, his human arms, slide over you. His grip on you is harsh, tight, suffocating. You want to tell him to relax and tell him not to panic but your arms are already struggling to shuffle through the carpet and the floor to hug him too. You’re crushing him with your body and he’s crushing him with yours. It’s too much but it’s not enough.
He sits up and pulls you with him. With a better angle your arms easily snake around his torso and you rest your head against his shoulder. A perfect place for your head. A perfect place for you. Are you wet? Do you feel wet? Are you crying? You don’t know. Karkat’s grip loosens by only a margin but it’s enough room for you to wiggle out if you want to. Enough so that you can pull back. You don’t. He whispers your name, again and again, over and over, grounding you back to your body.
Relax. Relax. His scent mixed with something primal. Something safe. Sweat from him or from another animal. Leaves. Grass. The dirt. The sea. Karkat, Karkat, Karkat.
“Breathe,” he whispers to you, “Breathe with me Dave. Breathe.” There’s a hidden question in there. A question of “Can you do that for me please?” He cares. He’s not asking but he cares.
You can. You will. You have to. Ten seconds in. Ten seconds out.
“Breathe again Dave,” Karkat whispers when you counted your final breath, “Again.” Comforting. Safe. There for you. He’s not going anywhere. Karkat.
He remembers. What you do after meditation. He knows and you love that he knows. He knows you well enough to remind you to breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
“Once more,” Karkat whispers. Ten seconds in. Hold it for five seconds. Ten seconds out. You can feel yourself become loose. Become relaxed. Your body is relaxing. Adrenaline wearing off, dripping off. Breathe. Breathe.
You’re tired. Beyond tired. Not quite exhausted though. To be exhausted means to be unconscious or close to unconsciousness. You’re not quite there yet. Have you ever been there before? Been black out exhausted?
Yes…. You have when you’ve been hurt. When you’ve been healing. When you’ve been trying to mend the skin on the outside and the brokenness on the inside. Sewing together internal wounds are harder than you think. Are always harder than you think. Usually it takes hours if you’re lucky. Days if you’re not lucky. But like you said, you’re usually not lucky.
A grumble. A rush of concern. Karkat’s voice speaking to you. Karkat’s voice. Sweet, growling, protective. Like a blanket with weight. A blanket with weight and arms. Your very own personal teddy bear.
“Who are you?” Karkat asks, softly, quietly, so as not to scare you. “Who are you?”
The final question. The final level of asking. Final frontier of asking. The boss stage. The main stage. Your mind is reeling too far for you to pull it back and frankly, you don’t want to pull it back. You like it where it is. You like it here. You like it with next to Karkat. With Karkat.
The question though…. You have to make someone ask you for your sake and your sake alone. It’s to remind you. Like a note set on your phone. Only the phone is Karkat and the note is message from past you. “Who are you?” Karkat asks again, “Please tell me.”
Who are you?
“I’m Dave,” you say. “I’m Dave Strider.”
You can feel Karkat’s expression, the expression that he doesn’t know he’s making but you can feel he’s making, soften ever so lightly. Or, ever so slightly? Fuck you don’t know. This is confusing. All you know is that you answered correctly and that you’re right. You’re Dave Strider.
You are Dave.
Calming. Relaxing. Fresh air into your mind. Cooling breaths circling you. Kill the heat in your brain. Air conditioning exists and it’s bringing you from the edge back to reality.
“And, where are you?” Karkat asks. No hesitation in his voice. Nothing held back. He’s blunt and upfront and that’s what you love about him.
Where are you? You know this one. It’s simple. Easy. No echoing, no vibrating. “Here” you know.
“I’m home,” you whisper, “I’m home with you Karkat.”
That’s right. You’re home. You are Dave. You are here. You are with him.
You are home.