Clarity

By Alma J. Salcedo

Some lie you make up to comfort yourself. Out of the ordinary hallucinations. Things you regret. Things you forget. The perfect vision, merely an illusion, another delusion. Deadly fruit sprung from that deserted hollow, rotting tree within the land's dreamscape of your own head. When a dangerous self-destructive addiction grows into you. It pains you so much to live without. To breathe, is to be torn apart at the seams. You know then you are at the brink, staring down into the abyss at the edge of your self security. Or sanity. Call it what you will. The bringer of bliss that stops your will and causes time to be elastic. To be in love and out, stretches and manipulates the years like a rubberband in the hands of some curious cherub. So whatever did happen to your imaginary friend, who swore he needed you in order to exist? The last thing I remember was the wind whipping through my hair. A radio softly playing under the stars at the wheel. A lone highway sprawled out in front was all I knew. All I could remember, all I ever wanted. In slow vivid dreamlike flashes.

I turned to my side to see, my faithful companion fallen asleep. Chasing down the sun, the light nearly blinded me with its displayed jealousy of the white surreal film sequence. For a moment we were back in our booth, about two years and five road trips ago. The non-edgy mood of the place persuaded me to confide or confess the mischievous next week's agenda I had in mind, but as the waitress brought the cups of the sweet stimulant called Joe, I was reminded of the ugly business I had put off before. I cleared my throat. "Kirk and Company called again," I tried breaking the news gently. He knew what I was going to say an immediately got on the defensive. "Let them stay home." I frowned. I had been suckered into the adult game of group outings and now there was no way to get out. They WERE our friends, at some point. "I'm just trying to maintain some sort of relationship with them," I said. He knew my attempts were futile. As much as he loved living in the past, he sensed as much as I did that it was over. But he was the one who clung the most, the one in denial. "Us," he once told me, "we're the last pillar left of what used to be." "Geez, that's depressing," I said trying to relieve the mood with my exaggerated tone and goofy smile. "All they do is argue," he reminded me as he sipped his coffee. This was true. If there was a group that did not deserve to be together Ð it was them. All of them were burnt out reminders of what not to do in life, what happens when you surrender to the mundane and necessary. Desiccated carbon copies of capitalism meets stagnant-ism. ÒThey depress me.Ó I failed to remember where I lost my childhood friends and picked up dried out pre-professionals. ÒThey depressed me.Ó His words still echoed in my head and my concentration was brought back to the road before me. ÒYou are my baby,Ó I whispered to him, ÒPlease, DonÕt give up.Ó His lips were dry, he didnÕt wake. Black faded into the sky. The heavens shook and rumbled, and the earth trembled, matching sensation that was running my spine. I had made a promise to take care of him. I promised to believe in him, but he left me at the point when he started fading. There was a time I loved him more than anything. He was my childhood in its entirety. I prayed every night for him. I manipulated every day for him. I did my best to protect him from all harm. When he learned this, he told me that he never wanted my pity. I wanted to scream, ÒThen why are you having such a pitiful existence?Ó The reality was I had gotten too old. Reality had cut him off. He was designed for a younger me, and now the games were over and he could no longer keep up. The rain pounded on the both of us and beat my face to wash and blend with my bitter tears. Purged sorrow. Seeped out anger. Tears boiled. Blood seemed to run. This was the way he wanted it. Arms weak, the stench of espresso and vodka on his breath. HeÕd been complaining about those headaches. Cursed attempts at new-age remedies. It was my fault he had gotten sick. Polariods scattered near his bare feet, had taken off his shoes on the third day. My writings wet from the rain, it didnÕt matter. Yet somehow, the end had always seemed a breath away. I knew it would be over and IÕd have to move on. It was like a big practical joke, like when you throw a birthday party and no one shows up. You sit around eating stale cake with salted tears on your face. Looking up to the black sky, the rain stinging my face as I raise my arms and open my palms. I could have been a joyful girl, but there were other things I cared about even more. I cared about loyalty and I knew I would not give up on a dream as beautiful as this. Sometimes I believed he was an angel with the affliction of a broken heart, so I let the other mortals pass me by. ÒKirk and CompanyÓ and such and such. I let them all grow up. I was a selfish girl too. This beautiful thing I found was my secret. We all see our lovers in our mindÕs eye before they find us. Deep down I suspected that my ability to create was more than a gift. More than anything I could ask for. When I was a child I believed in magic. I grew out of that and began to believe in love. He was my creation and my comfort. It was my fault he had gotten sick. A girl cannot stay young or naive. No imagination, no matter how strong, can stay secluded from the rest world the world. All my friends are gone. Change has made them unrecognizable. Places inside of him became weak. He eroded and they tried to put pills in his holes. How is it possible to anti-depress something? What if it is doomed to be depressed from the start, is it its nature? His happiness was the first casualty. He had so much potential and I loved him for that. I never meant to give up my belief. I still hold onto it, but there are things that must come, and things that cannot stay long, and some babies are not meant for this earth. Hair strands saturated, wailing and begging me to let them cling onto my face. I let out a disheartening, time shattering, sigh from the depths of my broken lungs and smoke filled heart. It echoed through the realm, a broken melody fading all around, leaving me half deaf. I looked down at him smiled and laughed. I knew heÕd be the first to go. He once told me I was the stronger one. I shut the car door, tossed him the keys, ÒYou drive,Ó and began to walk, ancient leather suitcase in hand. Soon the getaway car was out of sight. The moon rose, yellow and full. And I regret leaving the Classic behind. ÒI could be listening to Elvis,Ó I said sarcastically to myself. I often visited this place in my dreams alone. I knew where these paths would lead me. They always knew I would come to them alone. The black asphalt highway led me to an open field. Stepped out into the middle, tall grass swayed in a summer breeze to clear a way for me, for it knew what I was here to do. I always depended on my dreams to tell me where to go. I remember how many moments could have been so wonderful. How many velvet nights did I let go by because of my overly awake logic, breaking each moment down, leaving me too mentally aware of everything to derive any joy from it. I trusted my dreams, as if they were instructions for my life, as if my subconscious knew my future. They inspire you to follow your dreams. A coward is one who follows their dreams. A girl who follows her dreams can blame all her fuck ups on her dreams. In my secret hopes, I wished to wake up or if I couldnÕt to have something dramatic end it all for me. I was too spineless. Too addicted or too in love with the world I created to get out. I hoped for the big climatic ending that signals the dream is over to get up. They knew it would never make any sense, whether this world was imaginary or real for both ways, one would come to find that glass and so much else is fragile on either side. A mere whisper of truth could shatter everything. ÒDidnÕt you just ever want something so much it became real?Ó I wanted never to be alone. The mind is powerful, so pure, and full of untapped wonder and sabotage. Opened the suit and laid on the grass, the stars staring me down as I opened the bottle that we promise weÕd drink last. Already half empty, he would have it any other way. I laid there alone. I had no one else to trust. I fell asleep. I slept through the day too. At sunset the moon was out early. Midnight arrived with a feeling of renewal. It was the third day. I rejoiced beneath the shower of yellow moon beams. They sprinkled droplets of bliss. Bliss that pulsed with my every breath, joyous to feel along with me. I loved him so much. Exhausted, I fell to the ground. My body landed sprawled, lying on the cool dry earth, breathing beneath me, trying to croon me to sleep. Just as I had done before, never being able to tell reality from my own delusional imagination, wondered if it was all a lie.