11. To Be Lost


You ever get out of bed and look around, and just by looking around you know that you should have stayed in bed? You know it better than you know your own name. But you can’t stop the endless tick of time. You can’t stay there, as much as you want to. You have to get up and keep going. The really screwed up part about getting up and making that kind of observation? When you realize that all your days are like that, a series of bad days. They never end and they seldom change. They simply are. A line of bad days. One after another. And that becomes your life. My life. A series of bad days, in a row – one right after the other.

This is just another bad day. This is just a number on the line. Another sleepless night. Another pointless date. I could look around and try until I’m blue. But it won’t change. It won’t end or stop or be better. This is just another day. This is my life. This wasn’t always my life, but somehow along the way, it’s become familiar. And I’ve become accustomed to it. I’ve become…stable, or the closest thing to it that I could ever come to manage. People like me aren’t supposed to be stable. We’re never allowed to be sane and free. Freedom is a really bizarre concept. Those that consider themselves the freest of the bunch are truly the most imprisoned. They have the most, and heaviest, chains.

I am here, in this, in the now. I’m in this moment, which is one in a line of moments that just continues on. Just another bad day. In a line of them. In a line. In a life. In this life. In my life. And no matter how hard I try, it just won’t stop. Won’t slow down or falter. This is now, this is my life.

I’m here. Now.

Love just…sucks. It’s truly very screwy. I should slow down, I should explain. Should. That is such a wacky concept. Should. I should slow down. But why? I’m used to my usual pace, that’s what makes it usual. If it’s too quick for you to keep up, why should I slow down for you? This is my life and my story – this is my drama. My tragedy. Why should I move at your pace? Would you change your step to keep up, or slow down, to match me? Would you? I highly doubt it. Why should you conform your life to mine? There’s no reason, at least, in your eyes. Then again, I wouldn’t want you to. I’m having enough trouble with my life, why would I want someone else to share in the madness? It’s unique to myself.

Je suis un enfant unique.

It’s supposed to mean that I’m an only child. But if you translate it, word for word, it should come out to something like “I am a unique child”. Funny how much you lose in the translation, or how something simple and direct can mean something completely different.

I am myself.

No matter what happens, how many bad days I have, that fact is irrefutable. There’s no denying the simple truth of what I am. Who I am is another question entirely. But at least I’ve managed to get the particulars out of the way as to what I am. No other answer would be satisfactory. The simple truth is enough. Of course, it’s not really that simple. But it sounds good. And it’s nice to think so. The whole truth, without the fabrications and white lies, is never, ever simple. That’s why nobody uses it. It just takes too much. Too much of what? Too much time, patience, effort. It just takes too much.

Love doesn’t really suck, that was just a product of the bad days. It’s great and wonderful if established properly. See, look at things with Linkon and myself. That wasn’t founded on anything except simple chance. And maybe, that’s enough. But I was born with the ideas that the only people worth keeping around are the ones worth something. People with power. Anything else is just a waste of space. There’s no need for friends. One is independent, self-sufficient – what the hell does one need other people for when they can hack it on their own? They’d only get in the way, sway my opinions. Try to stop me. This is what Angyl taught me. Never be dependent.

Linkon and I got along, all things considered, fairly well. I mean, we didn’t know each other all that well when we moved in. Naturally, we drove each other crazy at first. But the fights were usually resolved that day or the next, and nothing occurred that’s cause for consideration. We never hit each other; nothing was thrown across the room. The usual domestic issues didn’t happen. I mean sure, we had issues, but not the abusive, violent kind. And he was real. That was the main point of staying with him. He was real, absolutely, through and through. There was nothing fake about him. He said it how it was. He didn’t think he was better than anybody else. He was real, and in being around him, I became more real. He reminded me of my father when he was younger, before dear Lucid went insane. Every so often, I just might miss my father. Then again, I did pull the trigger for him. So I guess I don’t miss him too much. I made my own bed, so hence, I learned to deal. And deal I did. That part of my life I kept to myself, away from Linkon. He got the rant about Angyl and how I was an orphan. But I skipped the part about how my parents died. It was better for everybody to leave him in the dark.

I was never dependent on Linkon. He offered me a place to stay and I took it. I could have gone anywhere else. It was just a convenience to be there. It was easier, and when something comes up that makes life easier, jump for it. That very seldom happens. Most changes are made to further complicate things. Most. There’s always that little area of gray, reserved for chance. For the concept of possibility. Did you ever realize that almost every time someone passes an open door, they look inside? Why is that? Is it a sort of subconscious curiosity? A psychological situation where the viewer wishes to be part of the scene? Are they looking for something, someone? All those questions and possibilities. And then there’s the statistical group who don’t look, who walk straight by. Hence, the gray. What seldom happens, but does, in fact, happen.

Saying that something is impossible is just stupid. That’s just making you look like a fool, ready and waiting to be made a mockery of. Never be that definitive – never be so certain. There’s always possibility in this world. I apply this to Linkon and myself. It’s kind of hard to explain how or why, but maybe you can figure it out along the way. I’m not sure I really could explain, even if I wanted to. Some things are just beyond words and can’t be explained.

I felt like I’d known Linkon for years. I was comfortable with him due to this. And it was this that allowed me to move in with him. And this all helped me maintain my sanity. As a shift of scenery. We all need a change of mood every so often. There needs to be a shift in order to keep the wheel turning. And the wheel has to turn. If it stops turning, there’s nothing.

I got up, went to work, came home, and it all became part of the routine. It was summer hence school wasn’t a problem. I was 17 years old. I should have been planning my future. What I would do with my senior year. Where I wanted to go to college. But that would have been put to waste. I’d be lucky to finish my senior year, but I’d never make it to college. And it wasn’t a matter of my achievement. It was based on the fact that no street demon goes off to higher learning. I was a street demon. I was raised to survive. My parents were demons. I was born into their classification. It would be stuck with me for life. I didn’t care all that much. It wasn’t the worst social distinction to be born into. There was a lot worse. And as such, I’d always have a family if I needed them, somewhere. I’d always have Angyl to count on, should I ever find that I need someone. Should. I really hate that word.

A few weeks of the routine passed. We were in the middle of summer. And I was slowly going insane. It’s not that I was bored or anything. Linkon was great and entertaining; he could do half of anything artistic. But there was just…the cycle of events. Nothing changed. Nothing drastic ever shifted. Everything was done by rote memory. I could take it. Nothing ever happened that was out of the ordinary. I was in suburbia hell. And I wanted my busy, bustling city back. So I got up and decided I would have it back. I had been up here for weeks and I proved my point. I’d go home. I’d find Angyl. Apologize for any inconvenience I might have caused her. And be a street demon again. There was nothing and nobody to demonize up here. There was nothing but green suburban hell. For miles around. For a city brat, that’s damnation.

I told Linkon I’d be going home. He nodded, smiled, took it all in. He didn’t seem concerned.

“So when do we leave?” he questioned. I shook my head.

“Not we, I. I leave. Tomorrow.”

He shook his head, mimicking me. “No. We. I’m going with you.”

“You can’t.”

He raised a brow. “Can’t I?”

“You have a life here, a job, stability.”

“So do you.”

“I had a life there first. A life I want to go back to.”

He shook his head again, slowly, taking it all in. “What kind of life?”

“The life of the damned.”

And I got up to start packing for the trip back home. Like I said, my life can fit easily in the trunk of my car. And it did.

That wasn’t the end of the discussion. And by the time I was ready to leave, a compromise had been made. Linkon packed up his car and drove back with me. Every so often, it’s just a waste of time to fight. Why bother fighting when you know you’re going to lose from the start? Because there’s a chance that the expectations were wrong. There’s always chance. And I was born and bred to believe in and embrace fully the concept of possibility.

I fought like hell for hours to convince him otherwise. I explained the crime and the madness of the city. That this was where I was raised and there would be happenings that he wouldn’t understand. There would be things he wouldn’t approve of. But this was my natural habitat. He told me he loved me. I told him to brace himself.

The drive back was long. I didn’t realize how far away from home I truly was. When I left, I wasn’t in the sanest state of mind. I lost track of how much driving I’d done. And then I stopped. And now, coming back…I tried to remember what broke, what snapped in my life to make me do this. What broke me to the point of taking off, what made me go that far away? I couldn’t remember. Then again, there might not have been a legitimate reason. I might have just been bored. I’ve done weirder things before. I’m a generally eccentric character.

Linkon was in his own car the whole way down. He didn’t have family to bid farewell to. He didn’t have that many friends either, just the kids at the theater. We told them we were leaving, left a highly apologetic note for the management to say that we seriously regretted our sudden departure. But it was necessary. If we put it off, it would have taken forever to get away. Some things don’t require hours of planning. It was simple – pack and drive. There wasn’t much more to consider. We were both largely self-sufficient. There weren’t any teary farewells to be worried about. Which made things all the better for us both. Suited me just fine to be free enough to just walk away.

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