Luke Alden: Happy Birthday Eternity

Franklin glances over and looks back at me.

‘I think you’re just seeing things.’

The stranger, the listening man, he starts to shift in his seat.

I get up and walk over to him. This is completely out of character for me, but so is being spied on.

I look down at him.

‘Hi.’

He stands up. Looks me in the eyes for a brief pause, and then walks away. Out the doors and down the street.

It’s Monday.

I wake up to the alarm clock. I roll over to put my arm around Evaline.

Her side of the bed is cold. I let out a sigh. I stand up. Walk to the bathroom. My head is still full of morning fog. I feel like I’m dancing while drunk.

I brush my teeth. I get in the shower. The hot water isn’t waking me up. I put on the cold water and start to shiver. I get out. Dry off. Comb my hair. Put on clothes.

I make breakfast and look out my kitchen window.

Cars are driving past.

The sun is starting to come up.

I put on the television.

Watch the news.

It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.

I sit down to eat.

The food doesn’t quite taste right.

I throw it away without finishing.

I grab my keys, go outside, stand at my car. I have nowhere to go.

I turn around and walk back inside.

The air in my house is still.

I miss the sound of Evaline.

I take off my shoes, socks, pants. Get back into bed. I would watch the sun come up but I’m not in the mood.

I close my eyes.

‘How did you know you loved Dad?’

I’m at my parent’s house.

My mom is drinking tea.

She looks the same age as Evaline. She looks the same age as everyone in this country.

Her hair is pulled back as tightly as her face and she’s wearing cherry red lipstick that makes her look paler than she really is.

Her eyes are swimming around, they flick back and forth.

She pauses.

Clicks her nails on the table.

Her mouth opens and shuts.

It’s a fresh coat of lipstick.

Her throat clears.

Eyebrows arch.

A pause. A breath. A nervous twisting of nervous fingers.

We’re outside.

In the backyard gazebo with the wood base that splits at the edges. The two hundred year old gazebo that looks new because my father paints it every other year.

One hundred coats of paint, but underneath it all, this gazebo, it’s a mess.

The sun shines.

My mom, she finally gets around to answering me with an ‘I don’t know.’

This is the answer I expected. This is the same answer Franklin had when I asked him. This is the same answer I had when I asked myself.

No one seems to remember the reason that they love someone. They just accept it as is. They just take it for granted because they never have to worry about it.

I’m slowly starting to worry.

And who knows, maybe I shouldn’t worry, maybe the answer doesn’t truly matter. Maybe we just have to learn to accept some things in life. Maybe we never truly realize why we love someone.

Silence.

I soak in the sun.

My pale skin feels like it’s on fire. The sun is burrowing into my bones.

And in the house my dad yells something that neither my mom nor I can understand. We ignore it. He yells again. We get up. We go to the living room where he’s sitting. We stare at the television.

We’re entranced by the glow.

We’re stupefied by the images.

My skin is crawling.

On TV there’s a building on fire. In the bottom corner of the screen are two grainy faces captured in a security video.

One is familiar in a distant way.

Curly hair and a skinny frame. The guy from the coffee shop.

The other face…

It’s Evaline.

A pause. A breath. A nervous twisting of nervous fingers.

Someone whispers: ‘Watching you fall apart is like watching a poem write itself.’

And ten years move past me.

It feels like I’m falling.

Then I wake up.

In bed.

The morning sun glows with a golden hue as it filters through the curtains.

I’m sleeping in the middle of the bed now. I no longer wake up at night worrying that I’m crowding her.

The indentation of her body is gone.

The vague smell of her perfume has dissipated.

My loneliness becomes duller with each year and each month and each day.

‘Quit trying so hard to find meaning in your life.’ This man in front of me, this stranger that I know so well, he raises his hand up to my shoulder and grips it, I wince. He’s facing me, looking me in the eyes. ‘Instead, why don’t you go give your life meaning?’

2047 years into my life, haven’t I already found a meaning?

Maybe I’ve found more meanings than I can forget.

The truth is that I’ve found nothing but failure and drugs.

2037 years followed by 10 years of falling apart.

I’m a shadow.

And this man, he’s gripping me hard. He wants me to understand. He wants me to move forward.

I smile and nod and don’t bother to take in what he says. I never do.

This man, his name is Jim, he’s my new friend, and by friend I mean that he talks to me.

It’s funny how change happens so quickly when you let your guard down.

There was a day when I knew what tomorrow would hold. Certainty was all I knew.

I live moment by moment, and I hate it. The uncertainty of it all, the lack of a safety net. Everything feels dangerous; each moment exists on shaky ground.

My only escape is in a drug that has no name.

A safe haven from the fear that tomorrow brings.

Jim, he wants me to climb out of this hole. He wants me to live.

It’s a nice thought.

I appreciate that he cares, but every day I swallow a pill and slip away and try to pretend that the mess of my life doesn’t exist; his caring can’t seem to change that.

Jim asks; ‘where do you want to be?’

The answer is automatic as I tell him ‘I want to be back at home.’

‘Where is your home?’

‘It doesn’t exist anymore.’

‘Why doesn’t it exist?’

‘It disappeared with my wife.’

‘Your wife left you?’

‘I think so.’

‘Can’t you go back?’

‘I’m not sure if she exists anymore.’

Jim gives me a look, one that I can’t define, one that leaves me cold.

‘Well if you can’t go back to the way things were, why don’t you just make something better? Give your life a new meaning.’

I look at Jim. I’m blank.

I keep telling myself that sometimes we don’t bother to realize that there is more to life than what we’ve experienced and what we’ve seen.

I keep telling myself this and I keep forgetting to listen. I’m always forgetting.

Body odor hits my nose.

Stop. Go. Stop.

Jim smiles.

I start to walk away.

Jim says goodbye.

I say goodbye.

I’ll see him again soon. He’ll talk to me and try to be inspirational and I will dodge his questions and not listen to the things he has to say.

Jim, my friend on the city bus, he’s just another stranger.

And then I’m off. I look around. I’m nervous and excited. I rub my hands together.

They say that everyone needs a vice, something to take away the monotony, the routine, the fear. They say that we all fall back on something, and when we can’t find something natural; something like exercise or love, we find something chemical, like booze or pills.

In a parking lot.

The city is living and breathing around me. I’m looking shifty and nervous. My hands are anxious. I’m looking like anyone else hoping for another fix.

A fix to cope.

A fix to fill the void.