Tears in the Dark

She held out her paws, palms up, pleading to get anything from him, “I-I, c-can’t believe… that …that this… doesn’t bother y-you.” She was doing everything she could to not outright sob.

“Everything we’ve been through?” Her chest heaved as she had to catch her breath, “All… all those long t-talks we had over the phone while you were at the academy.” ‘sniffle’ “Two years working… together, as partners and best friend… as my only real friend.”

She looked at him to see if that made a difference but he only continued to focus on her, as if she was explaining a case in the overly complicated way she often does.

“I-I always knew you meant more… were more. But I admitted to myself,” she turned away from him now, using the same red neckerchief he had once given her that she cherished as one of her prize possessions to dry her eyes, “I admitted that it was more. That I loved my partner. Loved him more than a friend… more than a stupid crush… so don’t even think that.”

She turned on him with a mix of anger and sadness that made her glassy eyes deeply sparkle, and for some reason that is all he could think of, at the moment… or all he would allow himself to. “I was sure, a-after everything, I thought I knew you. I thought…” her words drifted off as she shook her head then tried to compose herself. “Just an emotional dumb bunny as you always say.”

“You know I don’t ever mean that…”

“I-I think… I think you need to go. I really need t-to figure… figure this all out and… um the train for the Burrows is at eight A.M.”

She looked at him as he got off her bed. She decided to make one more effort for any kind of reaction. “I think… maybe you shouldn’t go with me. I know we had this time planned. I-I know it was…” the tears began to flow again, “I-I just can’t have you… near me… for an entire week, with my family, hoping I would be introducing them to… to the mammal I-I lo…” and she just could not say it any longer with him just looking at her with no reaction. She would rather have the teasing. “Please, j-just leave. I’ll see you… um… after I… when we get back to work.” But she ended her statement more like a question.

She watched him as he stood up. Though his ears had pinned back, though his tail was not swaying, he reached for her and with his dark russet paw, he wiped away her tear from her eye. Yet even though he looked so sad, his own cheek she reached for remained dry. It was all she needed to confirm the sorrowfulness of her unrequited love.

She handed him his neckerchief and opened the door to her small apartment. He held it there, turning it over in his paws trying to think of anything to say. She moved away from her open door and he left. No more words were spoken.

Early the next morning he waited on the outbound platform for the train to the Burrows with more anxiety than he had ever felt in his entire young life as a street wise hustling con-fox or even under the crushing glare of his imposing boss at the ZPD. He couldn’t let her leave the way things were… couldn’t let her go without letting her know how important she was to him. So he had been pacing the concourse since half past five A.M.

She was always early. He believed she must run, skip or hop everywhere she goes. Yet when he saw her barely dragging her suitcase with one missing caster it almost broke his heart, not that he would show it. The train had already blown its first boarding warning whistle when he approached her.

“Why… why are you here? I told you… I mean I would love to have you come if…” her eyes showed a glimmer of hope that he had found within himself the feelings for her she had expressed. But as her ears drooped and she began to turn toward the train she knew she had been mistaken in thinking it was possible.

“Please wait… just, just for a moment.”

“I-I have to go.” Her tears had begun flowing again.

He knelt down, “You know nothing has changed. You are the most important mammal in my life. Nothing has to change…”

“Everything will change… has changed. How do I get by everyday knowing you don’t feel the same? You don’t even seem to care how much this is ripping me apart. I mean I always took your aloofness as part of that long time mask you created to protect yourself… I get it. But we have always been honest. Now it just seems cruel.” She rubbed the tears from her own eyes, “I never expected you to be this cold when I opened up my heart to you like this… and… and, it just hurts.”

“I, I can’t be what you…”

“What? What can’t you be?” and she was left with a sealed envelope in her paws as he turned away from her so quickly it felt like that first meeting on that day she caught him after he had hustled her out of twenty bucks for a jumbo pop. She looked up from the tear stained envelope but he was gone. Not even a tail to follow. The train whistle blew its final boarding call and she turned to get on. Just before the doors closed she looked at the sealed letter again. It was wet with tears… with tears… but not hers!

~~#~~

This part of Happytown had revitalized after Zootopians had seen what the former Mayor Bellwether and her cohorts had been doing to make predators savage. All the plans that ewe had put forth within various parts of city government to make predator life more difficult were now made clear and the majority of good mammals cried out to reject them. As the city council poured deserved funding into the area, the inner part of the Happytown Borough, near the canal that separated the old predator majority district from downtown, now became known as the Zoho District; with its charming old row houses, turn of the century architecture and family owned diners, delis, and stores. Mammals of all types gathered in the street level shops and boutiques, unique art galleries and coffee shops.

Off the small alleyways, over a stone bridge, down the street from the former fox owned clothiers shop Suitopia, just off a small connecting canal for the part of the adjacent Rain forest runoff, was a small cantina. It was a special sanctuary you could say. A place for small predators to be both themselves and be anonymous. It was a creative sanctuary, where those that had survived the worst this city had given them came to express themselves using poetic verses. It was as they say, where the cool cats hung out and the canids could howl soulfully, if they kept it within limits. It was a place as unique as it was difficult to find, and that was the point.

It was along this narrow canal walked a gray rabbit wearing hip hugging denim shorts over fishnet stockings, white cutoff t-shirt that showed her midriff, a sharkskin leather jacket, and dark Zayban tortoise shell frame sunglass with black silk scarf bandana tied in an Updo to cover her ears. In her back pocket just peeking out was the corner of a well-read note she had just placed there to make sure she still had it, after checking for the sixth time on her journey and reading it every time.

She was supposed to be on her way to her family’s farm. A place where rabbits dominated the landscape and rarely did you see a predator, let alone a fox… though there was one. Now she was making her way to an enclave known for small predators to gather, and foxes known to skulk about in groups if the rumors were true. It was only her familiarity with the one she sought that allowed her stealth amongst these back alleys of ne'er-do wells. She saw her destination at paw as the tip of the tail she knew so well, though hidden mostly under a dark trench coat, disappeared into the darkened brick archway to an old oak door, laden with years of claw marks around the heavy cast iron handle.

The paw made sign over the darkened door was quite old and well crafted. The name paw carved with artistry: Welcome weary sojourners to The Gekkering Stave. Though the establishment was one never mentioned by anyone she knew.  It had the smell of an old tavern; the heady and bready scent of malty dark ales behind a rich layer of well-aged tobacco, like the smell of her grandfather’s pipe when she would sit in his lap as a child. The lighting was kept dim like some old hidden speakeasy or taproom her partner would romance about when he regaled her about his youth. By the looks of the patronage, you would think it was a bohemian beatnik café with hipsterdom jazz music, playing only loud enough to give the montage of conversations a backdrop of color.

~~#~~

The vulpine sipped his bourbon and reread his poem one more time. The paper had many scratched-out words with a new one or two written above or below. He had written a clean version, as he usually does, but that one was given as a message… given though not as a message of hope or get well soon. Given, not as a message of friendship, though it was intended within. Nor was it given as a poetic expression of love as one would most expect for such effort. As he thought about it, for what he had done to its intended, it was probably a cowardly attempt to let down someone who just had professed their heartfelt desire to him.

But the fox was not only an artist, but a realist within his pain. His poetic verses had become the only way he could express the truth of what he knew… what the world knew… such happiness was not intended for foxes to share with someone so wonderful as her. After all, what could he offer but the stigma of the most ill-trusted predator even with the settling of the aftermath of Bellwether’s hate toward his kind being shown to the entire populace? They may feel sorry for foxes, or weasels or even skunks, but to consort with such of their kind was still just unheard of in civilized society. Still, he had never shared his feelings with anyone that knew him or he allowed himself to know in such a way that he had become so vulnerable.

It was in this hidden boutique that a fox or other predators like him could share the suffering they had endured through poetic verse or soulful song and leave it there then drift away anonymously. And as he probably would not see… her… again, he would share this one last poem… one last bloodletting of his soul, then move on… from her.

The wolf at the microphone stand finished his words as his brother quieted his sorrowful low howling. A silver fox came to the mic after a bit of silence. “Thank you, Larry,… and you Garry. What do we think of,” he pointed both paws at the wolves, ‘I Will Howl No More, Forever ‘?”

A thin black timber wolf wearing a tie-dye dashiki shirt and white linen flowing bell bottom pants, stood up and raised his glass towards the two other wolves. “Dudes, I… I don’t think I can ever howl without thinking… I mean really thinking… what it reduces us wolves to. You really have opened my eyes.”

There were random claps as chairs moved so Larry and Garry could work their way back to their table. The Silver fox looked over to a booth in the far corner and waited for a nod then nodded back. Okay my fellow malcontents. We have one of our regulars back with us after a long hiatus. Welcome back Piberious Red…

The applause as it was, remained short, but artistically respectful. The silver moved out of the overhead light as a red fox sat on the stool in front of the microphone stand. His looks were typical of his species and similar to many of the patrons of this establishment , a threadbare dark green trench coat with patches on the sleeves, a nice pair of khaki chinos and finally dark aviator style glasses to hide his not so typical emerald green eyes.

~~#~~

Piberious took out the well-worked draft, then proceeded to unfold it. Its fibers visibly beginning to rip at the creases from the folds. He scanned it over as if not sure it was correct then laid it with his palm on his lap as he cleared his throat. He only glanced into the dark space to see the attentive eyes of his audience for a brief moment, not even sparing enough time to connect with even mere strangers though brothers and sisters from the same world of misunderstood pain.

He looked at his ragged script one more time. “I wrote this for a…” looking down, “someone… a friend. A friend I… I hurt, because she couldn’t understand the life of a fox. And I… I couldn’t trust… trust anyone… not even her, enough to tell her.”

Glancing up he saw nods of understanding and whispers of conversations between his fellow predators.

Keeping his eyes in a focus beyond his audience he began…

Don’t remember when, maybe I was nine or ten,
           so tired of the world that only saw a shifty fox

I looked for shelter from the rain, under a bridge
           cried tears in the dark in a moldy cardboard box

I used to see my mother, so strong, so tall.
             A vixen the world had not the demons to rattle.

Yet in the night I have seen her broken, so small,
            crying lonesome tears to reruns of Sleepless in Zooattle.

Away from her kit’s eyes, her pain so raw and stark
              she only wanted to give me love… warmth… happiness,

so… she saved her sadness… to weep tears in the dark.

I left my heart that day, in that box, under a stone scaffold,
            and as I stuck my tail in the wind,

Upon that very bridge, every tear I took hold.
           … I chose to never cry another tear again.

He paused to take a sip of the bourbon. Then set now empty glass on the stool next to him.
The well folded paper crinkled in his paw. He found his place and began again…

It may just be a silly mantra,
           from a fox who had taken a painful wound

Just the statement of a jaded kit  
            turned into a childhood croon.

But if the world only wanted to see
            such a sly and shifty fox,

I would never let them see they get to me
            …and give them a fox, who locked his heart in a box.

…And only shed tears in the dark.

So long I have locked my heart from pain,
            resolved to what the fur I’ve been cursed.

It’s not that your affection gifted in vain,
            or I’ve come to such revelation unrehearsed.

I will always consider you, my best friend, rabbit.
           Of that I hope… you know, is true.

Nay shedding tears for a fox, such a horrible habit;
            helpless as I am to shed a tear in return for you.

Live your life, find love, raise a family,
           And on this I swear my words you can mark.

I’ll save my smile each day willingly,
           and live with the tears shed in the dark.

He lowered his head and gently folded the paper as if it were precious to him. No sound was made in the entire room, not even from the host or the bartender who was leaning over the bar on his elbows, his melancholy muzzle looking past Piberius with eyes of relatable kinship.

The silver moved into the light and took the mic and asked in an almost quiet monotone, “So what say you all for… um ‘Tears In The Dark’?”

There was movement at the far end of the bar in the dark. Too dark to see the species of the mammal. “I'll tell you what I think.” You could only see her black finger gloved paws stir her drink, in the soft light directly over the bar counter, “ I think… he lied,”  the silhouette of a paw pointing at the fox could be seen but the sultry voice’s owner remained hidden, “you liar!.”

The crash of crystal tumblers onto the old worn wood floor broke the stunned silence, as everyone looked at the skunkette waitress wrap her tail around herself. She cleaned up what she could onto her serving tray then ran through the single stall ladies’ restroom door; the rickety sound of the overhead exhaust fan coming on then muffled by the door slamming shut.

All eyes shifted toward the fox still within the small lit area over the stool on the small stage, but the fox was now standing. His head pushing forward, eyes squinting to see beyond the light above him head toward his detractor.

“Moi, a liar?” he had a paw on his chest, “How dare you. Do not judge true artistry if you know not it’s pain from whence it springs forth.”

“Hummmph.” Came the sarcastic rebuttal of the mysterious stranger.  “What pain? Sounds like you were offered a heavenly thesis but chose to wallow in a scared kit’s past. Unless, more likely,  it’s just a slick hustle and it’s all made up. Probably took the words of a Pawmark card and just changed 'em up a bit.”

Scandalous gasp seethed from the small audience. You could hear chairs scraping on the old floor so the witnesses of this contention could adjust their viewing to a more adaptable position as all muzzles turned from the critic and toward the fox on the small stage.

The fox dug claws into his chest, as if to rip out his own soul, “You mock me now. Mock my pain. On the memoria of my great-great uncle Pawscar Wilde.”

More gasp amongst the conflux of gathered orators. They turn united in outrage against the slander towards their fellow poet.

The critic stepped forward, unswayed and determined, “I say it is y-you… you mock others' pain like a thief. A sly shifty thief. You take their gashed emotions as your virtue to fill your own pride.”

How would the poet respond… a severe challenge to his integrity?

He still could not see her, she was obviously masking her voice. The short hitch in her words almost unveiled her disguise. He put a paw over his eyes to block the light above his head and it was… enough to reveal her… but more so unmasks him. Just one glint… a drop of moisture before it was wiped away… one glistening tear on a pure orb of deep amethyst.

That tear stripped him bare as he lowered his muzzle, “A fox is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.”

Many in the audience strained to hear, but the detractor let an ear come out of her scarf. “Is that from your father?” Her words were softer.

He shook his muzzle, “Something a poet once said. True then as it is for foxes today.” Piberious raised his tumbler to the audience, “I stand by my words… My pain… what would prey know of such things.”

“Here here.” Glasses clinked, conversations began, Larry and Garry almost started to howl. The scarf came off and two ears came up rigid and angered. A hind foot began thumping hard enough to shake the tables.

“A bunny in a box!” Her tumbler flew past the ducking fox.

“Carrots!”

“You told me I would end up under a bridge… my dreams broke.”

“Judy.”

All now, unwillingly, or not, jurors in judgment, shifted muzzles from defendant to prosecutor as the rabbit moved through the smokey tribunal.

“Your words you once spoke and those now… if spoken behind a mask they must be true. You said I would be missing my box… a bunny in a box.”

“I… I was…”

“You thought I was some dumb bunny. Don’t lie fox… Made me your tool.
Thought my dreams were just funny. Marooned me in wet cement like a fool.”

A hush went through the justices. Indignant eyes looked toward the fox. The scent of the cigars became bitter. The clink of the ice cubes adjusting uncomfortably in the empty glass in his paw clang through his head. His maw lay open and felt dry as the Palms Hotel parking lot on a Sunday morning.

The critic, the prey, the victim, who was she now and did it matter as she moved forward. “Yet… you fought for me. You changed your life for me. You showed me my mistakes and helped me grow.” 

The rabble calmed. Rolled torches snuffed out in crystal trays.
Heads twisted in confusion. Anticipation cleared through derisive haze.

The mic was set down next to his tumbler on the stool. It looked as if the fox was going to run as he looked away… away from the ‘thems’ of the world that made him who he was. Away from the hurt in those amethysts eyes.

He watched his own tear disappear into darkness through a knothole in the old wood floor…
disappear into the dark… one tear, then another, ..tears into the dark.

Of course, she was here… as she is who she is, she followed him through that darkened door.
He settled his fate upon his weary haunches, “I-I am… just a fox, nothing more.”

His final testament. The evidence that every muzzle nodded solemnly in accord,
… but one.

Her voice was honey, poured over a bitter pill, “Rabbits are told… the world will be your enemy. But you chose to be my friend… my partner. Does wanting more than that need to be wrong?”

The script fell from his paw and settled to the floor as he lowered to his eyes.
It’s penwork ruined… washed from the page by newly shed tears… tears no longer shed hidden in the dark.

 A clean codex of his work laid over the ruined draft… two silver paws lifting wet furrowed red cheeks.
A gloved silver paw wiped one more tear then gently settled over his heart…

“I do not care if you need to hide your tears. I know who you are in here, fox.
If you need to hide your fear, your bunny will find you… under a bridge or in a box.” 

“…but…”

Her lips ended his rebuttal… ended even more…

Tear wet whiskers now mingled.
More than one empty glass tingled…

as salty tears melted away ice crystal cubes…
melted away doubt, or fright. 

No more would a fox and rabbit singularly weep tears.
Was once shed by day one hidden by lonely night.

That evening the tears would hold no sting of past fears.
They lay in the arms of the other though tears may contort their sight.

… as one held the other, unashamedly they shared joyful tears in the dark.