Black Box

There are things you should know
The distance between us seems to grow
But you're holding on strong
And oh, how hard it is to let go
Oh, so hard to let go

I am losing control. My resolve is cracking like a block of ice left under the noonday sun in slow creaks and groans. The pain is becoming insufferable. Old habits return in battalions and I cannot keep up.

I have picked up smoking again.

The other night I burned through a bag of blow with a girl-friend of mine in an all night lose-yourself-in-someone-else drug/sex binge. And I did not enjoy it one bit but I needed it to soothe the pain just a little bit.

I think about you daily although I swore to myself I wouldn’t. I am still angry at you although I am falling into the same patterns you did. I would take you back in an instant although I shouldn’t.

I’m losing my faith in you.
But you don’t want it to be true.
But there’s nothing you can do.
There’s nothing you can do.
Yes, I’ve lost my faith in you.

I swore I would remain strong. I would be the strong one for our son. I would be the responsible one. But it turns out I'm not.

I visit you in rehab and encourage you every time and we celebrate each month of your sobriety and I wear a false smile. I am continuously sick to my stomach though because here on the other side, out here in the real world, I am fucking losing it. So many lies. So many lies.

You mistakenly think we will be getting back together when you leave, for some strange reason, and I haven’t had the balls to tell you it’s too late. I have fucked. I am getting high now. I have done horrible things out of anger and spite and because I was lost.

But then again, we were no longer together... and you were in jail. And you threw away our life.

Funny, I thought about the needle last night.

I want to let go of the wheel now and have someone else drive because I am tired and regretfully, because I am weak. I am desperately trying to figure out a way to shake this but my resolve deteriorates and falls to my feet chunk by chunk like discarded armor. Perhaps this is a phase and this shit will pass, perhaps not. Regardless, it is starting to frighten me.

Right here in this heart.
I know it’s too late for us.

Ascend

The forest throbs with unseen movement: darting shadows disappearing in the canopy above, the light rustling of leaves as the wind gently kisses the trees, the absence of light as the moon struggles to touch the underbrush… or perhaps all of this is a figment of his heightened senses. His veins burn as the drug works its way up his arm into his heart... into his brain, jumpstarting the dead ganglions and dormant nerve clusters, coaxing the visions and memories to the surface, and then systematically erasing them, sponging away a lost world of regret and loss.

He is reawakened. He is the night.

I am the night

At last at last we are one. As we reach out to each other, bathed in sweat, struggling to catch our breath. We are lost in the moment, so surreal and new… as though we have been reborn.

He quietly shakes his head, a pang of regret and disbelief, as he contemplates the parting words the shaman spoke through from behind a thick veil of smoke in a black, thatched hut as the rain drummed and thumped outside. Words cutting through the dry stillness like venom in blood. Ancient words spoken in a lost tongue last heard in Eden – or perhaps in the whisperings of King Nimrod as he dreamed of a colossal tower spiraling into heaven. Incomprehensible words, but at the same time lucent and crystal clear as a mountain spring.

He arrived to this jungle seeking redemption - either sanctification in death or the purgatory of rebirth - the burden and curse of eternal life. He came prepared. This biblical tree he sought without fear fully vested to open this long-forgotten Pandora ’s Box and unleash hope upon a spiteful world. He knew the tale as he knew each wrinkle on his face or gray hair in his head. A blur of memories, an eternity of preparation - before he ascended the broken trail up into the misty highlands, he would sit around the crackling fire with rapt attention listening to the natives each give their own version, their own generational testimonial, of “the myth” with twinkling eyes and well rehearsed gestures. He would quietly listen, thoughtfully nod, and quickly jot precise notes into his old leather-bound book.

He came prepared…. An eternity of preparation.

As I am now prepared.

Prepared to finally face a future without “her.” I am reborn and you were the catalyst. And you are the drug that systematically erases my world of pain and loss.

Cyclic

Despite our brief history of ups and downs, trials and tribulations, we continue to come back to one another. We were both betrayed by someone close, we have both dealt with loss, subjugated to death, resigned to a life of solitude and distrust. We have so much in common it is truly frightening. Yes, we continue to come back to one another and we always manage to pull away, a perpetual sad song which harkens me to a night long ago listening to black waves crash on a desolate beach.

I have now met your mother and your father and your brother and your sisters. I am the only man you have ever brought around your son… and you are the only woman who has been around mine. One dreamy surreal night we professed our love for one another. We confessed we have always wanted to be with one another, even when we were both trapped in our doomed relationships, we would find ourselves thinking about the other and what they were doing at that moment. There was always that glimmer of hope. There was always that fleeting fantasy we would both obsessively toy with in our heads over and over like an unsolvable rubik’s cube while we went about our daily lives – the elusive “what if?”

And now we are both free. Yet there is hesitation. We are free to let go and lose ourselves in one another and escape this horrible fucking place and we cannot, we are frozen with fear, emasculated by mistrust. We have both erected walls. Impenetrable barriers. Yet little do we know these barriers could crumble away like a heap of dry leaves would we allow them to.

We are unable to just. Let. Go.

And here I am, a bottle of whiskey in hand, dousing these flames and dumbing this pain. And you have told me you drink alone as well after you put your little one to bed.

We want each other so badly we can both taste it in our mouths like rotten pennies. We have both imagined the possibilities. We are each other’s saviors. We are each other’s Messiahs. And perhaps… just maybe… we are each other’s soul mates.

But we will never know will we?

So I pull another drink from this bottle and listen to the ringing nothingness I have chosen to shroud myself in.

her

I inhale a sharp puff of the cigarette, hold it in as I feel it softly tickle the inside of my lungs with delicate feathery fingers, then I exhale through my nose two long dragon streams of white smoke. We both stare across the parking lot at some construction. We watch the workers idle about – the slow, limitless progress of ants. It’s hot. The sun causes steam to sweat out of the cracked concrete. The day is long and arduous and I am thirsty and I can imagine drinking in this mirage as I was told to do when I was little, when we’d spend long days in Brooklyn by the river.

“So I had that dream again.” I tap my cigarette with a soft snap. An inch of ash tumbles off the end, gets caught in the breeze, and is carried away.

“The girl again.” You take a drag. “Yeah, who is this girl you keep dreaming about?”

I start to speak but I’m cut off by the rumble of an approaching dump truck. I wait to respond, using this distraction to pull a deep drag off my cigarette. I exhale.

“ I don’t know who she is at all but all I know is it is ‘she.’ She… has always been there for me and she always shall be. Together we will live together and after we die we will meet each other under the branches of Yaxche and together we will slowly ascend into Xibalba, a nebulous star on the fringe of destruction or creation or … nothing….”

You are silent, patiently waiting to see if I continue. You are motionless, except a nod of quiet agreement. You choose your words, mindful not to hurt me.

“ Your story continues and it continues to break my heart. I wish there was something I could do to kill this pain… I wish there was something you’d be willing to take. You carry this burden - and you continue to choose such a difficult path and it…..”

I cut you off mid-sentence, the slightest hint of urgency and defiance in my voice.

"If I take another path then we will never find each other! Do you understand that? And – and I cannot allow that to happen by any costs or I will die.... I will fucking die.”

You hand me the soft pack. “We have time, let’s smoke another.”

beginning of an end

She looks up at me with blue eyes, so brilliantly striking, and with unflinching certainty in her voice tells me she can trust me. She tells me she can be “herself” around me and that I bring out the best things in her as the sun gently coerces the flowers from the ground or a butterfly from a cocoon. She is beautiful, and clever, and in another world… and I have always said this about her… we would be soul-mates.

I kiss her lips and close my eyes and my thoughts inevitably wander to another bed to another place in someone else’s embrace but this bittersweet memory is corrupted - tarnished by plodding, merciless time. Crackling static and shadowy flashes projected on a crumbling wall which rests at the edge of the world and….

I no longer hear the whispers.

It is silent in my world. I am numb..

I told her recently that “I am incapable of love” and it is the truth. The past, which I once wore like rusty armor… the past, which brought me solace, which I wrapped around quivering shoulders like an old blanket… is now, and perhaps indefinitely…. the past. I am gebbeth. I wander the world with a lovely smile and dead eyes.

I kiss her lips and feel nothing but dry uncomfortable friction - like rock rubbing metal. Although outwardly we look so happy and perfect together – so beautiful and perfect. And they see my smile. Perhaps a glint in my eye. I am an illusionist pulling off a magnificent trick, playing to their hopes and dreams, and what people do not see is the aged, ghastly painting I keep stored away – a painting of me dying day by day – and every breath I take I add a stroke of black, red or gray.

Tears and rain as I look to the sky and I have reached a point in my life where all I can do is simply…. laugh.

The works

" So where have you been? You haven't called or nothing. What's going on?"

" Nothing... or, er... everything... or I don't know. It's been weird."

" Weird how? Did you and her get back together?"

" It's funny, I swore we would. Either we would or I would drink myself to death. Neither happened. I have moved on. I have let go."

" Good or bad thing?"

" A good thing. Very good. I met someone you know. Well, actually, I've met two someone's and I can't decide whom I want to spend my time with. They are both amazing and smart and ... together... In fact that's where I was tonight, with K____."

" That is one of the girls?"

" Yes, she is one of the girls. And we're going out again on Thursday. Brilliant, beautiful girl. Maybe too brilliant and too beautiful for someone like me."

" Maybe she's thinking the exact same thing as you are."

" Maybe."

" So what's the game plan."

" I'm not forcing this. I'm letting the chips fall where they may."

" The chips fall where they may huh....? Well, if you walk away with greasy hands, don't wipe them on your new pants."

Elysium

The other night at the bar I ran into a friend of a friend, someone I haven’t seen for a very long time, a forgotten face from a distant past which races closer and closer each day - and I approach this past with determination, hands locked tightly on the steering wheel, eyes forward, unable or unwilling to move.

We spoke of life, it’s ups and downs. Small talk. Then she brought up you.

I haven’t seen you in over 5 years. I sternly thought I would never see you again, or speak of you even, until perhaps the day we die - when we are reunited…. and there she was telling me you never moved on. You waited. You ask about me often, evidently, with a great sadness, and a dash of hope, in your voice.

I spoke to this friend about you.

The booze coaxed words out of me I normally only reserve for the anonymous written page. I told her things, not much, but “just enough.” How I miss you. How I hope you are doing well and that you are happy. Just enough but not as much as I certainly could have. We exchanged numbers, another strategic move on my part, and I was sure to give her a ring several days later… “just calling to say hi.”

I close my eyes and I see you. When I run, and the runner’s high creeps over me in a cold shiver I see your face. I smell your hair. I long for your smile. I feel your breath on my neck. I have clothes I swear I can still smell you in.

I do not know if things could be the same between us... or if I am setting myself up for failure or disappointment. Reunited or perhaps ruination, whatever this may be, it steadily approaches.

In front of me I see a barren land. In the far-off distance stands a crumbling, ancient wall. And the whispers I hear, that I have always heard, grow louder.

Dawn

My head is finally starting to straighten out. Driving home yesterday I had an epiphany, a quiet personal victory, a moment where I didn’t think about the present but instead, looked forward to the future. The pain was gone. I was fully numb. I have moved on and there is no more “us.” I am no longer responsible for you, nor do I care what you do or where you go. I am Atlas and I have set down this preposterous burden I have bourn for countless years.

And I am smiling.

I was unsure if this “high” would last but it has. I woke up this morning with a clear head.

Yesterday, when you were over at your moms, out on bail and a day before you checked in for rehab, I had the opportunity to finally speak to you, your mom asked me if I wanted to, and it was very easy for me to tell her “no, I'm not really interested.” I do not need to speak to you or hear your "explanation." Because, and this is the truth, I really don’t care anymore about the details of what transpired.

The fact is these things happened - and it’s my “get out of jail” card.

I knew it would take something drastic for us both to finally have the guts to do what was right, and that is to go our separate ways. Our marriage sucked. We were together for him and only him. Let me rephrase that, I was there for him, you were there because I enabled you to do what it is you did. I was one of many "enablers."

We were together because it was convenient and I was just too damn lazy to break things off sooner. In addition, when all this finally went down I was devastated not because I had lost you, but because I wasn’t able to end things on my terms and it is this stubborn, macho pride that I think affected me the most.

Now a new world lies ahead of me. Unlike break-ups of the past, I do not dwell on you. I do not obsess over you because our relationship was always more of a friendship then a romance or a love affair. You were not my soul mate. And I think you have a pretty clear idea who was... and I probably wasn’t yours either.

You know, one thing that keeps things in perspective for me is this: while I was moving out, boxing my things, I came across our wedding photos down in Vegas. I looked at my face in the pictures and remembered the doubt, fear…. no not fear, but sheer terror, I was experiencing that week. I always thought I'd be with someone different. I always knew in my heart marrying you was the wrong move. It was the expected move because Presley was on his way. And it was my “duty” to marry you so I could oversee Presley's birth and his rearing.

So, I have moved on. The grieving is over. The sense of betrayal and anger has been replaced with a numb hope you may eventually get through your rehab and shake your demons, as I have, and one day become a good mom to our son, because he really does adore you. He will come and see you provided this visitation is supervised and you are continuing to be tested daily. I realize you will always be a part of his life and I will try to make the best of it. I hope he is your motivation to shake this disease you have.

But I will forever be cautious and untrusting of you.

When we speak it will be polite, to-the-point conversation about him and his well being and nothing more. I do not want to hear excuses, or apologies, or anything else from you because I don’t care anymore.

I truly do not give a flying fuck.

You go do your own thing, I already am.

Away

We push on. Even though the skies are a gray, drab curtain of menacing storm-clouds barreling closer to us... closer to the earth, we push on. For we must.

Quiet, except for the shrill whistle of the wind weaving through dead, dry branches of dead, dry trees and long ago the birds went away from this place leaving only a barren ash field stretching as far as the eye can see... perhaps forever.

I look at you, a slightly older you, and you point up at the sky and in a hoarse little voice say "Daddy I felt rain." I quietly nod, and pull the tarp over us, and we walk on. We cannot get caught out here when hell breaks loose, we must find cover and rest or we too shall die as this land has.

And you whisper in my ear "Daddy I'm scared." I kiss your cheek and assure you we will make it through. "And where is Mommy?" You ask and all I can tell you is "She is away." I turn my head and avert my eyes so you do not see my tears, I do not want to upset you. Although I know you will be all right as long as we are together.

You are the strong one.

Waste

We have moved on, Presley and I, and you now rot in jail.

I told you that this is not the path you should choose... I told you life is different for us both now... and you didn't heed a fucking word I said. Your vicious game you continued to play, queen of lies, and then you got caught you selfish pig.

Such delicious irony. YOU got caught.

Now it's YOUR house of cards that has come crashing down, whore, because we have moved on and you continue to rot in a barren cell, I hope this forced detox is extremely painful. I can't imagine the pain and hurt and emptiness you are feeling right now....

actually I can...

Because I have been there.

And the past 8 months have been pain, hurt, and emptiness as I watched you slip away. And every day I grew more and more numb. Unlike you, unlike myself once upon a time, I chose not to self-medicate. I took it like a man. Yes, I am angry and hurt, but not for myself, but for our son. It pains me he was not your first priority as he is mine. You are and always were a pitiful mother.

Now, I am all he has. We are "each the other's world entire." And you are no longer a part of the equation. You will never be. I will not allow you near him.

Unlike you, I would never smoke Heroin in the same car I pick him up in, or in the house right next to the spot he likes to play. Unlike you I am here to protect him.

I am thankful this happened. I wanted an out but my sense of "duty" kept me in. I felt obligated to play house with you and wear a happy face and pretend the world is peachy so he would be happier. I do not regret meeting you, however. You served your purpose, I have what I always wanted, I have my immortality. The center of my universe, my beautiful, beautiful boy. You are/were a mere egg donor.

You were my greatest drug buddy, the thrill of the flesh bonded us, fused us together, but then he came, unexpectedly... I changed, but you couldn't.

I don't really give a fuck where you go from here. You are now a felon, you can never be a professional or lead a normal life. You are a hopeless addict, you will relapse again and again and again, I know you will, I know you are exceptionally weak. Perhaps you will strip or suck or fuck to get what you need... I couldn't care less really as long as you stay the fuck away from him.

Perhaps you will get busted again and spend countless years locked away and forgotten, yes forgotten, because no one will come see you. You have alienated your family. You fucked them over. Presley and I will definitely not come see you. These so-called "friends" of yours whom convinced you to use, your drug buddies, will not come and see you. You will become a memory. When people speak of you they will shake their heads and say: " Such a waste. Such a waste."

Or.... Perhaps you will go to sleep and never wake up again. Oh my god, I'm crossing my fingers you do. I know you will relapse with a fucking vengeance. Try shooting your smack. Try a line of coke with that Heroin, fuck how about some meth? lol, I promise you'll like the way you feel bitch... I promise-- and I promise I will never speak ill of you to Presley, I will tell him the good things you did, which are few. But your memory will be honored. Not for your sake, but his.