Twenty-three

It rained on the day that I fell asleep
I never returned
Searching for something I'd lost on my way
I never came back
To life
Green Carnation - Rain

1.

It was a day like today. Hot. Sticky. Humid. There was a thickness hanging in the air. Him knowing him, he was already sweating as he closed the door to the apartment. With jack in hand and tyre iron under his arm, he clambered down from the garden bed and into the small car park. He oversaw the pond in the throes of a disappearing act, sludgy and decaying at its banks.

Walking around to the back of the wagon, he opened the boot. There, a 155 R, 14" custom wheel. He heaved it on to the ground, tapping into an upswell of perspiration. Cranking the jack underneath hoisted the car above the asphalt, inches at a time. Then, rain began to fall, drops landing on his head, streaming down his face.

A black dude in a tow truck calls out, asking if I need help. He shouts back that "I'll be alright." The look of confusion spreads across the driver's face; the unfamiliar twang in his voice sounding ever more foreign when it entered into conversation.

So there he sat for a brief moment. As more rain fell, he labored, pulling those lugnuts off until his muscles hurt. Yanking at them, grunting as he could feel his flesh weaken and the grip slacken. Every time a nut clinked to the ground, it was like a moment of triumph. He gave himself a wipe of the brow as a reward.

He fitted the new tyre on, keeping it there consuming all of his patience. He fastened it with care. All he could think about was getting it done in that all consuming heat, while it was still light. Kids were locked away texting or playing games instead of walking past a disheveled, browbeaten yet somehow grown man struggle to change a tyre for his love. She was working, as he was forced to sit alone, unwanted by the land in which he wished to reside.

As he slinked up the stairs, breathing heavily, he pondered this strange act of love; it seemed like the love throbbed in the cavity of his torn biceps, aching as he slumped on to the bed. His mind raced downward, mulling over one thing, then another, intoxicating himself on delusions and unsane half-truths. He bound himself up in thinking that the day was soon coming where it would all come down. Needless to say, he was right. But he was the one that would be pulling the string to unravel it.

2.

It was sunny and fresh. His mouth tasted like the aftermath of a plate of meatballs. John Cougar Mellencamp was playing a little ditty about Jack and Diane on the radio. The three were all still abuzz from running amok in the furniture store, bemused shoppers staring curiously at their madcap antics. Baby was smoking a cigarette, lost in thought if only for a second. The breeze caught the wisps of smoke and blew them away from the car. The butt hung from the side of her deep red lips as if she were playing a colossal joke on everyone; trying to pull the wool firmly and completely over our eyes. Then her friend made a comment. She repeated it back adding her assessment of "awesome." An eruption of laughter.

The light turned green. Pick-up trucks the size he had never seen before sped off in front, peeling off to thunder down the Interstate. We took the exit, 78 South to Chattanooga and Greenville, S.C. Apparently, America's friendliest city is just next door.

As buildings and billboards appeared proclaiming the low, low price of $499 for an uncontested divorce, he soaked in his surroundings. As unbelievable as that seemed, it overwhelmed and he can't refrain from engorging on everything this wondrous land had to offer, despite the grip of fear wrestling him to the ground. His strength was still intact; he resisted the temptation to implode for another day.

She was so cute and small, the cars she drove made her look like a toy doll. Driving along she was prone to anger and bouts of unavailing frustration. In some people's lives, the search for equilibrium never ceases. The decisions we make aren't good or bad, but we convince ourselves that they are, long after the fact, long after it matters. Whatever happens, happens; the feeling resides within, sheltered and warm, far away from prying eyes.

Up until the uninterrupted ride toward Spaghetti Junction, he's hid those fears that had all but but evaporated until they were displaced by something much less benign. It was a fear in him to overcome that fear. Then anger rose with all its five elements; fear, anxiety, hate, despair and remorse. He pushed them down until they lay dormant, all coming to haunt him in those ceaseless dreams that felt like a harbinger from a decaying psyche. There was just no avoiding it. It was there to stay, just like it had always been. Comforting him from that chronic lack; that inability to feel the colors and contours of life; the hues of spring-time love, a sting of loss, the empathy for a fellow man, the meaning of sacrifice, the notion of another reaching out in the dead of night to wrap her arms around him and declaring love for him. It was precious and real; not some kind of ploy, not a mere ephemeral phenomena that was conjured in a studio of fantasy.

Pulling up to the friend's work, she reluctantly marched off, battle face painted on smartly. Something stirred at the core of his being, a flutter in his chest. He'd never experienced it before and he found it unsettling. It was a feeling of pure calm after months of antagonizing himself, sleepless nights spent wondering if this all had some kind of sad ending. He was just setting himself up for that day. The day it would all come down. Baby asks if he's okay; he replies with a joke. He likes making her giggle. The calm rested in the pit of his mind and flowed throughout his body as the refrain from the song assured him: "Yeah, life goes on / even after the thrill / of living has gone." It had gone. But right here and now things seemed fine. That intolerable relentlessness of life had yielded to a strange contentment. For the first time, in that fleeting irrecoverable moment, he felt alright. It felt right being him. He had a useless, futile life ahead; something he had suspended belief in for those crucial, visceral seconds when he looked over at his sweetheart. For the first time, on that sun-parched and violent freeway the knowledge that she was there made him feel. If he could do the same for her, he'd have felt accomplished, despite and in spite of everything.

3.

Rushed with fresh casualties, the triage nurse was directing traffic in the ER. As the lights streaked across the polished linoleum floors, a sense of urgency crackled through the halls. A man caked in soot and smeared in blood approached on a gurney, wheeled through by two paramedics.
"Massive blood loss from a laceration on the torso. There's also some head trauma," one of them said dispassionately.
The nurse inspected the stocky man, ripping open his jacket to feel for injuries. He flashed a light in his eyes and asked him some standard questions. His head encased in yellow foam, he answered them, straining all the while. The paramedics looked at each other nervously.
The triage nurse heaved a sigh and hooked his stethoscope around his neck.
"Take him to Room 103," he snapped. "Head trauma? There's nothing there. You just imagined it."
By then, the medics had already turned their backs, uninterested in what he had to say. An orderly whisked the patient away as the nurse prepared himself to witness yet another twisted and wrecked body.

4.

When he was there, it all felt natural. Its like he had always been there. It felt as familiar as the family home where he spent his childhood, the schools of yesteryear, the friends from day one. It felt that familiar if he didn't think to hard. Him knowing himself, that's exactly what he did.

If his life was a movie, even he as a spectator would still manage to ruin the ending for everyone concerned. He gorged another piece of toast down. A minute ticks by. "I miss my baby," he thinks. The same thought, over and over. There's no where else to go, why not stay here? Its not comfortable but it seems just right to him. Even the path of least resistance doesn't seem as attractive to waiting right here and preparing for the inevitable hard slog. He couldn't wait until his sweetheart got home. Yes sir. He could not think of any other place he'd rather be. He was convinced. But was she? A few hours later, she emerged at the door. A void emerged in his mind. So he leaned over and reached out for that string...