Amethyst Rose: Sweet Sixteen

[mdlbear]

It's been more than a year and a half since I had a news server at home, and I haven't been reading alt.callahans much for even longer -- the traffic just got to be too much, and my writing has moved onto LJ and the web for the most part. But I still try to make a post on August 4th. It's odd: I don't make a memorial post for my father, or Colleen's mother, or any of my friends who have passed away. But I make one for Amethyst Rose, who was never part of my life at all. Maybe that's why.

Subject: Amethyst Rose:  Sweet Sixteen
Newsgroups: alt.callahans
Date: 04 Aug 2006 22:24:30 -0700

An older, greyer Mandelbear walks into the bar and puts down a dollar.
"Been a while", Mike remarks, as he pours the ageing fractal a glass
of Boomsma Oude.  It's a strange gold-orange, the color of Black Hills
gold, or perhaps of the sun about to set, seen across some tropical
ocean.

The vaguely ursine shape sips his gin and smiles ruefully (we leave
the question of how the positively-imaginary half of a four-
dimensional fractal manages this feat as an exercise for the reader).
"Two years, at least", he says.  "I was at OSCON last year, and didn't
have a Usenet feed in any case.  I should be able to set one up soon,
now that my ISP has opened it up to the Net.  Might never have found
out if I hadn't ssh'ed in to make this post."  He sips with a bemused
but comfortable air, until the glass is nearly empty.

"Well, it's time."  He walks to the chalk line; the light of Reality
briefly illuminates a middle-aged hacker with grey hair and black
wire-rimmed glasses; his long white beard is nearly as fuzzy as his
fractal equivalent. 

"Amethyst Rose!" he says loudly, then lobs the glass into the
fireplace with the well-practiced aim of a long-time customer.  Yellow
and blue flames play among the shards.

"Sixteen years ago, in the early hours of the morning, our second
daughter was stillborn.  We would be celebrating her Sweet Sixteen
party right now, if she'd lived.  Right now I can't even imagine what
that would have been like.  But sometimes I wonder...

"All the agony has worn off by now, and most of the grief -- there's
little left but odd memories and strangely-comforting ghosts.  I
thought for sure I'd have accomplished more by now, but I guess that's
all under the bridge, too.  I don't need to dwell on it.

"I'm OK," he says, "Thanks for listening."


He walks over to Table 28X, where the AIs and robots hang out, and
heaves a dusty guitar case out of an equally dusty chair.  He pulls
out a small-bodied mahogany Martin and picks out a mournful melody
that winds around A minor, G, D minor, and C without getting very
far.  The AI in the guitar synthesizes a quiet, wordless vocal line
and just a hint of bass flute.

Through an old X Window you can make out a forest clearing.  It is
always twilight there, and always silent.  The trees are of stone;
their fallen leaves the colors of feldspar and black flint.  The rose
bush is still there, its jade leaves dark and glistening in the
half-light.  Its thorns are obsidian, sharp as the memory of pain.
The single amethyst flower seems to glow like a dying fire's final
embers.  It blooms there, untouched by frost or withering sunlight or
careless hand, and will still be blooming long after the forest is
forgotten.

The girl is very hard to see.  Back among the trees at the far side of
the clearing is the gleam of eyes, an arm perhaps, the swirl of what
might be a party dress; or perhaps it is only a shadow and the memory
of a gust of wind.  She laughs, silently, and disappears into the
darkness.


"Time to go, I guess.  Wonder whether there are any nomads still
hanging around in alt.kalbo.  Seemed pretty lonely the last time I
looked, but I think I'll drop in and see if the campfire's still
there.  And if not, it's a good night for gazing at the stars."

Why does a wispy trace of cadhla's "Pretty Little Dead Girl" flit through my mind at this point? Or was that "Mary O'Meara"? There's much to be said for not taking oneself too seriously. I'm sure Amethyst would agree, if she were here. If she were anything like her sisters, she'd no doubt be telling me to shut up and go to bed.

I need to re-record that song, I think. But not tonight.

Comments

[technoshaman.livejournal.com]

*snif*

**CRASH**

[mdlbear]

*raises glass in reply*

[callibr8]

*wipes tears from eyes*

*CRASH*

[mdlbear]

*raises glass in reply*

No tears for me this year, but there are still some songs I have trouble singing.

[catalana.livejournal.com]

*raises a glass* Amethyst Rose.

[mdlbear]

*raises glass in reply* Thanks. Hell of a way to get acquainted, but I'm glad to see you here.

[dejla.livejournal.com]

So sorry. It never really goes away. It's always there, somewhere, and jumps out when you least expect it.

[mdlbear]

Great icon, and thanks. No, it never goes away, but one gets used to it. Writing helps a lot, and I've gotten some amazing things out of it.