Shackles

Dan's automatic feet continued to trudge onward. The rhythmic consistency of friction lulled him into a state of reminiscence. He recalled stumbling out of the hospital, listlessly dragging his feet across the parking lot to access the phone booth that would save him.

Upon opening the booth door, Dan caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass. The puffy red eyes, pale face, and empty stare looked more dead than Sarah's had minutes ago. He continued to gaze into the face as the realization began. She had died, while he slept. After a year of struggle she had slipped away, quietly. There had been no last goodbye, no grand gesture of love or sorrow.

He had brought her into the hospital the day before when her breathing became unbearable to hear. The usual wheezing had never bothered him, but an audible bubbling sound had settled into her chest, and it terrified Dan to the core of his being. Even worse: she could see it in his eyes. His stoic expression could not hide the abject panic that flashed through his mind with every gurgle. And his eyes betrayed it to her. Dan couldn't bear to be helpless and despite her strained plea that, "It's not worth it. Just stay", he had carried her to the car and left.

On arrival to the hospital they were given a room. They had passed a mother wailing for her son who had recently died in a car accident. Despite the woman's justified sorrow, Dan found himself hating her. Hating that there was someone tangible to blame, the other driver, or maybe the kid had been drunk and rolled on the freeway coming home. He didn't know what, but he knew a person's choice shouldered the responsibility. But who could Dan blame?

While the night doctors tended to the acute injuries that had stumbled into the ER, Sarah told the nurse about  the pain in her abdomen, and they scheduled more tests for the following morning. Sarah was predictably exhausted and Dan wanted her to sleep. He still subconsciously held the belief that you will wake up feeling better after a proper rest, even if it was only by a matter of degrees. He willed himself awake while she slept; with every breath of Sarah's the sound of the low guggle shot through Dan, but eventually his determination faded into darkness.

Dan woke suddenly, and was overwhelmed by a gut-twisting realization. His sleep had come during the shallowing of her breath. He pressed the button to call the nurse, but as he looked at Sarah's slumped head reality set in. He was paralyzed, a sliver of doubt remained and he hesitated to check her vitals, as he had done innumerable times during the night after waking from nightmares of her death. Dan's thoughts raced. He pleaded to see maggots, something abominable that would signify fantasy. But there was no horror to be found, only death.

His feet started walking before he decided what to do next. He ducked around a corner outside the hospital and began to retch. As Dan slumped against the stone building he spotted the phone booth, and became aware of being drawn toward it. He shuffled over to the enclosed case. A beacon of safety and the promise of social connection. But it provided neither of these.

Dan lifted the receiver and pushed the coin into its home. He dialed his area code instinctively but then froze. Who was he going to call? Michael? He will just awkwardly say how sorry he is while I blabber, humiliation is not comforting. Dan slammed the receiver and the coin clanked out. He repeated this ritual for everyone he had once known, and felt distant and detached. The extended time with Sarah and her illness had isolated both of them. He could not fathom anyone he knew who could understand his pain. He screamed in loneliness. Gasped for breath in desolation.

Dan grabbed at the receiver and dialed Sarah's cell. He waited for the voice mail and wept when he heard her sweet voice. Knowing that he will never hear it naturally again. He emptied his pockets and remained hunched over the device. Putting coin after coin into the machine as if to stop the hands of time themselves.

So Dawn Goes Down To Day

A very intelligent poet, Robert Frost, wrote a succinct but poignant poem called "Nothing Gold Can Stay". In 8 short lines he summed up the essence of being human. 

Nature's first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to lead,

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day

Nothing gold can stay.

I've been dwelling on all the contradictions of life, the necessities that "life" (within the  Canadian middle class) has thrust upon me. The cliche garbage about social status, life accomplishments, the unspoken metrics of "satisfaction". How they require me to abandon questions in lieu of heuristical answers, soundbites. Classification overtakes exploration. But what is worth it? What is value? I don't know. Maybe nothing is. Maybe I don't want there to be answers. Perhaps I prefer the freedom to be nihilistic. That the ability to shoot down ideology safeguards my narcissistic individualism. 

But maybe I find that any answer inherently and unfairly excludes groups of people in favour of personal self-justification. I have a suspicion that every answer, including the rejection of an answer, is merely a rationalization of a worldview synthesized through self-preservation. There is so much grief in this world that even the thought of focusing on my own life feels like pure, unbridled, insanity. While psychology pushes people back into cultural conformity, into a hierarchical worldview that exists to justify the greed of the few. The greed of us. 

Maybe the fact that nothing gold can stay is a savior. Saving us from having to stare unblinkingly at what we really are. 

Regardless, there is a fantastic song inspired by Robert Frost that fleshes out some of his themes.

Stay Gold- First Aid Kit  It's worth listening to.