I just couldn’t face the idea of Indiana.
Not after what she asked me, when last I was in that nugget shaped state—I am still caught processing that request. So it was safer for me to remain temporarily behind inside an angry Mitten; my heart was in desperate need of a “lost weekend” to help get my head bent back right again.
As often happens inside gaps of untethered time, I continued my feral run. Seeking shelter inside of bottles. And unsolicited bar room conversations. Ducking and covering inside of increasing ABVs. Eventually wandering the empty capitol streets with a leather collar turned up against the wind blowing in off the big lake again, when numb enough to finally ignore everything.
Inside the fleeting gaps of responsibility, I was forcing myself to still do all the things I said I would, when first I moved to this inhospitable land of Q.D. zombies. Because somebody has to make beautiful things happen. And since there was fuck all else to do with the time, I figured I may as well try and make it count for something.
Admittedly, I decided to drink my way back over to another Manic Mittened Monday. Mostly to help erase the stink of recently kicked tin. But also to distract myself from the shift back into the bitchy weather. And because I found myself caught wishing things had worked out differently.
For her. And selfishly, for me.
Initially, I didn’t know which way I was supposed to pivot. And foxes don’t often fare well confined in the inertia of immobility. Standing alone at that window on a terminal Friday night, I felt myself chafing at the enormity of it all.
I raged hard at a skyline soon to be hidden behind the lushness of another spring season blossoming; I silently screamed into the face of a city I am not sure I will ever understand. The one too fucking many miles away from wherever it is I am supposed to be; the one too fucking far away from anywhere close to a home.
The whiskey flowed first. Followed shortly after by the tears. The ones attaching themselves to a playlist packed with songs I now better understand. And the one yet to be processed. Mostly because I haven’t yet figured out how to save a life.
The brutal truth of that soundtrack hit hard; the triggered tsunami of ignored emotions pushed me down, shortly before a rising sun threw everything back up. There was no ignoring the tumor in the room. Or the collateral damage of that invasiveness.
The simple truth of it all is that her dying is killing me, too.
Not that it really matters much. I was supposed to be a simple footnote to the story. The gonzo author half out of his head, twisting the words for the sake of another lame joke; the silly, hopeful fox bleeding out words from behind an antiquated machine to document the enormity of her memory—both roles I was born to play.
But that focus terminally shifted under the weight of a single unexpected question. The answer to which has yet to be vocalized.
I’m sure it will happen soon enough. Probably when we are next in the same zip code. And if our history of decision is any indicator of direction, it becomes apparent exactly where this plot line is pointing.
Because I’ve never been in the habit of telling her “no.”
So I accept that it is time.
Time for this fox to gather his strength. Time to dig down deep for the courage of his convictions; time to grant permission for that backslide into the anesthetizing numbness of a too familiar “soldier mode.”
After that, let the chips fall wherever the fuck they want.
If the ultimate reward is allowing her the grace of a dignified peace, then the risks no longer matter. I will take the hit. Even if it leaves me damned, right along with the consequences.
I was never in a position to give her the life she deserved. The one filled with ridiculous love and simple innocence. Endless passion and genuine peculiarity.
But I can be there for her at the finish line. A solitary cheerleader to help celebrate that shift into the next great place. And maybe that’s all that matters in this zero sum game.
Because chapters are designed to end. As are playlists. That is simply the nature of the things.
I just hope that she finds comfort in the words that I have written. And that she can still hear the music, even all the way down in Indiana.
Most of all, I hope she understands when the song says:
Call all your friends
And tell them I’m never coming back
Cause this is the end
Pretend that you want it
Don’t react
The damage is done
The police are coming too slow now
I would have died
I would have loved you all my life
