@inklings-challenge
Life circumstances didn't really allow much time for writing this month. I'm primarily calling it quits here because the mental load of life is just a bit much right now. So, apologies for even the last chapter that I began being cut-off mid-scene. I will attempt to at least finish that after the deadline.
So, here's my unfinished little chunk of writing. It is the most writing I've done since college, so I at least feel a little proud of that. I'm not sure I'll ever do anything else with this, but it's something, which I'm counting as better than nothing.
Chapter 1
Psalm 130 (Indelible Grace) - From the depths of woe I raise to thee the voice of lamentation.
The velvet blackness behind my eyes slowly unraveled. Something imperceptible had broken the silence and woken the alarms of my subconscious mind to face the harsh light of the afternoon. I rolled over, pulling the blankets back over my head, desperately clinging to the deep oceans of forgetfulness that sleep provided.
The alarms continued ringing as searing brightness through my blackout curtains shone directly onto the pillows, as if someone had tugged them open just enough to intentionally wake me. The blankets over my head made the air around my face stale and hot.
A lawnmower buzzed past the window. A bird chirped in the tree above the roof. The rat in the attic scratched his way across the boards.
Wait.
Wait.
Please just be quiet. Why do they always have to mow so early on Saturdays?
Wait.
I don’t have rats in my attic. Do I have to call an exterminator now? No, the apartment can handle it, just have to make the maintenance request.
There didn’t seem much point in prolonging the inevitable now, as every small disturbance was like another chunk out of the dam, leaking oblivion out of my drowsing brain into the bedroom.
No hope of going back now, I’ll just have to wait until tonight to try again.
With an exasperated sigh, I threw the blanket back, sat up, and reached to the table to grab my phone and check the time. Not that it mattered what time it was. The urgency to check for a text or missed call tickled at my fuzzy brain, but I knew without a doubt that no one would have contacted me on a Saturday afternoon. Shadows pooled in the corners of the room and around the sides of the bed. Darkness swallowed the details of the room. My precious oblivion. My treasured loss of consciousness. Spilled from dreams to fill every nook and cranny.
My hand scrabbled around on the table for a second or two, searching by feel for the solid rectangle of my phone. Bumped a plastic cup, nudged a stack of two or three books, knocked against the lamp. No phone.
Where did I leave it this time?
I swung my feet out of bed and stood up, intending to make the slog to the charger in the living room just past the end of the bed. I made it a few feet with my eyes half open, my hand reaching to slide open the barn style door. My instinctive reach didn’t find the vertical handle. Instead I scraped my knuckles against a textured patch of wall then smacked into a round metal knob.
Beyond the door I heard voices. Adult male voices.
“Do you have any regrets about your dating life?” an older voice intoned, the flat monotone of a line read out of a book.
“No. Not that I can think of.” A younger man’s voice, with a flatness more of disinterest.
That voice. His voice. How did he get in here? He doesn’t have a key!
“Alright. For next week work through chapters two and three, and we’ll find another time to meet.”
“Thanks for being willing to come all this way. We’ll take a look at our calendars and get it figured out.” Chairs scraped against the wooden floor and there was the rustle of cloth and padding of shoes as multiple people moved around the room outside.
Wait.
Wait.
Did it actually work this time?
I slowly grasped the doorknob and turned, pushing the door open as slowly as possible. I expected to see the old wood floors, the scarred and wobbly chairs, the round plastic table of my college rental. If a cockroach had slipped past my foot I wouldn’t have been surprised. Behind me the sunlight grew to a hot halo burning the back of my head and the shadows at my feet swelled coolly up my legs. The door cracked open, and a wave of darkness swept through the door extinguishing the light behind me. I never got to see what was beyond.
Wait.
Wait!
I wasn’t done! Don’t let him leave!
Velvet blackness unfurled behind my eyes, obscuring anything I could have seen. My eyes were open but there was nothing left to see.
Nothing except the smooth white ceiling of my current-day apartment.
Chapter 2
I expected that the rest of the weekend would be euphoric. Having achieved the first step of my final goal, maybe I thought I deserved a break from the universe. Or that everything after that would just naturally go my way. Or that normal life would simply cease to be tiresome and boring.
Unfortunately, a Saturday afternoon with no plans and a Sunday spent in dread of Monday is just as tiresome as any other normal weekend. The universe continued to send the usual small hang-ups and irritations of traffic, the obligations of making food and doing laundry, the late-night interruptions of turnt-up neighbors, and the knowing-pitying-disapproving glances of the church peanut gallery.
It’s easy enough to avoid talking to said peanut gallery, another thing entirely to side-step the slow moving but comfortable bulk of the grandmotherly women’s ministry director.
“Good to see you this morning Reagan,” she said, sidling up the pew.
“You too Mrs. Rich.” I snagged my bag and stood, hoping to slip away. The family on the opposite end of the pew from my benevolent roadblock was opening their children’s backpacks and pulling out snacks.
“Oh please, you know you can call me Annie.” Her eyes squinted up into a smile that seemed to make them disappear. I glanced back towards the family, now camped out with goldfish spilling across the seats.
I giggled, though it was higher pitched and more nervous than I had intended.
“I know, it just feels kind of disrespectful!”
“Don’t you worry honey, you’ll get used to it. How’s work going?”
A knot twisted in my throat. I cleared it a little too forcefully and ended up coughing. I had to wave away a quickly offered, seemingly from nowhere, snow white handkerchief with a pink A.R. embroidered on it.
“Sorry! Uh, it’s still pretty new to me. You know, it takes a while to get used to a new place. I’m sure everything will settle down once I get comfortable!”
Talking too much. Next tactic. I felt in my bag with one hand for the cold weight of my phone, brushing aside the assorted clutter.
“You’ll do just fine I’m sure, honey,” Mrs. Rich said, tucking the handkerchief back into an invisible pocket. “Take your time. I think Suzie - she sings in the choir you know - works in the same business! You should talk to her sometime! Maybe you two, or just you I guess now - ”
“Oh, thanks!” I interrupted breathlessly. “You know, I just got a text and I’m expecting to hear from my boss. I better get that!”
I swept the phone out and hiked my bag up on my shoulder. Mrs. Rich benevolently - she never seemed to move in a way expressing hurry, impatience, or anything other than good natured sweetness - sidled her way back out of the pew.
“Don’t work yourself too hard, and don’t let them work you on a Sunday!” she said with a self-humoring chuckle, waving at my back as I hurried away.
Worse than the peanut gallery. Once out into the hallway, I was able to make my escape without getting caught in any more overly polite conversations with barely veiled hints of recent history.
I glanced at my phone as I walked, hoping that at least my lie to Mrs. Rich would come true. There was a text, but it wasn’t from my boss. It was from the counselor.
Let me know when you’ll be available for us all to meet up again. Caleb let me know he is available any day this coming week after 5 except Wednesday and Thursday.
How is it that he knows more about Caleb’s schedule than I do?
I pushed through the doors into the parking lot, trying to hold back hot tears. I could feel my face reddening. If anyone so much as looked at me with a pitying glance, I knew I would break down. My gut ached to scream and rage, to throw or break something, but here in the parking lot I knew that if anyone noticed my gathering storm it would just result in humiliating tears from myself, and a sopping wet weepy circle of sympathetic church ladies insisting on knowing exactly what was going on. It would just be another opportunity to add fresh meat to the never-ending grind of the rumor mill.
One thing went in my favor - I made it to the car without being accosted by more than a few vague “byes” from bare acquaintances.
Once in the car and just-barely-speeding down the highway I could finally let loose.
“How come he gets to set the schedule? Why is it that I’m the last one to have any input for anything? He’s always getting first pick and first say and first - “
The rest was broken off by a fit of angry sobbing.
He doesn’t always though. And maybe you don’t take the initiative enough. Do you even have opinions or preferences? Why don’t you ever speak up?
Such reasonable thoughts.
Back home, after a pitiful lunch of peanut butter and jelly plus a few strawberries – at least today I ate some fruit – and the whole afternoon staring me in the face again, it was time for some decisions. I both wanted to and didn’t to repeat the experiment. There was time. Monday wouldn’t come until tomorrow. I didn’t have to answer the counselor until the evening. No one expected a lot of communication on the weekends anyway. But did I really want to hear his voice again right now? Did I really want to revisit it all again so soon?
A glass of afternoon red wine settled the question for me.
Why don’t you take the initiative? Why don’t you speak up? What are you going to be willing to put up with?
The questions cycled over and over as I stared up at the bare, white, sunlit ceiling of my bedroom. The ceiling spun ever so slightly, and I could feel the harsh beats of my heart in my eyes and neck. There was never any escape. I had clung so hard for so long to waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to fix this. If I wanted answers and change, I would have to go again.
Chapter 3
Wait.
Wait. How did I fall asleep here? Did I really drink that much?
My sluggish reactions struggled to guide my hands and legs to coordinate a way off the concrete. Once up, the world spun just slightly to the right. My hands on the brick wall kept me from tripping over my own feet. A collection of neon lights and the raucous laughter of young voices guided me towards the front of the bar.
What happened to my room?
Don’t ask silly questions. You meant to do this.
I got around the corner of the building without falling over, but as soon as I rounded the corner I jerked myself backwards and attempted a graceful exit from public view. I had remembered just in time. I managed to avoid falling but scraped a palm on the bricks.
He’s there! We’re there. I’m there. I can’t rush into this.
A graceful exit indeed.
The bare glimpse I had gotten of the front of the bar was a blur of neon, a few people coming and going through the front doors, and a puddle of blackness slowly pouring across the threshold, swallowing the feet and ankles of the young patrons.
My rapid breathing filled my own ears obscuring the loud music, laughter, and buzz of overly loud conversations. Was this the night? I would have to find out.
As I leaned against the wall, passersby spared quick glances at me, but no one spared more than that. No one found a drunk woman in the alleyway a novel enough situation to do anything about.
At least no one’s going to call the cops on me.
The possibility poured into my stomach like a glass of ice water. I hadn’t even really thought about what might happen if…
Don’t let it become a possibility. Just keep out of sight and take your time.
After a few deep breaths of trying to steady myself, I went around the corner and carefully made my way to the front of the building. The black shadows continued to slowly ooze and swirl out onto the bricks of the sidewalk.
What is that stuff anyway? What happens if I touch it?
The better time to ask that would have been before the glass of wine.
I shook my head and moved to stand, as casually as possible, near the front windows. The bouncer gave me a passing glance, but was kept busy with checking id’s as people continued to trickle in.
I could just see past the first few seats and tables to the actual bar inside. That was where everything disappeared into inky blackness. I knew I should be seeing my own back sitting there. And his.
Six months ago. We were about to graduate. It was all swallowed up in that blackness. I couldn’t even remember what either of us had said. I did vividly remember the following morning.
“It’s been long enough Reagan! Come on, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t”
Why can I hear his voice?
“We’ve been dating for a year and a half, doesn’t that count for something?
“I know, and it’s been the best year and a half of my life! But-”
“Oh come on, give me one reason we shouldn’t!” “We haven’t really talked about some of the big things, have we?
“Like what?” His voice, loose and exuberant, so far away from the monotone of a few months later, filled my ears. “Surely we can overcome anything together!” “But shouldn’t we, I don’t know, talk to someone about all this first? Aren’t there things you’re supposed to talk about before doing something this serious?”
“Always so serious,” he answered with a laugh.
I heard that laugh, even over the music and the chatter and the obscuring shadows of memory.
“Well, maybe just before we decide-”
“Let’s just decide! Reagan, will you marry me?”
I felt the blood rush to my face. The shadows rushed forward, swallowing up the interior of the bar and then gushing out the door. It was the night. The night that for once, I hadn’t waited. I hadn’t considered anything before allowing an exuberant gush of emotion take over my reason. It was everything I’d feared and regretted.
And the rest of the night. Inky blackness crashed through the windows, a slow motion wave about to drown everything out.
The next morning. I woke up on his couch, didn’t I?
The cold shadows felt surprisingly light and gentle as the wave threw me backwards. Or was I falling forwards into it, welcoming the oblivion once again?
What regrets do I have?
Everyone has regrets. The real question is, what are you going to do with those regrets?
Chapter 4
Ecclesiastes 9 - It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, because that is the end of every person, and the living takes it to heart… The mind of the wise is in the house of mourning, while the mind of fools is in the house of pleasure…
Ecclesiastes 9 - It is good that you grasp one thing while not letting go of the other, for the one who fears God comes out with both of them.
Everything I’d been afraid of was true. How could I go on knowing this was the truth? Or was it?
My head pounded and spun as I slowly rolled over onto my side. Blankets tangled around me and pillows conspired to be between my legs and the floor. I only just managed to sit up before slumping unceremoniously off the bed.
Graceful as always. But at least you know the drinking is probably a problem. We can work on that later.
Wait.
Wait.
We?
Wait, what time is it?
Panic forced me up to frantically search the bedding for my phone. Snatching it up from under a tangle of sheets and blankets, I slumped back on the floor with an audible sigh of relief.
2:00AM. Sunday night. Or Monday morning. Depending on how one decided to look at it.
That meant four whole hours before I had to be dunking my head in a cold shower and trying to force down toast and coffee before work.
