Battling At My Past
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“This is a bad idea,” I said, my voice shaking. “I’m not going to be able to do this.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed as she looked at me over the top of her glasses and then back down again. She was wearing an expensive suit that had been tailored for someone much taller than herself; it made her look like some sort of insect standing on its hind legs—a very large one with tiny hands clutching a pistol in each hand.
Her hair was pulled up into what might have passed for fashionable if you were blind or stupid enough to think that fashion mattered when there are guns around. The only thing about her appearance that wasn’t off-puttingly creepy was how young she seemed: twenty-ish?
Twenty-five maybe? Maybe younger but definitely not older. If anything, she didn’t seem old enough to know better let alone actually do something wrong by being here. But despite all those things working against her, even I could tell from looking at the way she carried herself that whatever else happened between us would probably end badly for both of us.
And since we’d already established beyond any reasonable doubt who was really calling the shots here… well, let’s just say I knew exactly where this conversation was headed before either of them spoke their first words.
“You’re right,” she replied calmly after taking another sip from her glass. “It isn’t a good idea. It never has been. You should’ve known that from the start though, so why did you come?”
My mouth opened and closed several times without saying anything while I tried to figure out whether or not telling her the truth would make matters worse. In the end, I decided that honesty wouldn’t hurt too much because lying to myself hadn’t done me any favors lately anyway.
Besides this, I figured I owed it to him to try and keep his memory alive somehow. So instead of trying to lie my ass off, I simply told her everything. How he died saving our lives during the war. What kind of man he was. His dreams for the future.
Everything except the part about how I felt responsible for killing him. That last bit still burned inside me like acid eating away at my soul every time I thought about it. Even now, more than two years later, sometimes I couldn’t help feeling guilty whenever I remembered.
But I kept quiet about that particular detail until they left. Then I went home and cried myself to sleep. Again. For hours on end. Until finally exhaustion took hold of me completely and I fell asleep. When I woke up, I found a note sitting next to my bed. A short message is written in black ink that reads:
‘We’ll meet soon.’ With nothing else added. No signature. Nothing. Just a simple promise. Like always. As usual. Without fail. Every single fucking day. Forever. Or at least until I stopped breathing. Whichever came first.
Because I was sure as hell determined to live forever, even if it killed me. Somehow. Someway. Anyhow. Eventually. Whenever. Whatever.
And that was the story of how I met Death.
***
A few months ago, I got married. To a girl named Sarah. We’d gotten engaged six weeks earlier, and the wedding itself had taken place three days prior. All according to plan. Except for the fact that neither of us wanted to get hitched.
Not really. Neither of us was particularly fond of marriage in general, nor did we see any reason whatsoever to go through with it. Especially considering that none of our friends were getting married anytime soon, meaning that nobody would miss us if we skipped town together for a week or two.
Hell, most people probably assumed we weren’t even dating anymore due to the amount of time we spent apart these past couple of years. There was absolutely zero pressure involved, especially given that we’d agreed beforehand that we’d call it quits once the deed was done.
So yeah, we planned to elope. The only problem was that I’d forgotten to mention that little detail to anyone. Including Sarah. Who showed up at the church ten minutes early ready to walk down the aisle. By the time I realized what was happening, it was far too late to stop her.
Now I can honestly say that I don’t regret marrying her. After all, I love her dearly. More than life itself. But I also hate her guts for forcing me into such an awkward situation. One that ended up costing me almost half a million dollars in legal fees.
Still, money is easy to earn, and I’m pretty certain I’ll be able to pay everyone back eventually. Assuming I survive long enough to do so.
Anyway, the ceremony itself turned out to be surprisingly pleasant. At least compared to what I expected. Our families sat side by side in the front row watching silently as the priest droned on about stuff I didn’t understand.
He was talking mostly nonsense about the sanctity of matrimony and other crap like that, but I managed to tune him out thanks to my iPod earbuds. Listening to music helped drown out the sound of Sarah’s sobbing throughout the entire thing.
She wasn’t crying because she hated me. Far from it actually. Quite the opposite. The poor woman just couldn’t believe this whole charade was real. And if there’s one thing I know about women, it’s that they tend to cry when their emotions are running high. If only I could have explained things better to her beforehand…
Afterward, we threw ourselves a big party at the local country club where everybody drank themselves silly and danced the night away. Most importantly, however, we made damn sure no one noticed that we were already legally wed.
Of course, some guests might’ve suspected something since we both wore rings on our fingers, but those who asked either received vague answers or outright lies. Nobody knew exactly what happened behind closed doors, and that suited me fine.
Better yet, nobody seemed to care. They were happy for us regardless. Maybe they sensed that we needed this momentary respite from reality? Either way, it worked wonders for me. It gave me a chance to forget everything for a while.
Even if it meant pretending to be someone I wasn’t. Someone I never intended to become again. Ever.
The following morning, Sarah drove us straight to the airport after breakfast. Once inside the terminal building, she handed over the keys to her car along with a set of plane tickets. My ticket was bound for New York City, hers to Los Angeles.
In case you’re wondering why we chose such different destinations, well, let’s just say that we decided not to tell each other anything important right now. That included our plans for the future. So instead of discussing our options, we simply boarded separate planes and flew off without saying goodbye.
Two strangers heading towards unknown futures. Alone. Together. Separately. Regardless.
I landed safely in Manhattan around noon. From there, I caught a cab to my hotel room downtown. After checking in, I showered and changed clothes then headed downstairs to grab lunch. On the way back upstairs, I passed a small newsstand near the elevator bank which sold magazines and newspapers.
As luck would have it, I spotted a copy of Time magazine featuring an article entitled “How Do You Die?” written by Dr. John Cacioppo. Curious, I bought a single issue and took it back to my room. A quick glance told me that the article dealt primarily with death anxiety.
This isn’t surprising considering its title. What surprised me though was the author himself. Apparently, he used to work at Northwestern University until his untimely demise last year. His name was Jack Hittner. The same guy whose book I read during my senior years of college. How weird is that?!
For the next few hours, I spent most of my time reading through the rest of the article. There weren’t any new revelations regarding how people deal with mortality issues. Instead, the piece focused mainly on studies conducted by various psychologists across America.
Some of them even involved subjects suffering from severe mental illnesses. All of whom had been diagnosed with conditions ranging from schizophrenia to depression. While I found these findings fascinating, I still felt uneasy about the subject matter.
Not because I feared dying myself. No, quite the contrary really. Death has always fascinated me ever since I first learned about it as a child. To put it bluntly, I find the concept of nonexistence utterly terrifying. Yet strangely comforting at the same time.
Like being lost in a dark forest filled with monsters and demons. Or maybe I should rephrase that. Being alone among the shadows of darkness. Because that’s precisely what it feels like whenever I think about the end times: total isolation from humanity.
An eternity surrounded by nothingness. Nothing more than a tiny speck of dust floating aimlessly amidst infinity. But despite all that, I can honestly say that I’m looking forward to meeting God face-to-face someday soon. And seeing Him smile down upon me.
For reasons beyond human comprehension, I feel certain that He’ll welcome me into Heaven. Why else would Jesus Christ die for mankind? Only so that we may live forever!
That said, I don’t want to waste any more time thinking about death. Especially when I could be spending it doing much better things. Such as exploring the city. The Big Apple. Wherever I go, I try to keep busy. Otherwise, I tend to dwell too long on thoughts that only serve to depress me.
Besides, I need to stay sharp if I intend to make a living playing guitar. Eventually, I’d love to start writing songs once again. Songs that will hopefully bring joy to others’ lives. If anyone out there happens to stumble onto this journal entry, please take note.
Don’t give up hope. Never stop believing. Keep fighting against your fears. Trust me, it gets easier every day. Just remember, life goes on…
***
“Hey, buddy!”
A voice suddenly called out to me from somewhere nearby. Startled, I turned around to see two young men standing beside a parked truck. Both appeared to be in their early twenties. One sported short blond hair, blue eyes, and a friendly grin.
Whereas the other looked somewhat scruffy wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and sneakers. They both wore baseball caps backward. It wasn’t hard to guess who they were either. These guys must’ve worked together or something. Probably delivering some sort of package.
Either way, I couldn’t help but notice the bulge protruding beneath one of the man’s shirts. Judging by the shape, size, and color, I guessed it belonged to the driver. Though I didn’t know him personally, I knew exactly where he lived. At least according to rumors anyway.
Downstairs from me actually. In fact, I saw him just yesterday afternoon while walking home from school. We exchanged glances before continuing our separate ways. That was the closest thing I got to talking to someone famous. So far.
The blonde guy spoke up first. “Excuse us, sir.” Then he flashed me a big smile. “Are you okay?”
Not wanting to cause trouble, I replied politely. “Yes, thank you very much. Everything seems fine now. Although I do appreciate your concern. Have a nice evening.”
They smiled back. “You’re welcome,” the brunette added. Turning towards his friend, he asked. “What did you tell him?”
His companion shrugged. “I dunno. Something stupid probably. ‘Cause I ain’t gonna lie. This dude looks pretty fucked up right here. Plus, he’s dressed kinda funny. With those baggy pants and that oversized coat.”
After glancing over at me, the second guy laughed nervously. “Yeah well…”
Before he could finish speaking, I interrupted. “Actually, I have no idea why I look so strange today. Maybe I caught a cold or something. You never know nowadays. Anyway, thanks for asking though. Take care now.”
Both men nodded then walked away without another word. Leaving me feeling confused yet relieved at the same time. Still wonder whether they were trying to get rid of me somehow. Which is understandable given my current state. After all, I am an outsider. A stranger in their midst.
Even if I happen to share a similar background. As such, I decided not to pursue any further conversation. Instead, I continued along my path until reaching the corner store. There I bought a bottle of water and a pack of cigarettes. Before heading off to meet friends later tonight.
As I made my way through Times Square, I noticed several people staring at me. Most likely due to how unusual I seemed compared to everyone else. My clothes especially stood out amongst the crowd. From thick denim jeans covered in patches to a bulky leather jacket.
Alongside worn-out sneakers and dirty white socks peeking above the hemline of my trousers. All topped with a faded yellow hoodie tied tightly around my neck. Not to mention the large sunglasses covering half my face. And finally, a pair of dark brown gloves pulled down tight across my hands.
While most passersby kept moving forward, a few stopped to stare. Some even took pictures using cell phones. Others simply stared openly in silence. But none dared approach. For fear of what might come next. Or maybe because they had seen enough already.
Whatever the reason, I remained undisturbed throughout the entire walk. Until arriving outside the apartment building where I live. Here I entered the lobby and headed straight upstairs. Passing numerous doors on each floor until eventually found mine.
Once inside, I locked the door behind me. Then removed my shoes and hung them neatly near the entrance. Next came the backpack containing everything I needed to survive. Including food, clothing, toiletries, money, and more.
Lastly, I put on the heavy winter coat that lay folded upon the bed. Finally ready to begin my new life here in New York City.
The End