Many Million Dreams Ago • Ch. 4 of 10
The Chapter’s Song:
The weather outside had changed like clockwork—, summer to fall to winter and then? It seemed like it got stuck somehow. The cold had completely frozen the bedroom window shut, it had stalled my car’s engine to where it wouldn’t turn over anymore—, it quickly become one of the eeriest seasons of my life. The only place where I’d found any warmth whatsoever was in my girlfriend's arms. There was only one problem; we didn’t know how to get any closer. Physically, we’d gone as far as we could go. Emotionally, we were completely tied up in the other. Only our mental state had any free space left to give away.
I’d moved to a different city—, we were now farther away from one another. Less time to be together, less time to share and experience new things, less time, less time. We’d become desperate for reasons to stay inside. I didn’t want to leave anymore. Home wasn’t fifty-some miles away, it was wherever she was. We’d become desperate for reasons to keep grasp of the other. She didn’t want to leave anymore. No friends, no work, nothing that seemed like it was from the outside world. We’d become really, really desperate. Desperation turned to anger, anger turned to hatred, hatred personified itself in the form of something too sharp for words. Something too vengeful, too heavy for mere emotions to make sense of. We held onto the handles of ominous instruments and used them to sculpt a darker reality than the one we’d been running from.
“Baby!—,” she’d exclaim upon waking up. What happened here last night? Unsettling thoughts ran through our minds. All we could do is guess at the unfortunate scenarios which may have played out. Furniture moved around. Couch cushions turned upside down. Thermostat all the way up. We’d blacked out and remembered nothing. Only the stains remained—, measuring our madness like height-marks on a wall. We traded in long-term happiness for some temporary relief at the hands of tiny, pointed teeth. Regretful us. How short-sighted can young love really be? We were on a collision course in trying to find out. Two lost ships with no lighthouse in sight. Dense fog. Broken compasses. We never stood a chance at making it out intact. Every inch ripped apart—, another scar on our hearts. Pound for pound, we weighed and made sure to repay in kind. We became unrecognizable; cutlery rivals. That which we loved, we came to resemble.
“What’s happening with you two?,” friends would eventually ask. They’d noticed we’d become more withdrawn, less excited about the things which had made us so happy before. There was always a catastrophe to complain about. It was our new routine and we’d found some type of comfort in it. A quiet humming sound constantly played in the backs of our heads, like we knew something was wrong, but something we couldn’t shut off either. It pulled us out of everyday moments and affected our presence in regular situations. This went on—, day after day, week after week, month after month. Things played out tragically; broken promises, broken spirits, everything around us was breaking apart. Slowly, the seasons began changing again, but not our negative energies—, we’d gotten too used to them. Now, they became ingrained in our thinking, in our voices, and in our love itself.
Summer came around once more so we headed back to a land of lovely memories we’d made just a year prior. Back to Florida, back to the Gulf Coast, and back to a type of temporary lifestyle that’d suited us so well beforehand—, but strangely, felt disconnected from this time around.
“What’s different?,” I asked myself aloud.
“Everything—,” I heard her voice whisper back throughout the once-sunny horizons of my mind. There were no more exciting drives throughout the city, no more people-watching, and no more dreaming about future lives lived out together. I wanted what we’d had before so badly—, I wanted our old memories and moments which had made the previous summer the best one of my life. Now, it all seemed to be a distant dream to which I’d never be able to return. The car rides were quieter, the waves crashing onto the coast were calmer, everything was empty of any excitement or joy. At night we’d lay awake in bed, look up at the ceiling, and wonder if we’d made a good decision to come back here.
The morning coffee started tasting different—, even in a beautiful city like the one we were visiting, the depths of our regret from home followed us. We’d sit and sip and stare at the floor, very rarely bringing our eyes back up. We felt so many emotions at once and directed them straight toward one another. Somewhere deep within our dark roasts—, we could barely make out the shapeless waves of an uncertain future together and it made each passing day feel more hopeless and gloomier than the one before.
We were nearing the end of our trip and an hour before we’d be heading back to the airport, she tried one final time at making a lasting memory.
“Do you want to collect some sand from the beach with me?,” she sweetly asked from the armchair. I just slowly shook my head and looked back down at the floor in disappointment. So much for trying to rekindle a nearly-forgotten feeling. I’d go on to regret the decision for a long time afterwards.
Back home for another autumn. This one brought about a newly discovered rush with it. I’d made all the wrong types of friends in my new neighborhood and they had the party essentials one in my situation of desperation needed to take in order to fully enjoy life again. I bought a bag’s worth and waited until I saw my girlfriend again to dive in. I chopped up the piece and laid out a long line across a plastic case, gently handing it to her along with a rolled-up twenty-dollar bill. She readied herself, bent down towards her lap, and drew in every last flake with complete poise and perfection. I would’ve married her right there on the spot. She was everything a person looks for in their toxic-twin; courage, composure, and the sexiest bloodshot eyes. We were re-sparking a fire that’d almost completely gone out. We were discovering something new together again—, like we had with drinking, smoking, and the rest of our rituals. This time though, the stakes were raised.
We divvied up white lines on each other’s stomachs and took turns inhaling the freshly fallen snow off our bodies. The room whirled around us—, we were alone in a sea of subjective spinning brought on by outside substances. Nothing to keep us tied down to this world—, we flew high above it all. High—, and above it all. Beyond clouds, beyond time and space. We’d found another realm where we watched ourselves slow-dance to a far-off symphony while going through all the phases of life. Together and separated only by our imaginations. Eventually, they too would combine into a singular vision; objective rapture. Never wake up. We almost never did. Earth came calling and we had to answer back, opening our eyes once more. The room stood still. Only our elevated heartbeats kept rhythm with what we’d just witnessed. It was useless to try and ask her if she’d seen the same things I had. I knew, somewhere deep inside herself—, she’d dreamed of them before ever meeting me in the first place. They were just amplified now; feelings, fantasies, an on- going reverie that wouldn’t let up. How could we go back to normal after something like that? We couldn’t. So we didn’t.
Though the fun lasted a short while—, it wasn’t enough to truly keep us going for long. We swam with the current as far as possible before our arms started to give out. Driving back home to her apartment one day, we had the radio unusually turned off. There’d been something on my mind for a while and I couldn’t keep the question to myself for a minute longer.
“Do you feel like we’re drifting apart?,” I sincerely asked. She instantly answered back.
“I really do.” That was all she had to say. Even with new toxins and exciting experiences, we couldn’t escape the let down of our second summer. We tried our hardest to remain hopeful about the future, but things seemed to pull us in separate directions now more than ever.
We hadn’t seen each other for quite a while. She started school again, I picked up another job, things naturally cooled down after our last car ride together. I was finishing up my shift at work one night when my mom walked in to surprise me.
“Hurry up and clock out, I’ve got something to show you,” she excitedly said. We walked into a glitzy restaurant right across the street and headed downstairs. I reached the bottom floor and stood for a second, unable to react as there sat my girlfriend in a glittering red dress. She slowly turned to face us and gave me her signature look.
“Hey—.” That was all she had to say. I’d fallen for her again in a matter of moments.
“I’ve missed you,” I admitted to her later on at home.
“Me too,” she replied. We moved from the bed to the floor and back again. It was as I’d remembered—, an unequalled emotion. Something absolute and complete. We were making up with each other, making up for lost time, and making more memories than either of us had in the previous few months. We left the white linen sheets and still had the energy to smoke a couple of cloves on the roof outside my bedroom window while quietly wondering where everything was leading to this time around.
Winter rolled around once more. It seemed colder than the last one—, which was near- impossible. I’d been over her place for a few hours when we started downing shots—, one after another in quick succession. The room spun, the kissing started—, everything was going according to our usual plan. Finally, she fell asleep and I didn’t wait long to do the same myself. The next morning, I could already feel the consequences of what’d happened even before I had the chance to open my eyes. We woke up in a haze—, not knowing the exact sequence of events or what order they’d fallen into, but we felt the weight of regret hanging heavily in the atmosphere. Something vile about the way reality came crashing back down on the both of us kept her and I quiet for a long while. She eventually broke the intense silence.
“Look at yourself,” she got out, raising her gaze up from the floor. She stared at me with the saddest eyes I’d ever seen as I noticed the smears I still wore.
“They’re just arms,” I naively said. She quickly covered her face with both hands.
“Those used to be my arms!,” she cried out from the bed. I had nothing to say—, no words could properly describe the amount of desperation I felt. I turned to walk away, leaving the room with an air of awful energy attached to it. I slowly made my way down the stairs and out through the front door, got into my car and forever drove away. So it went that it’d be one of the last times we’d ever see each other.
I needed to vent—, to lash out at something, anything. I had so much pent up within me that I didn’t know who to turn to. Everything was my fault—, I’d felt the emotion radiating from her spirit without her having to say a word. Without having ever fallen in love with me, maybe she’d be so much farther along—, with dreams, with relationships, with life itself. It seemed that I’d kept her in place for much of the last few months. The same arguments constantly led back to the same conclusions; maybe it just wasn’t meant to be after all.
We didn’t speak for a long time afterwards. We just watched the clocks change seconds and minutes and hours but nothing else around us ever improved. We were without the other and while it gave us some breathing room, it also forced us to remember how everything felt before falling into our first kiss together. It all seemed like it’d happened so long ago—, in a different lifetime altogether. Finally, she called up one night to see how I was holding up and of course, it didn’t take long for the attacks to begin.
“Are you using needles yet?,” she said in a soft tone. I cringed at the thought of her actually asking me such a question.
“No,” I answered back, a little annoyed. How was it possible that we’d drifted so far apart? Wasn’t this the same girl who’d always kept me in line, calculating my grades everyday for an entire semester of English class to help me pass? Now—, she was asking if I’d been injecting myself with drugs. Of course the flow of firewater never let up and the pills seemed to be in full supply ever since I’d moved, but her imagination was definitely getting out of hand.
“I don’t think we should speak to each other for a while,” was her suggestion. I appealed with pure emotion.
“So we can’t even be friends?”
“I don’t want to have a friend like you,” she said, tearing my heart in two. That was that. We hung up and the world seemed a little bit colder than it was before our conversation had started. I pulled myself up off the floor where I’d always sit to talk on the phone and went upstairs to my room—, confused and more alone than ever.
I decided that if people were beginning to see me as a person on a permanent downward-spiral, then that’s exactly what I’d become. Party after backseat after movie after bedroom—, I started making my way through all of them with a sense of invincibility. I’d figured that I’d already gone through enough to where only I could get in my own way—, that nothing could slow me down or could take away from the momentum I’d built up over the last couple of years. Everyone around saw the walking catastrophe I’d turned into while I was becoming increasingly unaware of the dangers starting to surround me.
The night finally arrived when I took one too many pills and was rushed off to have my stomach pumped clean. I woke up with leather straps wrapped around my wrists. My arms were tied to the metal handlebars of a hospital bed on both sides. In the corner sat a woman of about forty with a nice, warm smile on her face.
“Hello,” she said. “Do you know where you are?”
“Yes—,” I answered back. I knew what’d happened. To escape the heavy sadness of the entire situation, I began replaying old memories of happier times. Just when it seemed like I’d made the worst mistake of my life, I noticed there was a phone sitting beside me on the nightstand to my left. I thought about it for a while before finally being allowed to pick it up and dial her number. It rang—, and rang and rang. Just before I was readying to hang up, she answered.
“Hello?,” her familiar voice said with a tinge of worry to it.
“Hey—,” I began, trying to follow it up with something useful to say, but I came up empty. She didn’t wait long to get down to it.
“Why are you calling me from St. Joe’s?,” she promptly asked.
“I—, umm..., almost O.D.ed,” and just before I had the chance to say another word, I heard the coldest click of a telephone hanging up ever. That would be it. Nothing else followed but more tears and praying sessions for me with sidewalk preachers and sobriety milestones that I’d mess up later on anyway. There was nothing else to do or say. We split ways for good after that.
What’s it feel like when pure romance dissipates? It’s being left completely alone in a foreign country with no translator. Nothing around makes any sense and nobody can help out. Every message, meaning, and concept had been made clear through their presence. Now? Static. How can we eat—, or drink—, or even sleep? The soul’s been ripped apart and our own reflection is no longer familiar. Lover was gone—, but so was Best Friend. Nobody was left to confide in. Nobody was left to even speak to about anything that mattered at all. So onward I went—, into the pitch black darkness of an everlasting night with nothing to illuminate my path or guide me back to the dawn. I wasn’t just pursued by the shadows any longer—, I became one myself.
Things started to make less and less sense. I didn’t feel like I fit into the mainstream lifestyles any longer and couldn’t pinpoint what I’d been made for in the first place. People all around me had goals, went in pursuit of them, and reached new levels of their destinies. Me? I just lulled around in self- pity. All that kept coming back were memories of better days. Please let me turn back time, I’d beg The Universe. No luck. What used to be someone so secure and confident was reduced to a mere hallowed-out shell of their former selves. I had to exit the existential framework. Life seemed so forced and anyone who didn’t follow its strict guidelines was faulted to the maximum degree. Selfish arrogance took over. I didn’t think about anyone else—, least of which, the people that truly loved me—, least of which, my mother. She could tell I’d become withdrawn and uninterested in everything that I’d liked so much before. Who was I to take such a special gift as life in my own two hands and try to rip it into shreds just for the sake of self-interest and sorrow? No one. I was no one—, I just didn’t know it yet.
Finally, the day came when everything around me silenced itself into a dull quiet. Like I’d finally reached the end of a long-winding tunnel. What’s left?, I thought. Nothing. I found myself in the backseat of a car with the outside world blurring by. Faster and faster it went—, down the busy street and straight towards the nearest E.R. Once there—, I woke up—, mentally and emotionally. The doctors’ hearts broke for my mother’s own. I couldn’t open my eyes from the sheer heaviness of it all and didn’t know how to process the situation so just fell into a very deep, very detached sort of sleep.