03-07-2018, 01:00 PM
Beto's head was relaxed against the soft cushion of his seat on the plane. Overall, he rather enjoyed flying- just as he did riding the subway or standing in a line or being in a crowd, when he had to do them. The very process of cramming strangers together in close proximity somehow had a curious effect- people huddled in on themselves, became aware of physical space and boundaries. The became quiet and invisible. For the most part, anyway. There was always the boor who insisted on stretching out, heedless of everyone around him; the overly chatty person who demanded to engage with everyone, as if they were all old friends.
Insecurity, really, both behaviors. And so was the huddling and ignoring, he knew.
But at least when they did that they left him alone. He could allow his face to relax to a neutral state, didn't have to talk or anticipate what was expected of him. Instead, he could watch and study, observe people and their reactions. Or he could think on the problems before him, the cases or arguments or strategies that were part of his job. Or whatever else occupied his mind. But there were no demands from anyone else.
He was free. As free as he could be without being home alone.
And somehow Jet seemed to sense that and so had naturally left him to it. Or perhaps- perhaps- there were similarities between the two men. For all of the differences in their lives and personalities, they were both, at the end of the day, performers whose private modes of being were very different from that they presented.
The fact that Jet had finally given up- for the moment, anyway- his career, said that he was getting tired of the façade. As he had, though his was more of an open ended sabbatical. Jack had not been happy about it, but Beto had enough clout and was owed enough favors that it had came about relatively easily.
Privately, Beto couldn't help but wonder if Jet also feigned the emotions that he did. It was conceivable. Brain function was partially based on genetics, after all. Ironic, really, if that was the case. It might explain the fact that of all his myriad of relatives, Jet was the only one who didn't make him tired just being around. The only one whose company he could be said to 'enjoy' (if that wasn't too strong a word'.)
Until he wanted to chat, that was. Not that it happened often. But Beto's guard had been down, here on the plane. He had not been expecting conversation, beyond continuing their discussion of strategy for getting Mara out.
"Hmm? Dreams?"
He couldn't help but be surprised and turned his head to regard the man curiously. Why, of all things, had he asked that?
Beto had the intellectual understanding that he dreamed. From a purely biological standpoint, he knew his brain sleep patterns had to go into the REM state, for all the normal reasons- processing, organization, file keeping, and so on. Failure to do so (whether induced by coercion or other methods) usually led to mental breakdown.
And there were the other clues, too, though they were more alien to consider. He often awoke with his sheets soaked or his heart racing. Occasionally, there were tears on his cheeks. But he never remembered why- or what the dreams were.
It didn't bother him, not really. Made him more curious than anything else, though. And since he felt comfortable with Jet- and it wasn't revealing anything he felt protective of- he relaxed his guard and answered honestly.
"I'm sure I dream, but I never remember them. Why do you ask?"
Edited by Beto, Mar 7 2018, 05:21 PM.
Insecurity, really, both behaviors. And so was the huddling and ignoring, he knew.
But at least when they did that they left him alone. He could allow his face to relax to a neutral state, didn't have to talk or anticipate what was expected of him. Instead, he could watch and study, observe people and their reactions. Or he could think on the problems before him, the cases or arguments or strategies that were part of his job. Or whatever else occupied his mind. But there were no demands from anyone else.
He was free. As free as he could be without being home alone.
And somehow Jet seemed to sense that and so had naturally left him to it. Or perhaps- perhaps- there were similarities between the two men. For all of the differences in their lives and personalities, they were both, at the end of the day, performers whose private modes of being were very different from that they presented.
The fact that Jet had finally given up- for the moment, anyway- his career, said that he was getting tired of the façade. As he had, though his was more of an open ended sabbatical. Jack had not been happy about it, but Beto had enough clout and was owed enough favors that it had came about relatively easily.
Privately, Beto couldn't help but wonder if Jet also feigned the emotions that he did. It was conceivable. Brain function was partially based on genetics, after all. Ironic, really, if that was the case. It might explain the fact that of all his myriad of relatives, Jet was the only one who didn't make him tired just being around. The only one whose company he could be said to 'enjoy' (if that wasn't too strong a word'.)
Until he wanted to chat, that was. Not that it happened often. But Beto's guard had been down, here on the plane. He had not been expecting conversation, beyond continuing their discussion of strategy for getting Mara out.
"Hmm? Dreams?"
He couldn't help but be surprised and turned his head to regard the man curiously. Why, of all things, had he asked that?
Beto had the intellectual understanding that he dreamed. From a purely biological standpoint, he knew his brain sleep patterns had to go into the REM state, for all the normal reasons- processing, organization, file keeping, and so on. Failure to do so (whether induced by coercion or other methods) usually led to mental breakdown.
And there were the other clues, too, though they were more alien to consider. He often awoke with his sheets soaked or his heart racing. Occasionally, there were tears on his cheeks. But he never remembered why- or what the dreams were.
It didn't bother him, not really. Made him more curious than anything else, though. And since he felt comfortable with Jet- and it wasn't revealing anything he felt protective of- he relaxed his guard and answered honestly.
"I'm sure I dream, but I never remember them. Why do you ask?"
Edited by Beto, Mar 7 2018, 05:21 PM.