chapter fifteen
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
interlude: from the outside looking in
chapter eleven
chapter twelve; part one
chapter twelve; part two
chapter thirteen
interlude: a long stretch of present
And with dreams, with the tick of the clock, with the grains of sand, in sleep and waking, in the rotation of the Earth on axis and three hundred and sixty five point two five days in a year; with snowmelt and phone calls and revivals and this is the ten o’clock news and words and lyrics and midnight and the watercolour sunset and the inhale exhale of each moment; with these, time passes.
-
They wake up the same way they always do, held close, heartbeats closer, their hands almost touching.
-
Clare comes again, as she always does.
But this time, it’s not as always.
“Kurt, I had a phone call a few days ago. Do you remember when we went to that conference with Professor Buckham?”
“Vaguely.”
“Well, one of the researchers there, Doctor Cuningham, she wrote a book based on her time in research, about the cases she came across. And Blaine was included, as you’d expect. And someone from the BBC - the TV company - phoned her. And she directed them to Professor Buckham, who in turn, directed them to me. They’re interested in making a documentary. About Blaine, or David, as he’s referred to in the book.
“It was the music that interested him the most. Blaine’s retained ability. He wants to know how much Blaine can still remember, while following his day-to-day life as well. He mentioned that he had a few ideas about what he could do, but he wants to know if you’d consent to me giving him your details for him to consult further with us all. What do you think?”
“Do you have a copy of the book? I’d like to be able to read it, to know what they understand of Blaine before I can say yes, or no, for that matter. I don’t want to do anything to distress him anymore, make him upset, especially when the last few months have been so good. Before then, before I read it, I can’t say.”
“I understand. Professor Buckham has a copy. I’ll get her to send it your way.”
-
The package arrives three days later - The Promise of Within: Notes from inside the brain, by B. Cuningham.
The cover is oddly beautiful, a pastiche of letters, cream-creased paper, the ink an alarming blue, and the title in a clean serif font.
From the contents, Kurt can’t work out which chapter is about Blaine.
Instead, he waits until Blaine goes to bed that evening, settles on the sofa with a glass of wine and begins to read instead.
-
The book is prefaced with a quotation:
...When I awoke at Midnight, not knowing where I was, I could not be sure at first who I was; I had only the most rudimentary sense of existence, such as may lurk and flicker in the depths on an animal’s consciousness; I was more destitute of human qualities than the cave-dweller; but then the memory not yet of the place in which I was, but of various other places where I had lived, and might now very possibly be, would come like a rope let down from heaven to draw me up out of the abyss of not-being, from which I could never have escaped by myself: in a flash I would traverse and surmount centuries of civilisation, and out of a half-visualised succession of oil-lamps, followed by shirts with turned-down collars, would put together by degrees the component parts of my ego.
- Proust, Swann’s Way
Kurt sighs, sinking further back into the cushion as he downs the rest of his glass.
-
In the end, it isn’t what he’d predicted at all. Instead, it’s an incredibly interesting snapshot at the various facets of the human mind.
The background is fascinating; the cases of Henry Molaison, Chris Sizemore, Scott Bolzan, Herbert Graf, every fact and detail she learnt on her original course that drew her into the field, helped her find her speciality. And then comes the new things, the new people who help her to slowly part the folds of tissue and gain a small glimpse of what’s underneath.
There’s the twisted, the shattered, the expanded, the split -
There’s the woman who “spoke in jigsaw pieces that only her mind could solve.”
And there’s the man for whom “new memories melted like snow alighting on warm ground, leaving not a trace of meaning behind.”
The human brain, stretched to the very limits of its existence.
-
Kurt’s not sure whether to ask Blaine or not.
Blaine, as he knew Blaine, would be happier than anything to take part.
But new Blaine - as Kurt still thinks of him after these years - is unpredictable. Changeable. One day, he’d say yes before his heart could beat, and on another, he would break down, and on yet another, might have even caused physical injury. He thinks back to Clare asking about the conference, and this would be different. This is on a much bigger scale.
-
“This producer - would he be able to speak with me?”
Later that day, Clare has them in touch.
-
“We have some ideas. But it was the love of music that intrigued me the most. The fact that he can still do that - it’s amazing.”
“What kind of ideas?”
“I think the one we would like to go with, if we can sort it out, and if you’ll agree to it, is to have Blaine - Ms Buckham noted he used to conduct the school choir? Well, we’d like to see if he can still do that. He’s not conducted since his illness, right?”
“No, no, he hasn’t.”
“Are you okay, Mr Hummel? You sound a little shocked.”
“Yes, sorry. Just not what I’d expected.”
“Would that be okay?”
“I would think so. I don’t know if we can consent just yet. I don’t know if you know what Blaine’s temperament is like. It changes. A lot. One day he’ll be fine with it, and the next day, he won’t want anything to do with it.”
“I knew that was a risk with the idea. But it’s whether you think the two of you can do it.”
“I think - I think we could.”
-
It takes the time to organise everything. Even with the school more than happy to hear their Mr Anderson will be coming back in some capacity, they have to arrange a time and a time-scale, accommodation for the film maker and the cameraman in an arrangement they’d come to so as not to disrupt Blaine too badly, and in the end Kurt manages to acquire two new house-guests for two months.
“We’ll be able to observe Blaine at home as well as within the school,” they’d said.
-
They arrive in September, weighed down with equipment and whatever else it is that they need.
“Who are you?” Blaine asks, with that same, bright, childish curiosity.
“You must be Blaine. My name’s James, and this is Matt.” Matt waves from beside him. “We’re here to do some filming.”
“Of Kurt? Kurt likes performing. He’s amazing.”
“No. Actually, we wanted to film you, Blaine?”
“Why? I’ve been ill. I’ve only just woken up. Is it because I was ill?”
“Yes. But Kurt tells me that you’re also a very talented musician. Could we hear you play?”
“I’ve been ill. I’ve never played a note in my life.” Kurt notes the shadow that passes through James’ eyes.
“Can you have a go for us anyway, Blaine? It would be nice to show our guests if you could try.”
-
There’s not enough chairs in the music room, and Kurt ends up perched on Finn’s old drum stool as Blaine settles at the piano.
Despite Blaine’s protestations, he plays for them, as he always does, slips away into isolation.
The applause as he finishes his piece startles him.
“Who are you? Why are you here?”
-
It takes them a week just to get settled, before they start to even consider Blaine returning to school.
It’s a week full of can we just get a quick shot of the two of you walking together? Or would it be okay to film Blaine playing? And could the two of you just lie down together outside for a few moments? We won’t be long, doesn’t matter that it’s cold, just make it sweet and romantic for us.
-
Over the week, they receive a number of voicemails from old colleagues, those who’ve stayed long enough to remember the old Blaine, who miss the old Blaine, who somehow still think that it’s the old Blaine coming back.
-
Finally decided to stop that doctors and nurses game after all these years and hand Blaine back to us? Thank you, Kurt! We can’t wait to see you guys again.
It’ll be lovely to see you both again. Even if you’re not properly teaching any more, it will just be nice for you to be back. I’m just glad you’re finally feeling a little better. See you soon!
Ahh, the beloved Mr Anderson is coming back to show himself to a whole new bunch of students - no, not show yourself in that way. Kurt won’t be too pleased at that. Let them all have their hopeless, adorable little crushes on you. Who knows, maybe that old good-lookin’ charm has worn off since we last saw you? We’ll just have to wait and see!
-
Blaine’s getting restless. Anxious.
The piano needs retuning and the cello strings are worn and the drum kit remains untouched; the only real music left to them is singing.
It’s even harder now that, for some reason, they’re needing to use the room more often.
They’ve chosen a few pieces for Blaine to work on with the choir; My True Love Hath My Heart, Catch a Falling Star, and, at Kurt’s request, Candles. Each one tainted with their own beauty, a chimerical magic to their melodies.
-
and someday you will get back
everything you gave me
teach me to hear mermaids singing
and find what wind serves to advance an honest mind
my heart was wounded with his wounded heart
for as from me on him his hurt did light
They sing through each daily, together, going through the harmonies, careful not to fall prey to the demand characteristics of the camera watching them, catching each thing they miss.
-
Kurt wakes up to Blaine jumping on the bed.
“Hey, Kurt, Kurt, it’s snowing, look, Kurt!”
He shifts up slowly, rubs the last remains of sleep from his eyes, leaves the safety of the covers.
Sure enough, looking outside, the ground is soft and untouched and fairytale-white.
“Blaine, come and look over here,” he calls, getting him down from the bed.
“It’s so pretty, the snow,” Blaine whispers, reaching his arms around Kurt’s neck and leaning against his shoulder. Kurt smiles.
-
...Can the two of you just walk together? Hold hands, yes, that’s right. Turn around, look at each other, kiss - yes, oh, that’s beautiful. Now, when you’re ready, pull away. Blaine, put your arms around Kurt’s neck and just smile....
“Why?”
-
When Kurt wakes, the other side of the bed is cold.
It takes him a moment to realise exactly what it means.
Blaine.
It’s 04.26, and Blaine’s not in the bedroom. Not in the bathroom. Nor on the landing, in the kitchen, the living room, the music room - nowhere.
“James, Matt, I’m so sorry to have to wake you, but Blaine’s gone missing. I need your help to search for him. He’s not in the house, probably outside, and in this snow, I don’t know where he might be. Please, help me.”
-
In the end, they’re all in coats, pyjama pants and slippers as they leave through the front door, their footsteps from earlier glaring just as brightly as a set Kurt’s sure must be Blaine’s, but they don’t know which is which so they can’t say where Blaine’s gone and the creeping creeping skickness and terror is slowly twisting in his stomach like poison ivy because where is he Blaine Blaine oh God please Blaine
And he’s not in the garden and he’s not on the driveway and so he must be by the road oh fuck and with the torchlight he can see a shape but it’s over the other side and he’s calling Blaine Blaine and the silhouette looks up and yes it’s Blaine curled up against the bark of a tree by the hedgerow across the road and he’s in his underwear and shivering and crying and terrified and Kurt doesn’t even look before crossing just runs and takes Blaine in his arms and he’s freezing and fragile but he’s safe now.
“I just woke up, Kurt. Where am I? Everything hurts.”
-
All three of them help to get Blaine inside, Kurt lifting him in his arms. Blaine clings to Kurt’s jacket, his face buried into the folds of material while his husband whispers soft nothings to him in an attempt to soothe him.
Once inside, they work quickly to cover Blaine with blankets, duvets, coats, as many layers as they can find, and James brings them all coffees in an attempt to get them all warmed up again. Blaine’s shivering slowly subsides, but he curls inwards, each little vertebrae raised, completely lost.
“Please, please, it hurts.”
Kurt, James and Matt exchange looks.
“Hurting’s a good sign though, right? It means there’s no frostbite or anything, I think.”
“We should get him to hospital, though. Shall I ring nine-one-one for you, Kurt?”
“Please,” Kurt whispers breathlessly. “I can’t leave him right now.”
As if to affirm, Blaine seizes Kurt’s shirt, pulls him closer, looking so panicked and helpless and wrecked that Kurt just wants to cry.
“I’m not leaving you, Blaine. It’s okay. I’m here, sweetheart.”
James goes to the phone, and when he returns, Kurt is beneath the covers with Blaine, his arms around him and humming softly into his hair while Blaine continues to shake.
-
They’re in the ER an hour later, Blaine hooked to a saline drip and, his eyes closed, treading the edge of sleep. Kurt’s next to him, another coffee in his hands; it’s just gone six a.m. and he can’t sleep, not after what’s happened, so he might as well try and stay awake.
-
Later that day, they test Blaine’s hands and feet for frostbite; none found.
But the scream he makes when they’re placed in lazy-steaming water and the way the skin burns vermillion will haunt Kurt for the rest of his life, something not even a “shh, Blaine, it’s okay,” or a soothing hand on a back or kiss on a neck or an “it’s almost over, sweetheart, you’ve been so brave,” will assuage.
And that’s not even the worst.
The worst is when your husband turns to you and asks “why does it hurt so much?” because he doesn’t even know why this pain is being thrown on him.
chapter sixteen