Lawrence Grant University, May 27,
1999:
Fred remembered everything about that
day. The nervous excitement steamrolling through his body, the uneven lines of
perspiration rolling down his brow as hundreds of unfamiliar faces smiled,
yelled, whistled, and cheered as his unsteady, yet determined feet strolled
across the stage to retrieve his college diploma. Cameras flashed like distant
stars as he proudly reached out and wrapped his fingers around that single,
almighty piece of paper, his eyes confidently meeting the gaze of the academic
dean, standing mere inches from him with a beaming expression of pride and
respect at the sight of this hardworking, successful young man before him. As
he smiled and offered his thanks and appreciation to the dean, Fred could feel
the eyes of his parents, huddled somewhere in that mass abyss of people,
settled firmly on him. His parents had always been his biggest supporters.
Unlike most of his peers, Fred hadnt spent his adolescent years locked
away in rebellion, causing his parents grief and turning their hairs a little
grayer every day. He had always possessed a unique maturity about his
character, years beyond what anyone wouldve expected. His time as a
polite, reasonable young man was well spent. He couldnt even count how
many times his father had thrown an arm around his shoulder, a thin layer of
tears in his eyes, and expressed his gratitude at having the kind of son he
did. Dad had always told him that he was his leap of faith and that he
and his mother were blessed to have him. It always made Fred feel special to
hear his dad say that.
Leap of faith
The words reverberated through the
corridors of his mind as he clutched his diploma and scanned the crowd. He was
proud to be his fathers son.
Virginia City, NV, July 10,
2007:
Fred vividly remembered the
feeling he had that morning as he stepped out of the motel room. It was his
first real vacation as a man; just the wife and himself. Something in
the atmosphere was different that day. The sun shone brighter than
usual, the wind, a living entity, boldly touching his forehead and cheeks. Even
the mountains surrounding him loomed larger than ever, silent guardians of the
landscape. It was only hours earlier that his wife had announced her pregnancy,
had dictated to the world that he was going to be a father. The memories of
actually hearing the words flooded him like little snapshots. He felt so many
different things all at once that he could put words to none of them.
Everything before his eyes went by in whirlwind fashion, his heart beating like
an exotic drum, droplets of perspiration covering his face and arms.
He stood outside the door of the motel
room, his hands perched on his hips as he scanned the mountains and let his
thoughts drift away. He was finally going to have a family of his own. He
welcomed the challenge and sacrifice that it brought. He would apply himself
harder than he ever had at anything in his life. He wanted his family to be
safe and protected, to regard him as a monument of loyalty and devotion. He
could hear his fathers voice in his head, the leap of faith
phrase echoing forcefully. He knew his life was about to enter a new
stage of existence. There would be many responsibilities to attend to. The only
way forward was to take a deep breath and push on. It would be a leap of
faith in every way possible.
Chicago, IL, December 25,
2012:
Everyone howled with
laughter as Fred, dressed in a dollar store Santa costume, pretended to fall
into the Christmas tree, the plastic, silver star at the top tumbling down and
cracking him square in the chin. He stumbled around, making it look like he was
trying to regain his balance, and was fortunate enough to catch the sight of
his young daughters angelic blue eyes, wide with bewilderment and
amusement at the comical scene transpiring in front of her. She wore a smile
from ear to ear, her torso shaking as she tried to stifle her laughter. Even
the family pet, Borson, was engaged in the festivities, barking loudly and
chasing after Fred, in the process knocking over a miniature ceramic workshop
decoration under the tree. As far as Fred was concerned, he had the greatest
gift anyone could ever ask for. He glanced around the room, his Santa hat
lopsidedly perched on his head, and reflected on his immense appreciation for
this moment in his life. To be able to share the company of his beloved wife,
daughter, parents, brother, and sister-in-law nearly choked him up, which he
masqueraded with a collage of goofy faces and high-pitched cartoon voices, to
the continued delight of his daughter. He had been working for things his
entire life. If all of that was to get him to where he was at right now, then
it was well worth the labor. Life always was a leap of faith; one never
knew where their choices were going to take them.
Amid the raucous Christmas shenanigans,
he paused mentally for a moment and thanked God for the gift he had been given.
Wisconsin Dells, WI, August 16,
2015:
The clean, crisp aroma of the tall, lush
trees all around him were the best part. Fred remembered sitting in a small
clearing outside the small cottage, his mind sharp and focused, his fingers
sweeping softly over the strings of his guitar, a low soothing melody mixing in
with the occasional call of the Grackle and Redpoll, natures very own
tiny, winged musicians. He would be heading with his family and another couple
and their child to one of the waterparks in a couple hours. But now was his
time to relax, collect his thoughts, and get himself centered. He had been
having career issues for the last couple years. He had tried venturing out into
various artistic pursuits, such as writing and painting, in an effort to draw
in a little extra income. It seemed like, regardless of how hard he tried, he
couldnt catch the break he needed. But, he was making things work
and was busting his ass every single day to be a provider for his family. Music
had become catharsis for him. He knew he could always talk to his wife about
anything, but sometimes he was just too proud to show that side of him, that
suffocating vulnerability, that plague that chewed away at his
self-esteem and sense of self-worth. Things would be better again someday; how
could they not be? He looked around him, taking it all in as he plucked away at
a melancholy tune on the guitar. With the world around him so green, full,
vibrant, and alive, how could things not get better? He had always been
told that you get out of life what you put into it. He was a good, honest man;
a creative and determined individual who wanted to experience life to the
fullest degree possible.
Things would change, he told himself
over and over. Stability would return to his life. It would just take a little
patience and a bit of a leap of faith
Lisle, IL, October 3,
2018:
The honey-flavored whiskey shot was gone
in an instant, leaving a warm, burning sensation in Freds throat as he
scanned the room for his bandmates. It was destined to be a birthday to
remember. It would be the first time he and the band would perform in front of
a live audience. His wife, parents, and several other family members were in
attendance to cheer him on and offer their support. He had been struggling with
maintaining consistent work and income for damn near five years now, but during
that time period he had also been fine-tuning his musical skills. He had always
told himself that things always had their way of working out in the end. Maybe
he wasnt destined to grow old as some wealthy exec sitting behind some
big mahogany desk. Music, he believed, had come into his life for a reason, and
he pursued it with the ferocity of a cornered animal.
Depression, that hooded, cloaked demon,
dark and menacing, was always in the corner of the room, its piercing eyes
staring right through him, almost as if taunting him to even try to feel
worthy. It didnt matter the day or the hour; it was always there, like a
poisonous growth on his soul.
He did his best to hide it from the
others. Some days were better; some worse. Keeping busy, occupied, and feeling
useful, needed; these were all different ways he could combat it. There was a
path forward. He just needed to find it and stay on it.
He felt a small tug on the sleeve of his
shirt and turned, meeting the gaze of his wife, her eyes an emerald green under
the bars multitude of lights. He never forgot that moment: her
light-brown hair nestled comfortably on her shoulders, the way her makeup
accentuated her cheekbones, her soft voice a natural sedative for him, one of
the few things that brought him peace and kept away the sneering entity in the
shadows. As his wife leaned in and kissed him, wishing him luck, he could still
feel the cold, distant eyes of that creature in the corner. It watched his
wifes lips as they met his own and pointed, laughed, and mocked. It saw
everything. It always did.
Fred lightly clutched his wifes
hands for a moment, smiled, and headed for the stage, the list of songs on the
nights agenda running through his head.
Leap of Faith. That one would start the
show.
South Bend, IN, June 11,
2019:
Being alone was simply terrifying
sometimes. These were the moments when his blackest thoughts huddled together
and slowly tortured him. Every single thought seemed to weigh a thousand
pounds, crippling his happiness and instantly changing the trajectory of the
day. The pain was the worst part, mentally and physically. He would become
nauseous sometimes. There were some days he couldnt stand to look at
himself in the mirror, yet was strangely unable to look away either. He
didnt know where he was going and wouldnt know if he ever got
there. This was becoming the new normal. His normal.
His wife and daughter were gone for a
few days to visit his sister-in-law. He woke up that Tuesday morning, feeling
numb and uneasy. He needed a break from his thoughts, as futile of an effort as
that appeared to be. He vomited all over himself in the bathroom, a wave of
embarrassment and self-pity washing over him.
He threw on a crumpled pair of jeans and
a wrinkled polo shirt, jumped in the car, and wound up on I-90. His thoughts
swelled and his tired, haggard eyes saw all kinds of things; everything but the
road in front of him.
He now sat in Howard Park, staring
blankly at the windshield, low, gray storm clouds creeping on the horizon,
accompanied by tiny, sporadic rumblings of thunder. He powered off his
cellphone, tossing it onto the passenger seat. He wasnt taking calls or
texts. Not today. He didnt give a flying fuck who was looking for him.
What was happening? Why now? It was no longer just the financial issues that
were burdening him. His daughter. Something was going on with her. About five
months ago she had a seizure at school and fell and smacked her head on a bench
in the cafeteria. Ever since then the seizures would come at random, some more
severe than others. His wife was a mess over it and looked like she had aged
ten years in the last five months. It seemed like they had appointments lined
up with every neurologist in the state of Illinois. How in the sweet hell was
he going to cover all these medical bills? Insurance was only going to take
care of so much. His family needed him. He needed to be there for his family.
How was he supposed to manage that seemingly insurmountable task when he could
barely take care of himself anymore?
A faint flash of lightning snapped him
out of the daze that he was in. The thunder followed quick, a low, steady
rumble, as if the sky was growling at him. His defeated eyes scanned the clouds
above, now a smothering veil of grey. The rain would come soon. In some distant
chamber of his mind, he saw himself being carried away by the surging water
like a tiny, insignificant fly; away from everyone and everything; away from
the horrors of the world. Most of all, he would be away from that vindictive
ghoul that stalked his every move and contaminated everything he touched. The
depression was a spiritual cancer, a self-serving thief that constantly took
from him. It took his smile, his motivation, his self-esteem, and it was now
targeting his family. The bastard took and took and took. It never gave him
anything in return.
He reclined in the seat and closed
his eyes, all his senses deeply immersed in the ambience of the approaching
storm. For no apparent reason at all, his fathers words returned to him,
like a visiting specter from an era long passed.
Leap of Faith
Years ago, hearing his father utter
those words to him had brought tears to his eyes. He felt loved, cherished,
accepted, and worthy, especially from the most important man in his life: his
father, the guy who was like a superhero to him and who could never be
replaced.
He found that those words still brought
tears. Now for entirely different reasons.
October 2019:
The darkness came in waves. It was at
its worst on days where he had nothing to do except think. And ruminate. And
brood.
He hated himself; loathed himself. He
hated what everything in life had become and he really couldnt even
explain why. Perhaps it was all the unmet expectations. Perhaps it was
something that was lacking, something just outside the perimeter of his
awareness. Maybe it was just him. Maybe this is just who he was and what he was
destined to become.
Nobody would ever understand the dread
of starting another day, knowing that the bottom could fall out at any time.
His moods fell hard and fast, like a wino on roller skates. There was no
predicting what any given day was going to be like anymore. He was tired of the
mental anguish and the pain that it was causing to others. And to
himself.
Leap of faith.
An empty phrase, devoid of meaning and
purpose.
His whole life now was a series of
silent screams that nobody could hear. Nobody, except of course, for that rogue
fiend around every corner. The depression. When he fought it, it fought back
harder; when he cried, it laughed; when he tried to run, it met him at every
window and door, with eyes as dark and merciless as anything one could imagine.
The ravenous thief kept taking and taking from him.
It was running out of things to
take.
November 17, 2019:
Everybody was here. Everybody was here
together; with him. He wouldnt be alone.
He looked up and met the still gaze of
his parents. He saw pity in their eyes. He felt his sunken face become heavy
with shame. He had to look away.
His brothers dark brown eyes
pleaded with him from across the room. To call, to reach out, to do something.
Fred still mattered deeply to him. If he only knew that; if he only understood
that.
Meeting the eyes of his wife and
daughter was the most difficult. Their eyes were the color of fresh, exotic
water, two pairs of sparkling jewels that could illuminate the sky of heaven
itself. The worst kind of pain he could ever feel was to know that those eyes
could hurt.
Someones voice from the adjacent
room snapped his attention back to the present. The temperature in the room was
a cool, comfortable 68 degrees. Every now and then, an approaching vehicle on
the interstate could be heard from outside. The smoke detector chirped loudly
every 30 seconds or so, thirsting for a new battery.
And the pictures. The pictures of his
family neatly aligned on the small table on the other side of the bed, like
obedient little soldiers. It was all a lie. He couldnt reach out to hug
or embrace any of them. Their eyes were lifeless; they were pictures, scraps of
paper enclosed in a little plastic frame. Thats all he had
left.
Nobody was here with him. He was
alone. It was meant to be this way. Thats what he told himself
anyway.
His lifes leap of faith had
now transformed into a step of solace.
As his family spectated from the safety
of their tiny plastic shelters, Fred took a step (a leap?) forward from
the nightstand, letting his body drop, his throat quickly engulfed by the
unforgiving ligature.
A small opening in the curtains revealed
the motel sign outside, a dimly lit vacancy sign announcing itself to the weary
interstate traveler. Above it was a small illustration of a road leading into
the mountains, under the contemplative eye of the setting sun. The motels
name was imprinted across the road:
Memory Lane