Client DR.HA.110 - Oracle’s Tale Part 11

(Beep. Music fades in.)

A picture of you came up on my Facebook feed this weekend. And that’s… Well, that’s the sort of thing that should not happen, right? We aren’t connected on that platform at all. And also, I keep my activity on that website as low and infrequent as possible, using it only because my girlfriend’s family find the messenger service more reliable than the alternatives, and you aren’t on the website at all.

However, the department posted a picture you were in, as part of their ongoing though lackluster social media outreach. And maybe I should not have, but I did like that page, so I do see what they do. In my defense, this was a year ago, and I thought if something happened to you, they would post some sort of announcement, in your honor or something… vaguely along those lines.

And I am glad I saw that picture. You look good, as in you look happy: the only sort of “good” I would in any way care about, you know? 

I heard that you were well and wanted nothing more than to see you for myself. But I still don’t know if I can face you. I still feel like I owe you something, more than I could ever repay.

(Music fades out and new music fades in.)

Speaking of, however, I do remember the emphasis on personal choice you put in your lectures, coupled with a need for personal accountability, of course. But the point that lingered with me, after all this time, was that we cannot give up this ability, this sense of self-determination, of personal power. For anything.

It seems so simple when you look at it in general terms, from above like that. Like it’s one switch that gets to be flipped, and not a thousand little ones, seemingly one for ever star in the sky as if one person has to keep that switchboard going. Every moment a yes or a no, a reaffirmation of a commitment or a denial of some truth.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

My journey started when I chose to defy her. When I chose to go a different route in my professional career, going off to a maybe ill-advised master’s program. And that moment was important, yes, but it overshadowed another moment. The one when did not tell her about someone else. When I wouldn’t tell her what I knew about this other person and made no attempt to justify it to myself. 

Which would have been an easy thing to do because I did not dream the things I knew. This person had told me, and that evil woman had wanted me to tell her about my dreams, which I was not having. It was so simple. This other student…. She and I talked, constantly, and we grew closer. Even if I was scared to do so.

I tried to convince her to get closer to you. I just thought you would have been a better mentor to her than the one she had, and I can’t help but think I was proven right recently when all of that fallout happened, and you started rallying the students to stand up against someone who didn’t take advantage of all of them but did more than her fair share of damage to their peers. It was an easier ask with you making it, with you putting your name and title behind their endeavors. 

You gave that movement momentum because you knew, didn’t you? From those earlier tapes. You knew what happened to me. They were both brunettes, right? You could see how I got confused. Or were you just able to guess? A lot of people were able to guess what she did to me. It wasn’t so uncommon.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

But it’s been surreal listening to my girlfriend talk to you on the phone as all this happens, as you give her the peps talks and coach her through what the dean and provost will likely ask her, how that person can’t get her anymore, how you will always offer up your protection to her. 

(softer) I knew you were like this. It was subtle, true but I could always tell. I could see what no one else could. (light but shallow chuckle) And that’s why I treasured you so.

(normal volume) Now she knows I hold you in high regard, but I never told her the details. Admittedly, I have been keeping a lot from her. More so than I should as a life partner. But it is hard to tell her anything. All the stories are garbled, and  they don’t make great sense. Narrative through lines are so long that it’s hard to know where to begin and whether we have time to unpack it all right then. And then there are some things that aren’t mine to say. (softer) Like with the dreams… Or with you.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

(gradual crescendo across the next two sentences to normal volume) It might not be my story to tell, but maybe I am a part of your story now. In some way. In the same way all those people I’ve made tapes for are a part of mine. And maybe there are parts of it I can tell and parts that I can’t. 

I actually don’t remember that last session of our class all that well. I wish I did, but I think we handed in our final papers and that was it. I can remember a lingering sense of disappointment because I had wanted there to be more class. But of course, there wasn’t. It had reached its natural end, as all things do, as all things have to, and it was only fair that someone else or some other group of people got to experience the same thing I did, it was only fair that they got to receive the hope you had given me. 

However, I had always imagined that it ended like a Catholic mass does, with a resounding cry to go out and preach the good news. Or just news… I guess. Because your charge does come with complications and problems, but maybe that’s a hair split. 

I left with the zeal to be strong and brave and all the things I really wasn’t back then but had always wanted to be. On one hand, I wasn’t sure what that meant, and in some ways, I still don’t know.

But… (quick sigh) But suppose I…?

(Music cuts. Music fades in.)

Did I help you, back then? And if so, can you help me figure out how? Was it just the sound of my voice, knowing that someone cared about you, the reminder of what you might have been thinking but couldn’t commit to or the fact that… the fact that I saw the way the pieces fit together? In a way you could.

I never know, but if that’s the case then, it’s not me, is it? I’m a mode of delivery. A vessel, nothing more. And I can already hear you and other people objecting over this perceived objectification of myself, but please (with extra air) hear me out.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

I don’t want to be a hero. I really can’t do it. I can’t handle the responsibility. I already had a taste of it. I could not handle the demands my family used to make of me. And it’s a similar albeit smaller beast. It’s all because I can’t control these dreams. And if I can’t control them, which I can’t, well, then I can’t be a hero. (exasperated breathe) It all works out, right? You can check my math.

But I… I can do other things. 

Professor, have you been listening to all of these tapes? Do you remember me mentioning the coffee? The very Catholic “acts of service” conversation. (softer but grows) I still miss taking care of the coffee. I still miss being the one to check it and stock it every morning. I miss those small gifts I could give people. Little things that helped someone’s day.

And maybe this podcast is just a little thing, this shout to the void through an RSS feed, but whatever it is, it has helped people, right? And at the end of the day, so few people know it’s me making this show. And they can’t pressure me to do anything anymore. Or never could. Or would.

(Music gradually fades out) So, there’s something I could do or not. All of that has to do with this podcast. So I have to… I have to make a choice. Would you--No.

(Music fades back in) Maybe you would be mad if I chose to stay. Maybe you would think I’m overindulging in some delusion, but I cannot worry about that. I can’t. Because this can’t be about you or the hero who saved me or the mentor who wronged me or the man I may or may not have killed or the father I may or may not remember. 

It’s me. I’m the one who has to live with my choices. And only I can make them.

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

Do you remember my promise? That I would get to the heart of this. Well, that’s what this is. What this has all been. At the heart of it were a series of choices made for me. Dad choosing to start this, people choosing to abuse this, and people who tried to take my life back from it but never gave me a set of instructions like I would have liked to have. 

It all ends with me, I suppose. An end in me. It comes to rest in me and how I want to move forward. It’s about what I want right now. And I do want to keep doing this. As I can. Here and now. This is my choice. This is my story. This is how I want to write it, going forward. In a podcast.

(Music fades out. Beep.)

The Oracle of Dusk is a production of Miscellany Media Studios. It is written, performed, produced, and edited by MJ Bailey with music licensed from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. 

And with this tape, season 2 is over. Bonus content can always be found on the Oracle’s Patreon or crowded funded through the show’s Ko-fi account. But there is a lot of other Miscellany Media content out there. Like our two other audio fiction shows: Aishi Online and Temporal Light. More information can be found at our website: Miscellanymedia.online. That’s Miscellanymedia.online. Or on a player near you. 

Until Season 3, I suppose. Twitter will be the best place for updates on that front.