Luke Alden - Happy Birthday Eternity

And Evaline, or at least her memory, pauses with a thoughtful look.

She asks:

‘Do you remember the last time we went camping?’

And the memory, it’s faded and washed out. There are moments I can recall. I remember it was a good time.

We kissed.

I remember the shuffling sound of our sleeping bags as they rubbed against the tent; as we thrust our hips together like maybe it was our last time.

I remember the crackling of fire.

‘I think I remember’

She smiles. Puts her head on my shoulder.

‘Where did you go?’

She doesn’t answer.

And it’s a soft kiss on the cheek that makes my body remember what it never forgot.

‘I told you where to meet me. You just don’t know it yet.’

And I feel my body tense up.

She’s right. I think.

But my mind, it doesn’t work how I want it to.

I put my arm around her and look out the window. I’m watching the stars.

Thoughts wander.

I hear a door open and shut.

My parents are home. They’re talking to each other. Laughing. They’re in the kitchen.

My Dad:

‘I love you.’

‘Oh stop it, you’re drunk!’

‘Baby!’

‘Is Ellis here?’

‘I don’t know. He’s been so in and out anymore. Probably not.’

‘I wish he could get over her.’

‘Babe, I don’t know what I’d do if you left me.’

‘Yes you do, you’d move on!’

‘Maybe I wouldn’t want to.’

And I look over to Evaline.

I need to remember.

It feels like my past is chasing me.

I can feel it breathing down my neck; and the hairs stand on end like they’re trying to escape my body.

So I ask my mom for pictures.

For reminders.

For something that will allow me to give myself to the past. So I can remember what was. So I can remember the moments in my life that have meaning.

So I can remember what I already know.

Because I know there are answers.

And I know I’ve said that time has little meaning to me, the reality is that it’s taken everything from me.

The things I cherish.

The things I want.

The things I didn’t know I wanted.

And when I ask my mom for these photographs, she gives me a strange look. A look filled with pity. A look that tells me that she no longer knows me.

I’ve changed.

My face is sunken with a desperation that is reminiscent of hope.

For once in my life; I need something instead of simply wanting.

And my mom, with her warm eyes and distant words; she tells me that she doesn’t have any.

And my face doesn’t change, but inside I am lost.

‘Why would we have those pictures?’

I stammer.

‘We lost those ages ago.’

The word still won’t come.

I look at the floor and try to think of something to say. Something that will make me feel as if I’m not completely lost.

‘Ellis,are you ok?’

And I look up. My cheeks are flush and my body is warm.

My mom, she wraps her arms around me. I feel my body go limp as I start to relax.

And I may have forgotten how to love Evaline, but I still remember that I love her.

I tell my mom thanks.

I walk back to my room.

I’m feeling like a child. Thousands of years old and aimless.

My brain is rotting in my head. I know this because a doctor told me so. I know this because I see Evaline even when she’s not around.

And I got to my room.

I want to speak to her.

And she’s sitting on my bed.

‘I can’t find a picture.’

‘We never took pictures all that much.’

‘I know. I guess I just wish we had.’

And she doesn’t reply.

‘You know I’m scared to lose you.’

‘You lost me years ago.’

‘I know, I guess I took you for granted.’

I pause.

The words keep coming: ‘Just like every other fucking thing in my life. My job, my family… I didn’t care and I’m still not sure if I do care. But I think this is what it feels like. To give a shit about something other than the motions I’ve always gone through.’

‘You always cared in your own sort of way.’

‘And by this you mean my own self absorbed sort of way.’

‘Well, it’s not like I wasn’t guilty.’

‘We were pretty comfortable with things.’

‘How could we not have been?’

‘I still don’t know what caused you to run away. I still don’t know what it was that caused you to change.’

‘I don’t know either.’

‘…’

And we pause.

Hold hands.

Her head is on my shoulder as we sit on the edge of my bed.

‘I wish you could just tell me where to find you.’

‘It’s never gonna be that simple.’

It’s a pause.

A breath.

A nervous twisting of nervous fingers.

Because I know she’s right.

Because I know whatever messed up part of my head that controls what this imaginary Evaline says, it’s right.

And I’m scared to lose her even if I’ve already lost her.

And I keep telling that to myself.

For ten long years I’ve told this to myself..

I’ve already lost her.

And though my head and heart want to make sense of it, my body and my being won’t let me.

At least I think that’s how it is.

Anymore, I don’t know.

And the sun creeps in and warms me.

I close my eyes and feel it on my body.

And the sun creeps out.

I open my eyes as my body shivers.

I turn to Evaline.

‘Now what?’

‘I don’t know.’

And my eyes go to pill bottle on my dresser.

My life has been a constant series of unmet expectations and this is no different.

I keep waiting as if something will happen. The walls don’t slide away. The world doesn’t shift. Nothing seems to happen.

And I sit in my bed. Evaline sleeps next to me.

Rays of light illuminate the particles of dust that fill the room.

I can’t tell you the last time I dusted.

I can’t tell anyone much of anything these days.

I close my eyes and concentrate hard. I try to make things happen.

My body feels tense as I try to force yesterday into claiming me.

And yesterday doesn’t want me, not today.

I stand up with a nervous shake that rattles around in my gut.

Something should be happening. Something should have happened.

I need yesterday. It’s how I live out my today’s. It’s how I remember who I am. It’s how I define my purpose and my place in this world. My memory provides the context and reason for my existence.

I’m not interested in making new memories without Evaline.

I’m hoping that the pills will take me to the answers that I need.

I’m hoping that they will make me remember where Evaline may have gone.

But everything is jumbled and tangled. I feel as if my brain has threaded everything into a giant knot.

I stand up and walk around.

Out my room and into the hall.

My parents are watching television.

The evening is here and the day has gone.

I smell a familiar smell and realize that there is food cooking. It makes me hungry. It makes me comfortable.

I peak into the kitchen.

It’s some sort of pasta dish and it makes me remember Evaline, just like everything else seems to make me remember her.

I feel a pain in my chest and in my brain. It’s a pain that I can’t quite figure out. It’s a pain that is becoming more and more familiar. It’s a pain that grows sharper and sharper.

I walk away from the food.

I don’t want to smell it.

Don’t want to be reminded of the things I can’t control.

I sit down with my parents.

My father has his arm around my mother. They sit on the couch. They watch television. There’s a slight smile on his face as she pushes herself close to him.