Dragons Wild

Nine

Griffen excused himself from Jerome, hastily making his way to the bar’s small bathroom. The fixtures were the cheapest available, metal instead of porcelain; with a shabby privacy wall between the urinals and the only stall. Shakily, he turned the water on and let it pour, splashing only a bit on his face. He looked up at the mirror, and saw a near stranger looking back.

Despite his stamina on the road and his outward calm, the face in the mirror betrayed just what toll the last day had taken on him. Dark circles had formed under his eyes. Eyes that looked strained and just a bit too wide, like an animal who had only begun to realize the trap it was in. His hair was disheveled, his clothes rumpled, his posture more slumped and tired looking than he ever had imagined.

Dragons. The word kept coming back to him over and over again. His sister was right, it didn’t matter what he believed. If others, powerful others, thought dragons were real and he was one, they would respond accordingly. That still left the question, what did he believe?

Staring into the mirror, he didn’t see a dragon. He saw a college student, ex-college student, harried and stressed like any other person might be when faced with the prospects of no job or home. That alone gave him some minor reassurance in an odd way. He still looked normal, not like someone who had their whole world turned upside down. The thought gave him some amount of calm, and brought a tight smile to his lips.

What did he believe?

He found himself evaluating the opinions of those he had encountered. Malcolm had always been a distant figure; he didn’t know how to read the man. Likewise the senator, who he had only seen through the TV. Mai was really the first real chink in his armor. Someone close to him, someone who had shared his bed. Yet when dragons had come up, she had betrayed her normal characteristics and deserted him.

Now Jerome, another friend. In some ways, a closer friend then Mai. One who seemed to wholeheartedly believe this dragon nonsense. And, perhaps more important to the insecure jobless man, wasn’t shunning him or running away, but offering out open hands. His invitation seemed from one angle too good to be true, and from the other angle made perfect sense.

If one believed in dragons.

Griffen had already made his decision to tentatively accept Jerome’s invitation. That didn’t mean he fully accepted the premise behind it. It was so foreign to anything in his limited experience. He felt adrift, lost, floundering. He searched his own thoughts and feelings for some solution. Any solution. Only one came to mind.

“Okay Griffen,” he said to his own reflection. “They claim you’re a dragon, a monster, a beast of power. So…be a dragon.”

He concentrated, willing himself to show some sign, any sign, of dragondom. Inside he kept repeating the phrase “be a dragon, be a dragon,” trying to avoid distracting himself by the obvious corollary of “be the ball.” He focused his thoughts instead on scales, wings, fiery breath. Trying to force some physical sign that could prove, or disprove, this madness.

So firm was his concentration that his vision blurred, tears forming in the corners of his eyes and further blurring his sight. The image in front of him stared back, features set in concentration, outline going blurry from the tears. He pushed, desperately reaching for something, anything, that he could get a grip on.

A sudden wave of nausea broke over him and his concentration broke. He slumped against the sink, sweat pouring off his forehead from the exertion. There hadn’t been so much as a split second where his face in the mirror had seemed to him anything but human. Yet, the effort had left him feeling weak and drained, more so than anything he could remember.

The bathroom door swung open and Jerome looked in. He looked over Griffen, frowning slightly. Something about his eyes made Griffen suspect that he had already known what he would find before opening the door.

“Some things you can’t force, my man,” said Jerome, confirming Griffen’s suspicions.

“How did you know?” Griffen asked.

“You mean ’sides the fact you’ve been in here a good twenty minutes? I know you, Grifter, and I know what I’d be thinkin, and tryin, if I were in your shoes.”

Griffen shook his head to clear it. He hadn’t any idea that he had been in there so long. To him it had been five minutes, tops. He thought that he must have been lost in thought.

“I still find this dragons thing…”

“Illogical? Impossible? A load of crap?” Jerome said.

“D. All of the above,” Griffen answered.

“Still coming with me to New Orleans? If only to find out why so many would be lying about something so nuts?”

“That is just it, Jerome. I can be slow sometimes, but I can read people pretty well. If you are lying, you are better at it than you have ever shown before. I…I just don’t understand.”

“You will, Griffen. So help me, you will.”

Griffen nodded and straightened himself up. Carefully, he forced his expression to better hide the tiredness and strain he felt. Jerome smiled and clapped his friend on the shoulder as Griffen walked out of the bathroom and into the bar proper.

Jerome considered the scene for a moment before following and shook his head. His smile was both wry and a touch tired.

“Can’t see the forest for the trees,” he said to himself and then followed Griffen into the bar.

It would be many hours before anyone sober enough came into that restroom, and noticed the long, finger-shaped dents in the rim of the metal sink.