Re: Dante’s Infanzia

Chapter 14: Sunshine.

Dante had been close, tantalizingly close to complete mental oblivion. Having slept through his actual death, Dante found skirting the edge of his adult threshold very similar to what many people must have thought death was like. As he had lain there in Lysa’s lap, he could feel himself losing things. Memories, concepts, and words had been slipping right out of him. Everything that he had was going the way of the dodo.

It was like every bit of knowledge he possessed had been a grain of sand, slipping through his fingers. As he had looked up from Lysa’s lap, everything was leaving him. Reading, math, science, history, art…everything. Even little words escaped him. He couldn’t remember words like “food” or even “potty”. Words and concepts like “diaper”, “crib”, “highchair,”, “bottle”, and “baby” were leaving him just as fast, even though he had been barraged with those concepts since he first entered limbo. He was becoming a blank slate with only curiosity and impulse to drive him. Near the end, his own name lost meaning to him as he closed his eyes.

But just as he was about to lose himself something flowed into him. A series of soft and pretty sounds: music. Sounds that had meaning: Words…no…lyrics.

“It’s a Barnum and Bailey world
Just as phony as it can be.
But it wouldn’t be make-believe-”

Dante had reached out and grabbed at those words, like they were child about to fall over the edge of a cliff. They had to be saved! Those words had meaning. They came from a song about unrequited love; about how that love could turn a world of lies and illusion into something meaningful and real. It was sung full of regret, and sadness. It echoed of lost opportunities and dying hopes. It was Lysa’s song.

LYSA!

He still remembered Lysa! He latched onto that thought and refused to let it go. Limbo would not take that from him. It would not take his music from him, and it would not take his only friend in this place from him. He refused. They were all he had left that was worth saving. Lysa’s voice and music leaked into his very being and wove a knot around him, refusing to let go or be cast aside. With Herculean effort, he held fast to those concepts and began to reel in the rest, like a fisherman dragging up a net.

He remembered the adrenaline rush that singing a fast punk song would give him as he drove, or even just pretended to drive. He took back the genuine look of confusion and gratitude that Lysa had given him when he first stood up to Jamal. He recovered the pneumonic device that had helped him remember to “shake it once that’s fine, shake it twice that’s okay,” from “Another Loser Anthem.” He remembered the time with his grandparents.

Then, much more quickly, he reeled in every other memory, concept and piece of knowledge back into his brain; for his thoughts were not really sand, but an ornate woven tapestry constantly building on itself. He had gotten a grip with two strong hands and rewove himself into being.

The look on Lysa’s face when he opened his eyes and sang back to her had made it the best day since he died. What followed after, the pure unbridled joy of victory and feelings he had grown for Lysa being honestly returned had made that day the best of his entire existence. Welcome back, Dante. Welcome back.

His decline had been similar to a drug addict going cold turkey. First came the shakes, then the jonesing, then full withdrawal. Without Lysa, and his music, something that he could understand better and more deeply than some squalling infant; he was lost. Now his twin drugs coursed through his veins once again. With them he was complete. Now he was a true survivor. Now he was invincible.

Dante was still glowing with pride and victory when he sat up in his crib, soaking wet as usual. Even though he had passed the worst of it, Limbo still had sway over him. He still couldn’t walk, still couldn’t dress himself, and he still didn’t have enough bladder or bowel control to make going potty anymore than a passing fantasy. The good news was, he could once again remember what was required to use the potty; even if he couldn’t quite remember another more grown-up word for the device. That put his potty training, he estimated, as a little less than a two-year old toddler, which was more than he could say for anyone else he had met in Limbo.

Dante noticed that his diaper was soaked, but still warm. That was odd. Dante had grown used to wetting in his sleep, but typically he was cold and clammy first thing in the morning. He must have done multiple wettings, the most recent one just before he woke up, he reasoned.

Dante peered over at Lysa in the next crib over. She was still asleep, snoring lightly as she breathed. It almost sounded like a kitten purring. Dante looked on at her. She was beautiful; hot too. This could have gone on forever, this moment could be his eternity, and that would be fine by him. Wow. That was sappy. Was this what love felt like?

All around, the Judy’s started to do their morning chores, waking the infants and dressing them for the day. The Judy in the nursery scrubs with the bleach blonde hair, their Judy, carried Midori and set her down on the blue-ish grey indoor/outdoor carpet by their trio of cribs. Midori had just been changed and put into a yellow onesie . Her babbling caused Lysa to stir a few moments before their Judy scooped her, purple pj’s and all, and toted her over to a nearby changing table.

Dante felt a certain stirring in his nether regions as he saw Lysa being undressed, and he licked his lips a little as the Judy undid the tapes to Lysa’s diaper- proving that he was in fact, sappy love or not, still a teenaged boy. He scolded himself a little as he slammed his eyes shut and turned his back to the scene. Damn it, he loved her. Maybe later they could have a talk about it.

But how do you talk to a girl-one that you genuinely like as a person no less; one that you might even love- and tell them “I think you’re hot and it turns me on when I see you getting undressed. Still don’t mind if I watch?” It was almost easier when Dante was so overwhelmed by thoughts of maintaining his sanity in this place that he didn’t have time to ask himself these questions. It was, in fact, easier to be shallow.
A few minutes later, Lysa was toted back. Her blonde hair done up in pigtails as usual, she was in what must have been the least revealing outfits in this place. She wore a purple shirt frilly sleeves, and denim shortalls with a sunshine on the chest. Though she wore no shoes, her feet were covered with matching frilly ankle socks.

Still groggy, she yawned as she and Midori were deposited back into the same crib. She experimentally tugged at her shirt, as though it were a little too tight. She managed to look down the front of her shortalls and give a questioning look.