SQN - Sine Qua Non - Issue Two - Journal - Page 91
beyond a wing of curtains—a massive stoner, stoned right now, that was why she was so
good at strumming those mellow bossa chords and looking moony; she was the one who
was rolling joints at the last cast party, ergo: someone worth keeping in touch with after this
production was over—Darius knew in the truest sense that the character of the guitar girl was
gone for good. He let himself feel that and show it on his face.
He turned slowly back to the front door of the small house where Dr. Luz stood in the
doorframe, watching it all happen. He spread his arms, extending his cape like wings. “And
then it was over.”
The doctor's office slowly became illuminated again. He and Dr. Luz approached one
another, found their marks where they shared the conjoined beams of two spotlights.
“You don't have a fever,” she said. “You're just a heartsick romance addict.”
Even though it wasn't in the script, he held the back of his hand to his forehead as if
checking his temperature. “Moon,” he muttered, glancing at the golden disc above them.
“You're just the moon. The moon. That's what you are—the moon.”
Uncertain chuckles from the audience. These words weren't in the script. His forehead
really was hot and sticky. He was winded from all the swirling and dancing, and the exertion
had scattered his attention. Maybe it had something to do with all the weed he'd been
smoking at the afterparties, how much fun he'd been having. And this actress, this 'Dr.
Luz'—was there a pheromones thing happening here? Maybe their connection was real and
not just a concoction of the script they were following. And then a quick spike of panic as he
realized he was off-script and lost. What was his next line? What had she just said?
She watched him with a flicker of annoyance. “I'm not the moon, I'm a doctor,” she
said with a crossness that was both in character and genuine. She repeated his cue. “And you,
you're just a lovesick romance addict.” Voiceless, she mouthed, You're a moth.
“No, I'm a moth,” he said, full-voiced again. Back on track. “I'm just doing what moths
do.”
Christ, that was almost really bad.
She crossed her arms in her lab coat, shook her head. “What you need is a psychologist
who can uncover the patterns in your behavior, or the triggers, or the deep-seated insecurities
that drive your shit, this-this constant search for validation or whatever.”
“Is that an official diagnosis, doctor?”
“Of course not. I'm just a slightly-better-than average-looking optometrist.” She waved
around her waiting room. “I can't help you with any of that psychology stuff.”
Darius shook his head. Behind Dr. Luz, over her head, the sign began to glow again.
It was no longer the moon, it had returned to its original image of a monocle encircling a
large, round eye with a blue iris. Its glow was honey-gold, like a full moon just risen above the
horizon. “You don't understand,” he said. “Only you can help me.”
Sharing their spotlight beam, she stared up into Darius's face. In the chaos, her hair
had come out of its bun and now lay in glossy waves across her shoulders. She removed her
chunky glasses and her eyes glinted with challenge. He met her gaze, inches away, and felt
the thing buzzing between their actual human bodies. An energy, a little sizzle of connection,
as real as anything. Pheromones, for real. He could see that she felt it too. It made her face
seem to glow from within, and he was certain that the light of her face could be seen from
the back row, the way she radiated it out of herself. That was why she'd gotten this part: her
radiation. Was she doing it on her own, or was she reacting to the genuine thing that was
buzzing between them? And did it matter?
Softly, she said, “Why would you come to me when I don't have what you need?”
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