Clayton Phillips

Clayton Phillips | 32 | Physics Professor

[constance-young]

Tonight // Constance & Clayton

[constance-young]

Make a wish and when you close your eyes I will come to you

She wished that he would wish for the memories to come back, because a part of it was in his hands. Sure she could tell him their story, but until it made him remember that’s all it was. A series of words strung together to form a narrative. Just another sad story about a sad little girl that finally found someone to rely on. She wished  for too see his smile, she wished that he would hold her again, she wished that her Clayton would hum the song. He would hum it while rubbing her temples and kissing her forehead.

Constance didn’t notice the tears that were making paths on her cheeks, focused on the song. Her eyes were closed as she kept humming softly. Then over the soft music she heard something. She heard her name. Clayton was awake, looking up at her. With the hand that wasn’t holding his she wiped the tears and smiled. “Did I wake you?” She pulled her hand away from his, not wanting to scare him. There was a moment of hesitation before she fumbled with her phone to turn the song off.

[profclaytonphillips]

He decided to ignore the rivulets that ran down the valleys of Constance’s cheeks. Another time maybe he would have asked, would have inquired gently but not pressed.  But now, in the present, he remains mute but to shake his head and say “No. Of course not.” This felt so familiar, like he should recognize it, recognize her as more than just a concerned student (that also was not actually his student, persay). And in some corner of his mind, he did realize that, but it evaded him just so.

It was a second before he realizes what she was doing, what environment was built around him. And he reached out. Covering her fumbling hand with his with difficulty as the cast hampered his movement. His blue eyes met hers and he gave the tiniest shake of his head, barely a jerk. “Wait. Leave it on.”

[profclaytonphillips]

These things are not real. They are phantasmagoria. They were made by dreams, and now that no one is dreaming them any longer they are crumbling away.

Margret Atwood, Oryx and Crake

[constance-young]

Tonight // Constance & Clayton

[constance-young]

She felt his hand tighten around hers, and for some reason she was sure it wasn’t just a simple muscle reaction. Her thumb continued to run along his hand while the song played softly. 

Dream of morning’s golden light When you and I will leave the night …

And when the moon is high and bright, Stars will shine on you

Constance leaned down close to him and began to hum along with the music. Humming like he had to calm her, like she had to calm him. It was their song. If anything could bring him back to her it would be the song. The soft music filled up the quiet room, and it was calming her. The words reassured her. Odd that a simple song could bring her so much calm, whereas the words of doctors and nurses did nothing to make her comfortable. Clayton loved her once, even though he didn’t remember it anymore. But he would love her again, he had to. Her eyes locked on his face. Sleeping so soundly, no sign of nightmares. Constance was already pushing her boundaries, but she leaned down and kissed his forehead. Lingering for a moment before she pulled away.

[profclaytonphillips]

The Tibetan word was Bardo, the place between life and death, and he supposed that definition more closely matched the limbo he lay prone in when the Doctor induced his coma, but he also thought that perhaps dreams aren’t so far off either, because sleep is much like a temporary contract with death –supposed to be a good place to escape the things that haunt you in reality. Of course, that had always been different for him, for others with traumatic pasts, PTSD, the nightmares, the remembering. Sleep wasn’t a place to relax, it was a time to fear.

But he feels no fear now, because he’s somewhere in between sleep and wakefulness, aware of his surrounds, someone else there. It overlaps with some age old memory of his mother singing, and then a more recent one rises to the front of his brain, only somewhere he knows that their roles were reversed. He the one using the song as a tool to calm a girl down, to calm Constance down numerous times. That thread, he hadn’t had that thread before, and he clutched onto like a lifeline, following it and bringing up other memories. His office, tea, a rooftop, blood, bandages, a grey cat, a young boy, touch, physical touch without fear, breakfast, snow, cold, pain. Fragments, impressions and echoes of memories surfaced and flit away, but he thought that perhaps he understood that enigma of a girl that had visited him before.

There was no sign of the lingering dark mist of his nightmares, only the golden glow of happier memories, hazy with the echoes of angst, but yet still so important. Reality came to a halt around him, light filtering in red through his eyelids, and a hand in his.

He opened his eyes to familiar white sterile walls, and someone he feels shouldn’t be a stranger. Isn’t a stranger. “Constance.”

[constance-young]

Tonight // Constance & Clayton

[constance-young]

Watching him sleep reminded her of another moment that he had no recollection of. But at least this time he seemed to be more at peace. Constance hoped that he had been spared of nightmares now that he was awake, too afraid to ask him before today. Her thumb rubbed his hand softly, studying his face. He was the same person as before just missing a few pieces of the puzzle. 

To trigger a memory she needed some way to remind him, something that was stronger than just her telling him about the time he broke a cup. Or the couch in his office that he got for her. Seeing him in bed made it all click into place, her idea fueled by another memory. The first time he came to her rescue, after she got shot. He was able to calm her down so easily by humming a song. A song that then became extremely important to them. She remembered him kissing her forehead after he tucked her in. Then later how he hummed it over the phone when she was hiding in the bathroom. If there was something that might bring him back, it could be that.

After realizing how calm it made her she had downloaded it so she could fall asleep to it. So she pulled out her phone, but it on the pillow next to him, turned the volume down and let the song play. 

Can you hear the night’s deep song? All the shadows say Telling you when you’re asleep, Tears will fade away

[profclaytonphillips]

Clayton had never been the musical sort, sure there were those bumpy few years of piano and violin lessons back when his parents were alive, but those had been discontinued after their deaths, not that he had planned on taking them much longer anyways. He was rubbish at both, so it didn’t matter all that much. But his mother had been musical, perhaps the start of all that, and very good at it too. That was the only time he ever felt like she truly cared beyond the money and the riches, when she sang, because music has its own way of making emotions visible in the rise and fall of the notes.

Unknown to him, it was he who passed that song down to Constance, who in turn was using it to help him. Help him yes, but he didn’t know it was happening. All he knows is that the nightmare isn’t coming, kept at bay by some sweet sound that holds a familiar lilt of a lullaby his mother used to sing. He was grateful to have escaped the dark claws of his nightmares, but in a contradictory manner, he also despised the puzzling and confusing state his dreams took. They didn’t make any sense. He decides he doesn’t care.

Back in reality, his hand closes around Constance’s.

[constance-young]

Tonight // Constance & Clayton

After spending far too many hours researching coma’s, brain damage, amnesia, and how help regain memories, Constance decided she was ready to see Clayton again. She also decided that there would be no more holding back, that she would do whatever she could to make him remember. In her bag were pictures, books, even a list of important events that she would tell him about. All of it in a desperate attempt to make him remember something, anything. Every time Constance had sat next to his bed she was holding back because she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. But even if he didn’t remember, they were close. They were Constance and Clayton. They loved each other. So, him not knowing was no longer an option in her mind. He was going to remember. 

The hospital was all too familiar, for a moment her thoughts lingered on how much of her short life she had spent surrounded by the white walls of hospitals. Too much time for someone barely eighteen, and it was something that should make someone so sad but it was just another part of her life. Constance passed by familiar faces of doctors that all knew who she was. The little girl that couldn’t fix him, but tonight was the change. Tonight she would fix his brain. She would bring him back.

A deep breath was taken before she stepped into the familiar room, a smile spread across her face when she saw his sleeping body. Like this she could pretend that her existence hadn’t been erased from his brain. So, she took her spot in the chair and took his hand. It was odd to feel his touch again after all the time spent being scared of making him upset. It was odd to see his scars and know that he thought he needed to hide them from her. But tonight she would bring him back.

[profclaytonphillips]

Clayton didn’t know what to think of the girl called Constance. It was clear what his best friend though, and what his other friend he didn’t remember thought, but he didn’t know what to believe. Sure he didn’t think it was as dramatic as ben had led him to believe, nor as complicated as Atticus had tried to explain it, but in the end, he was left to figure out the tangled puzzle set before him. Love was the key, he was sure of that, and love didn’t necessarily have to be of the romantic nature, he of all people knew that, even if that was the conclusion everyone else jumped to. His gaze lingered on the closed door as she had left, considering the options, wondering if he really did want to remember. Did he want to remember? As he had told the girl, he wanted to know, but maybe not remember. It was much easier to know something happened but have no emotional attachment to it, even if he had starred in it. But isn’t that what he always told himself not to do? That the road of least resistance often led to somewhere worse, the easiest route is often not the spectacular one?

The thoughts pressed against the confinements of his brain, rubbing uncomfortably against each other, jumbling his puzzle up more instead of locking together pieces. He couldn’t see the big picture before him, how everything fit together. He could see the pitying glances in his direction, and in Constance’s too. The quite words of his nurse, Marissa as she brought him dinner, how the girl had been at his side and that he’s lucky to have her, only she doesn’t know that there’s a gap in his memories where this girl should be. The hospital food tasted awful as usual, but he ate the ash and sawdust tasting material before washing it down with metallic water. The lights were too harsh, the monitors too loud, everything just pressed and pressed down around him. So he drifted off to sleep, even if nightmares only waited there, because at least in the nightmares, things made sense.

[drbennash-deactivated20141115]

It is— I remember me time in t’e ‘ospital very ill-fondly. But when people were ‘ere t’at I knew, it made it all better. —n’ ya’ve been ‘ere fore’er. [looks around silently searching for a topic] Fuck it, what’s t’e ‘ospital gossip? 

[profclaytonphillips]

Maybe, but I've only been aware that I've been here for a few days now. The pros of being in a coma, I suppose. [rises an eyebrow] Gossip? Not much, to be honest. I only get visits from the one taking care of me and the doctor. I don't hear an awful lot.

[drbennash-deactivated20141115]

If ya would likes come privacy, I can go, mate. 

[profclaytonphillips]

Honestly, it's nice to talk to someone who isn't a compete stranger.

[drbennash-deactivated20141115]

Well, always. Me last one is tamorrow— I’ve just got two more questions left ta write fer it. I kinda fucked meself o’er on t’em fer writing a different one fer e’ery class. But ya know, e’ery group o’ students as a collection is different. —Wait, ‘re ya kickin’ me out? 

[profclaytonphillips]

Of course not. I'm being a concerned friend.

[drbennash-deactivated20141115]

No, ya did. T’ank ya. 

[profclaytonphillips]

Well that's good. Don't you have some finals to be perfecting?

[drbennash-deactivated20141115]

[shrugs] I don’t know. I know what I want ta do, but I don’t know. 

[profclaytonphillips]

Well, I hope I helped to some degree.

[drbennash-deactivated20141115]

[plops back in his chair defeated cause he knows clayton is correct, and mumbles some noise that isn’t super english, probably irish] 

[profclaytonphillips]

[laughs] So, have you reached your conclusion?

[constance-young]

Bye for now. [waves goodbye]

[profclaytonphillips]

[smiles at her] Bye.

[drbennash-deactivated20141115]

T’at’s what a lot o’ people’re sayin’ —‘owe’er, ‘m fairly certain t’at t’e world ‘asn’t changed. [laughs]

[profclaytonphillips]

Fair enough, but you should still go --just to make sure.

[constance-young]

I’ll be back, in a few hours probably.

[profclaytonphillips]

That sounds fine.

[constance-young]

Okay. What time?

[profclaytonphillips]

I'll leave that up to you.

[drbennash-deactivated20141115]

Why do ya t’ink t’at? —If ya don’t mind me askin’. 

[profclaytonphillips]

Of course not. I think you should go, it's always been what you do, and it's one of the things you love. She's be here when you come back, the world could change.

[constance-young]

I’ll see you later.

[profclaytonphillips]

[smiles] Okay.