You know that feeling you get, a sort of sludgy wave of relief coated in pity, when seeing anything remotely living that has the very air around them crushing them. Doesn’t matter why; sadness, psychosis, death, diseases, hunger, loneliness, fatigue. The list runs on, but the feeling is always the same. A heavy guilt that causes your eyes to lock on, the heart rattling at the ribs, throwing affection outwards. But in the deepest recess of the mind, small gremlins pull the strings, pull us away. That deep sneering thought that as much as we should help, we don’t want to catch it.
‘It’: the indefinable characterization of sadness usually displayed through a slow physical rot of the original person. The harrowed face of a widow, the black eyes of the abused, the cheekbones of the starved, the browning teeth of an addict. Sights that call for sympathy are not often the easiest to look at. So often we are the only ones able to wrestle with our problems, these towering viscous blobs that swallow us up from within, wearing tears as jewelry and rummaging its heavy sticky fingers through our mind. Searching for the key to unlock our fragility.
Take Jeremiah. Now I don’t want to spoil anything but to illustrate, he plods about directionless, hunched over never looking forward and generally distracted in his own head. Sweet but utterly doomed. I often watch him and just wait for the day he snaps and careers into oncoming traffic without a second thought. I watch him mumble and repeat himself, I watch him start and never finish, I watch his clothes fade and crease, I watch his eyes sag and face sink. He is such a wet wipe. I love him but Christ, the boy went to the GP once and when they asked him why he was there, he froze up and blurted out some shit about asthma. Asthma isn’t making you sleep all weekend, asthma isn’t making you cry when don’t get a text all day, you don’t live off baked beans because it’s a dietary requirement of asthma.
It’s fine though, I’ve got a plan. He went out last night and doesn’t have a choice where he wakes up. I do though. Oh - I’m Frank by the way. You’ll be seeing more of me later. Just thought I’d give the shallow tale of sad old Jeremiah a good introduction. Anyway, got to finish setting up this boy’s rehab.
JEREMIAH, WAKE UP.
I don’t think I could open my eyes if I wanted to. I know I’m probably wasting the day away right now, but the thought of the sun hitting my eyes makes my head pound even more. The searing pain is nothing compared to the worry as to where I am. I feel cold, so I suppose I really did freak that girl out in the club. Though I also doubt I got back to my own place, otherwise I’d be curled up in the foetal position under two quilts waiting for the hangover to fade as I am reborn. I can’t hear any wind whipping past me though, no bouncer telling me to get up and get out again. I could just nap again quickly, let the aches and woes mellow down. Hopefully the ringing and the mental clatter lowers down to a gentle droning hum. As I toss and turn to return to rest, I feel intense tingles of nerves dance up my spine with a feverish heat. My hands are twitching anxiously, almost detached from own body, and in my head the world is painted around me as a starry night of eyes gazing down upon me with incandescent judgment. Launching up from the floor, I finally open my own eyes - nothing. Where in the actual fuck did I end up? Did I get locked in the bathroom at the club? There is something I can tell for sure though, that smell, the easy pungency that turns air into an aromatic hot tub, massaging the mind until you feel like melting into a warm content puddle. Lavender. Flowers and darkness. Only tequila could drive a man to wake up in flower store with no recollection. At least I have a good story to tell.
I never thought that all the one-night stands would come in handy. Perhaps I can put navigating dark spaces on my skills section of the CV.
Fuck, never mind. That was definitely a chair leg. Fun fact about your pinkie toe, apparently the bones are so small that in fact you often break them without ever feeling it. Cool, right? Even so I bite my tongue trying not to yelp out. Good news is like a bat I have used sound to create a vision, there is a chair and... well, that’s all I know right now. I haven’t perfected echo-location, only slipping away from responsibilities. While I’ve been locked in my own thoughts, I failed to notice the faint fizzle and buzz of electricity. Finally, I might be able to figure out how many buses I’m getting home. Just then, Z-zzz-zzzzap, there’s a light, a single bulb, a dangling uvula finally giving me a sense of direction. I finally get to see, hold on…
That wasn’t a pause for vomit, it was dramatic tension. The chair I mentioned is here, placed on one side of a metallic dull IKEA-esque desk with another adjacent. It’s reminiscent of those Interrogation scenes you always see on bad cop dramas. The walls are closer to something from Videodrome, seeming to be fog-like but almost solid too. How can I explain? If you’ve ever mixed cornstarch and water together you’ll understand what I mean. They seem to be floaty and almost liquid like but at the same time solid. Christ, I don’t dare touch it, I’ve read enough horror stories to know the moment I touch that gloopy mass I’m getting swallowed, shredded and spat out like tuna chunks. God, I hope I don’t vomit again. Back to the point, though - what is actually going on? I want to play it off as a dream, but my toe is still sore. The barriers around me are not black per se, but seemingly just absent of anything else. Looking up, you can see the long rubber cord holding the bulb as it gently sways but where the cord ends is indistinguishable from the beginning of the “walls”.
SIT DOWN, WOULD YOU KINDLY?
Okay, fuck that. No seriously, where’s the hidden camera? My ribs feel like they are curling inwards, my breath is desperately heavy, the walls that were once empty seem to have a blue hue swimming through it. As my eyes dart around the room the smell of lavender seems to increase to saccharine levels, my veins feel like coursing rapids but my head seems to have left for a coffee break, intense physical fear offset by mental dissonance. As my eyes stop chasing the movement in the walls, I look back to the desk and is that-
“I swear to god if you pass out now I’m not catching you,” chirped a grumpy Scot’s voice. Funnily enough, I don’t feel-
Well, didn’t think I looked that bad. Bless, he looks quite cute with the blood drained from his face. Adds a bit of goth to his normal hipster vibes. Then again, his wardrobe isn’t exactly the spectrum of choice. For someone built like a stick insect, I don’t half feel like I’m dragging a log across the floor, weights probably coming from those oxblood Docs that are always glued to the boy’s feet. I always thought to move a body was a pain in the arse. I was right, but it’s even worse when I know he’ll be up again in a moment. Even more so, he doesn’t have to dress so bloody cliché, skinny jeans, bomber jacket all wrapped up with some edgy ironic shirt. Wanker. Right just gotta - HUNGGHHHH - plop him in the chair, perfect. Now, as long as he stays there we can get started as long as he doesn’t-
THUD.
Shit.
Oh fuck, that killed, what a mental bloody dream, must have fallen out of bed. See, I thought I saw. “Your own Jacob Marley?” yelled something in my direction. Skinless, the veins seemingly crawling along the meat like worms, his limbs dead weight at his sides with shriveled hands, his body arched in a way that made him always seem to be heading towards you, his head bulbous, eyes big glistening black mirrors. I could actually see myself in them - bedhead suits me. But where I really lost it was the top of his head. A single abnormal daisy resting atop, bloody, fleshy and deeply rooted in the skull, the mingling of two natures to make one disgustingly hideous sight. It throbbed erratically. I froze up.
“Well we don’t have long, sit down would you,” it calmly stated, flopping an appendage in the general direction of the chair. So, I stood there. It gazed at me, head tilted, just as still as me. My breath was racing and sharp in my throat, still stood there.
“WILL YOU JUST SIT DOWN, YOU MONG!” it roared at me. I shuffled over to the chair and desk combo tugging at the chair to allow some breathing room. Planting myself down I watched as it stared at me further. It sighed. “Do these arms look like their doing anything?” It shrugged defeatedly. Feeling some relief, I whisked myself round to the other side to give them some breathing room. Hearing a wet slapping sound, I noticed them approaching so made a hurried turn back to my seat. Mirroring one another we slumped back in the seats, I took one nervous glance around the room we were in then faced one another. Coughing, I perked up. “I-I don’t know you do, I?”
There was a brief moment where we locked eyes trying to discern the level of connection. “Well it’s not like you’ve got that many mates, but it has been a while I’ll give you that.” As I focused on not getting swallowed up in the glossy black domes it had for eyes, everything just clicked like the flint on a lighter. Frank.
I can’t believe he bloody forgot about me. “Frank, is that you?” Jeremiah called out like some damsel in distress.
“Well, it’s hardly Jiminy Cricket,” I chuckled. Looking on I saw his smile and facelift up in relief, but behind the depressing disbelief was already rolling in. How low do you sink before your imagination steps in to pull you out again?
“Is this like a dream or some sort of epiphany type deal, what’s actually going on and, where are we?” He started to ramble on, trailing ever further from himself and nit-picking every minute detail, I threw myself forward, planting my head into the desk with a resounding thud, a sticky pulp slapping against cold aluminum. He shuts up and locks down, silent and frozen.
“You are here because you need to sort yourself out,” I groan as I straighten up again. He sits there hopelessly, eyes glazed over, just begging to run away and deal with all of this another time, but he can’t.
Time to thaw him a little.
“It’s a lot to deal with, especially the appearance, to be frank, there’s not much sense in what’s going on. So, rather than focus on that let's start talking about you. How have you been mate?” My words extend and linger sincerely before he slumps down mumbling.
“Yeah, you know, not great but okay, all things considered, bit confused, but err, yeah, good.” He pauses while glancing up occasionally, waiting for someone to drag away the vocal spotlight, but the stage was all his. He takes a half breath. “How about yourself, been up to much recently?” I stare on, watching him squirm, eyes darting around for something to fixate on. He’s like a housewife in a failing marriage, cleaning endlessly even when the house is spotless, begging for a distraction.
“Y-your hairpiece is…” he chirps up before yet again meeting my stoic gaze. “Never mind, that was dumb, look what do you want me to do exactly,” he retorts with a mild level of assertion.
“Well look at you, don’t get snappy, I just want you to be honest, that’s all.” The words fall off the tongue. As they do, my ‘hairpiece’ begins to pump out that smell he loves so much. It wafts my words and it all hits poor Jeremiah at once. His eyes start to wobble at the brink of overflowing, his facial structure is scrunching and attempting to hold it all back. A tear patters onto the table, the polar opposite of my previous headbutt,
“I’m just so alone Frank, I’m always alone, there could be one hundred people around me but they just blur into nothingness like the walls of this shithole.” A deep breath and tearful huff “I feel so lost and alone, even just one person would help.” He brings his knees up to his face and starts to sob full throttle, gross noises and all.
“Help?” I quiz him, he looks up confused “With what? You said you were all good, not great but okay.” I declare in a dramatically naive fashion, begging for a reaction, leaning in, grinning at him as he looks on in disbelief. More “All this just seems like your average overdose of self-pity, you can’t tell me it’s that bad, you feel a bit sad, nothing more to it and to be honest I feel like I’ve wasted my time.” Now for the crescendo “And I have time to spare because just like these feelings it’s all in your bloody head, not even real enough for me to deal with it let alone you.” To my surprise, he barrels forward.
That prick deserved it. Frank is sprawled on the ground motionless.
“Don’t fuck with me like that, you think you can get someone to open up just by cracking a joke or two? I confessed my lack of company, just told how much it hurts to not be able to talk, so you fucking ridicule me?” as a yell at him with my new found anger, he chuckles, laughs away my anger like I was shouting to the wind. My arms start to quiver and my clammy fists unfurl. Nothing. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut as I fall down to the floor myself “and it doesn’t matter how hard I try because every time I end up the same, pushing people away and being trapped with my own thoughts.” I stare over at him and in his eyes and in them is a portrait of a man with a face of sorrow but no tears to spare.
He looks up, sighs briefly then in some mousy tone- “can you help me up?” My body unwinds slightly and everything seems to soften; I stare at the angry Scottish Contortion and I can’t help but see is a roach stuck on its back, struggling and aware of its inferiority.
Seconds pass like minutes and the minutes feel frozen in time. “What?” I’m confused but moreover, I’m nervous “You get to punch me down while I just take it,” taking a pause to collect my feeling I watch as he loses the smile he had been holding on to “But when I finally punch you back, all I’m really doing is hitting myself”
His eyes seem to sink back further in his bloated skull and the petals of the daisy atop his head curl up. We’re trapped - he makes no movement nor response and it’s left to me. Looking at his arms, I know he can’t get up without me, however, I feel frozen in place and my arms are just as lifeless as his.
“Do I have to touch you?” is all I can muster a gentle stuttering mumble. The pressure in the air seems to lighten, tension dissipating.
“I’m not that bad, the feeling is less sticky, more… moist,” He offers. I gather myself a little and shamble behind him, reaching down to slowly lift him up. Before wading over to the desk and slumped down into the seats. Here we are, square one.
I look up to Jeremiah. He’s pulling back into himself, I thought I knew how to handle the boy, not make him lose his grip. He breathes in, and as I see him prepare to exhale endless apologies I catch him mid-breath. “Don’t be sorry, I was out of line. Nothing else to it.” I watch him stammer and try to conjure up some form of self-abuse – martyr himself for no good reason. “Look I’m not here to argue semantics, I’m here for you.”
He looks up, hopeful eyes in a hopeless face. “Are you? I’m not a kid with no friends being teased and taunted. I just don’t feel great, and no amount of sly jokes and yelling is going to just bury that.” His voice sounded crushed. I imagine it’s how the Germans must have sounded accepting the treaty of Versailles. He slowly pushes back the chair from the desk, conceding any thought of victory. “So Frank, I appreciate the help, but how do I get out?”
I don’t reply. He gets up and starts to pace, observing the foggy surroundings for any cracks or openings. As he does, the misty walls start to swirl more aggressively, seeming to almost bubble with a deep merlot.
“I don’t mean to alarm you, but the fog doesn’t seem to be friendly,” I tell him as he backs off before returning back to the desk. He turns to me.
“You didn’t answer me; how do I get out of here, Frank?” Jeremiah probes at me.
“I’ve already told you, you have to confront your problems, grab the bull by the horns and all that jazz.”
“And I already told you, I’m just struggling right now. I’m just sad.”
“That’s still a problem, which will have its roots. Things don’t have to be catastrophic events or tragic losses to require you to do something about them. Jeremiah, I wouldn’t do all of this for no good reason. Your suffering, that well of sorrow that bears down on you day after day, it doesn’t need to be like that, nor should it. I’m here to tell you that when the negatives start to outweigh the positives in any situation, you have to address it and that’s why you’re here stuck with me. Can I explain it any fucking clearer or is that something else we have to address?” My words are probably a bit too heated, but I think I’m getting through to him.
“Let me get this straight: you want me to sit here somehow solve not only any and all emotional turmoil, but to do so in some fantasyland side room with an aggressive imaginary Scotsman showing me the way to an epiphany. Is that correct?” I try frank’s heavy-handed sarcasm to make it clear I’m sick of these circles I’m running in, but frankly I just don’t have the time to resolve it. No amount of blurry fog or flower-headed flesh monster is going to be able to give me that time. Hell, even if Frank had all the time in the world, would he ever be able to work me through it? A therapist couldn’t, how could he?
“I’m not here to fix your problems, far from it, I just need you to try.” Frank groans He’s staring right at me, but his eyes seem soft - less piercing than normal.
“Jeremiah, when I brought you here, you didn’t even think you had an issue. Now you’re looking for help.” The wall fog seems to back away and almost has a teal tinge to it, leaving the room open as it recedes. As I watch the light flicker precariously. “I can’t solve your issue, despite how aggressive I get, but you can. Just promise me one thing. If I let you leave, you gotta try and fix this shit. ‘Try’ is the optimal word. Can you do that you asswipe?” Grinning as the last sentence leaves his mouth. He sounds happy, almost relieved, and despite his horrid appearance that I have become grossly accustomed to, there’s a warmth in me knowing that he’s on my side.
“Sure, I will take some time to figure out what’s going on. As long as I don’t get dragged back here anymore. Deal?” I extend a hand out to shake on the bargain before quickly withdrawing it, forgetting Frank’s arms were limply immobile. Frank let out one last hearty laugh before he shut his eyes.
“See you around.”
Plumes of black smoke billowed from the flower on his head and the fog walls came rushing in converging towards the center of the room. Seeing the light shatter and fizz out and before I could scream in betrayal, darkness.
