Less Than Lovers, More Than Friends

They always told me the Ocean was filled with salt.

That must have been some other ocean though. Probably a blue one.

Because my ocean was black.

And it didn’t taste salty. 

The blackened water, with the entire colour spectrum floating on top of it like a greasy film of algae, tasted both bitter and sweet.

Like a smoky marshmallow plucked out from the fire.

After a few gulps, I was already feeling sleepy. 

A sugar crash no doubt.

And when I closed my eyes, I could feel myself fall into that same inky blackness. 

With something shining at the end of it…

That’s just part of the story though. The end of it. I should start somewhere else.

Like the beginning maybe.

Fun fact, until today, I have never been accompanied by a horizon.

A horizon without end at least. Like a grey woolish blanket you can’t recall buying.

It could have been comforting, but since my mattress was a boat, and my room was made up of waves from an unrelenting ocean, I was terrified. But the terror had been here long enough that it had turned into an icy numbness deep in my chest.

I couldn’t tell if it ever stopped. 

The water. The horizon.

I mean I knew it stopped. 

It had to. 

Eventually. 

I had seen the maps, and that, along with my memories of where my journey began, acted as the only true fact in this liminal space where my mind was slowly turning to goo.

But even then, when you have a map telling you with unbridled certainty that land does exist, you can’t help but question it when all you can see is the Nothing.

Nothing but two colours, blurring between each other, moving in swirls together.

When that happens, does the fact that land has to exist even matter?

It's a classic conundrum: If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

If you’re in the middle of the ocean and there's no land in sight, do trees still exist?

Water existed. I knew that much.

Wind. That existed too.

And fish.

And my boat.

But beyond that–

I suppose the sun, moon, and clouds were something, weren’t they?

And I have seen a bird or two on occasion.

But other than that, well, if I talk to myself does that make me something too?

I think I was something to someone once. 

It's all a bit foggy now. 

I know there was a someone. Someone I cared about.

Back when I knew trees still existed. 

Back when I could tell you with absolute certainty that my someone’s eyes were just the right shade of green. Green grass moments after being grazed by the sun, soft specks of brown dotting its stem.

Back when I could tell you without scraping my vocal cords awake that my name was Bennie and their name was Florence.

Back before the Conversation.

“I want to talk to you about something,” Bennie told Florence, clicking their nails along the table. Sound muffled by the thick velvety tablecloth. “I need to talk to you about something. It’s important. But…well, I didn’t want to make you mad.”

Florence stopped mid-bite, placing their white-silver fork down onto their silk-white napkin embroidered with swirls of rose gold.

“I know what this is about,” Florence said, swallowing their last bite. “And I’ve wanted to talk to you about it as well.” Bennie’s heart swelled at their admittance, suddenly hopeful at the direction this conversation was heading, and quickly gestured at them to continue. “I think this needs to stop.”

“What?” Bennie almost laughed in confused nervousness, a small pit forming in their stomach. “What needs to stop?

“This.” Florence gestured around them to the overpriced restaurant full of people wearing overpriced outfits and laughing their fake laughs. “The expensive outings, the last-minute upgrades, tickets to see my favourite artists– these grand gestures, they're getting out of hand. I am eating lobster. Actual lobster. I didn’t even know lobster still existed outside of the old stories.”

They said it as calmly and politely as they could, but the feeling of dread in Bennie’s stomach still rolled into a ball of frustration. 

“I just want you to be happy–” Bennie said through gritted teeth. “If you want to slow down, we can slow down, watch a movie at my place, eat in, whatever you want–”

“I’m not your partner Bennie. And I never will be.”

“I know that.”

“Then why–”

“Because I love you!” Bennie said just loud enough to break through the cacophony of chatter that filled the spaces between all the circular velvet-blue dining tables. Enough gasps were let out by their fellow nosy patrons that the candlelight that filled the room noticeably dimmed, the light reflecting off their shining cutlery stopped moving across the walls, and the shadows the gasp produced framing both of their faces in a harsh light. 

“I love you, Flo…” Bennie whispered this time. “Even if you don’t love me back. Even if that's the case, can’t you just let me love you? Make you happy?”

Flo leaned back into their seat, arms crossed, too tired to be embarrassed.

“Of course– of course you can love me.” They said slow and careful. “But that's not the point. The point– The point is… that we can never be partners, and you need to move on… was that what you were going to tell me? That you loved me?”

“No.” Bennie said frankly. “I didn’t think I had to. Thought if I did enough of this–” They gestured around them at all the extravagance. “You’d know how I feel well enough. I mean– enough to get the point across.”

“What point?”

“That you’re loveable. That someone loves you. And that you don’t have to go into the matchmaking program. That you can find love on your own–”

“It’s tradition.” Flo caught them off before they could say something they’d regret.

“It’s barbaric.” Bennie countered back. “Selling yourself away like cattle–”

“I hope you didn’t just call me a cow.”

“Flo be serious.”

Bennie knew what the Program entailed. How families like Florence’s had relied on it for centuries since the Old World ended to provide them with sustainable partners. Partners best suited for their needs. Both financially, scientifically, and magically. The best blood getting paired up with the best blood in the hopes that one day what magic was lost in the old world could be brought back into their new world. And Bennie knew that as soon as Florence went away, as soon as they bonded their blood to someone other than Bennie, it was only a matter of time before they forgot about their relationship completely. 

Regardless of what their relationship was. Or could be.

“I can’t love you.” Flo repeated. “Not in that way. You know I can’t. I’m not– well–”

“I know you're not.” Bennie took their hand. “But if you're going to be paired up with someone random anyways, for the money, for the status, for the magic– if anyone is even strong enough to conjure it still–I mean if it’s all so specific, why can’t it also be with someone who loves you? It doesn’t have to be me. Everyone knows I don’t have a drop of the Shine in me. But it can be anyone. People can love you. Especially if you keep on shining like you do. It is possible.”

It was Florence's turn to be quiet now. The restaurant's chatter started picking up again after the patrons realised Bennie’s outburst was merely a snippet of a free preview for a movie unavailable to stream in their region.

“So what were you going to tell me?” Flo let go of Bennie’s hand. “That you think I can do better without the Program? Because we’ve gone over this a million times the matchmaking program exists for a reason, the perpetuation of magic in the human race in this economy, in the New World, is essential to–”

“I’m leaving.” Bennie interrupted as softly as they could. “That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

This time it was Flo’s turn to be confused.

“What? Where?”

“The Field.”

Now their candle nearly went out, Flo gasped so strongly.

“The Field!?” They whispered as loud as they could. “But that’s– I mean– it’s… it’s– so far. It’s in the ruins.” 

“I know.”

“And unreachable! Without any shine at all except for those abominations–I mean– Bennie! What happens if I need to call someone to tell them about my day?”

“You’ll find someone new.”

“Who will I send my daily smile videos to when I get bored?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if you need me? What if you want to rant about the latest drama-cast or sound-script or–”

“The Field doesn’t have any of that.” Bennie continued. “There isn’t any reception.”

“So if I want to talk to you, I'll have to, what? Write?”

Bennie shrugged, trying to imagine Flo balancing a pen between their soft fingers. It was a lot harder than imagining them still being together in a year. And that was a pipedream.

“But why? Why would you do this? You love it here.”

“I don’t love it here. I never have.”

“But you're always smiling.”

“When I’m with you, yes.”

Flo’s eyes widened.

“You really do love me, don’t you?” Bennie didn’t have to nod for them to know the answer was: Yes obviously. “Then please, stay.”

Florence tried to take their hand, but Bennie pulled away before it could happen. They knew if they let them take it, it would be all over. And they would stay because Flo had simply asked in a way that Bennie would have to accept. They had to stop this. Now.

“You asked why I’m leaving. And I'll tell you why.” Bennie leaned forward and took Flo's eyes in their gaze. “Every time I look at something, at someone, that I think could fill that gaping hole in my heart, that could fix me, make life here worth it, I stop. Because when I see you, when I see your light, you shine all over them, highlighting all of their imperfections. Making them unworthy of my affections. Making me unable to accept them. So I need to go. Somewhere you can’t reach me.”

“What are you saying? That this is my fault?” Florence raised their voice at them. “That you're willing to risk everything by taking on a job, a life, outside the Perimeter, into the Ruins, just because you can’t let go of me? Because I don’t love you back?”

Bennie didn’t deny any of it. All they said was:

“I just need a break. A break from us.”

“You can’t break up with me like this, we aren’t even a couple.”

“Well, we’re more than friends, aren’t we? Even if you pretend we’re not.” Bennie let go of their hand. “I’m going to the Field, end of story.”

Bennie made a move to get up, to pay for the dinner at the front counter rather than wait for the waiter to intrude on their awkward moment, but Florence grabbed their arm, stopping them where they stood.

“Bennie,” they said, their greenish brown eyes meeting Bennie’s icy grey. “Are you telling me you would rather be alone, than stay here, and be my best friend?”

Bennie pulled away from their grasp, Florence’s nails leaving red lines as they did so, before finally giving their reply.

“I’d rather be alone in the Field, than keep killing myself being alone with you.”

I don’t think being alone is going to kill me. 

The elements are doing that job well enough.

I knew the way to the Field was dark and dangerous. But I didn’t have enough cash for safe travel. I had spent it on all the non-dates I had with Flo. So working on an uncertified cargo ship delivering nearly illegal substances to those poor corrupted souls in the Field was my only passage.

It had been alright for a while. The work distracted me from my previous woes. 

My free time was spent sleeping rather than thinking about what I had left behind.

Thinking about Flo. About their stupid pretty laugh. About the way they talked through movies even at the theatre because they couldn’t help making jokes about the plot holes and inconsistencies. How they mistook spicy ramen for normal ramen and ate all of it anyway crying the whole way through it because we didn't have any milk left. How they were the first person who stayed when everyone else left me. How I left them. Because I couldn’t abide anyone else who wasn’t as imperfectly perfect as they were.

I definitely wasn’t thinking about any of that.

Not until we struck a mysterious sand bar in the dead of night that had disappeared as quickly as it had sprung into existence. 

I had heard of such happening before, people could never predict when or why it happened. Nature returning the favour, some people said, for what humanity had done. As if the shine disappearing from most of the population wasn’t bad enough. Still, after experiencing it all firsthand, I was certain now that they had been onto something. 

I also knew proper liners had precautions for such an event.

But this ship wasn’t in the dictionary next to proper. More like a few dozen pages later under the words rickety, rusty, and unreputable.

And now I was stuck in a lifeboat the shape of an oversized half of a fallen egg.

I had been here long enough that the nutrition recycler was acting up, and whatever toxins were beginning to accumulate in my system were making it hard to differentiate fact from fiction.

I could still remember my name. It was Beh– Beh– urgh. 

It definitely started with a B. 

And the other. The one who couldn’t love, wouldn’t love, because of their obligations. They were Flo? 

No, that can’t be right. 

Water flows. People don’t. But definitely an F.

B and F. BF. 

Biff? 

Were we Biff together?

I wasted my breath laughing at that one, a line from a movie drifting into the empty air around me.

So why don’t you make like a tree and get out of here?

I hadn’t seen trees in a while, and I wondered where they went.

I laid on my back, leaning backwards on the boat, watching the black and grey horizon shift upside to grey and black, and stared at the ocean surrounding me, once again wondering if trees still existed, or ever existed at all.

I felt like an adventurer, sailing the high seas in search of new continents.

There was a rhyme I heard once. What was it?

Christopher Columbus sailed the ocean blue in 1992?

That sounded about right. 

I couldn’t remember my name, but I could remember Christopher Columbus. They were some filmmaker or another back in the old world.

Back when the ocean was blue.

But my ocean was black. 

More than black. Inky. Like motor oil. Reflecting a million colours like soap bubbles catching sunlight.

I stretched out my hand below the boat and swirled my finger in the inky rainbow blackness, skimming the colours that floated on top.

In the mix of colours, I swore I could make out a face staring back at me. Two green and brown orbs in the centre, surrounded by strands changing from brown, to blonde, to red, and finally, back to black. I couldn't make out a smile, but they looked happy, wherever they were.

Stable. But dimmer than they should be.

I reached towards that face. 

But with every touch, the colours shifted, swirling the face into oblivion. A panic seized me then, and not knowing what else to do, I scooped the water from my ocean and drank my fill.

And for a second, I swear– I felt myself shine just a little bit brighter, igniting some hidden part of me I never knew existed. Before whatever light I never knew I had was snuffed out completely.