By: Eliska Cramer
Read more of her essays on her website.
At some point, it becomes like those old country songs – the ones that were about life, and not a twangy pop song about love crooned by a muscular boy with a white v-neck tshirt and brand new boots and stiff hat to match.
The dog just died, the wife left you, the bank is foreclosing on the house because you lost your job in this dying town, ma’s not doing so well, the transmission just went out, and this infernal heat won’t give you a break. Maybe just to kick you while you’re down, your best friend is moving across the country, and you just got word your sister miscarried.
There comes a point when you’re running on empty. Your emotional energy gauge can’t refuel because every time you take a breath, something else collapses. You watch the fires pop up all around you and helplessly collapse in the middle, too tired to fight.
You try to drown out your thoughts.
The water laps around your face. You listen to the delayed release of the wave falling away and the sensation of sound, but it mutes just as quickly as water rushes back in.
Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.
Your heart rate slows as droplets race down your legs, the pool stilling in your absence. The thoughts race back in. Fleeting. Furious.
You try to flee from your memories.
Your calves heat up, but the shins are chilled by the air you cut through. Your shoes kick gravel back on you, the dust cloud in your wake sticking to the sweat rolling down your bare legs.
Your chest heaves and thighs burn as you grab a tree for support. For a brief, glorious moment, the oxygen floods your mind and gives you freedom, clarity. But as your breath regulates, you see all the anguish again, but this time without the fog of loss.
You try to hide from your fears.
The sun trails your exposed neck and slowly burns it as you hack away at the overgrown branches. The pile next to your garden boasts of its newly weed-free status and the dirt pushed too far beneath your fingernails lends credence to your attempt to dig yourself to China.
You tried to meditate as you worked the earth. You listened to the sounds of the wind, tried to empty your mind of everything but this current moment. You inhaled and paused, exhaled with purpose. But the not-so-recent past and not-so-distant future persistently crept in on the edges until they consumed you again.
You try to dream yourself into peace again.
You haven’t left the couch in two days. You’ve finished one show and start binging on the next, thinking $7.99 is a small price to pay for you to not even need a remote. Your fingers are stained orange from the chip dust, and you listen to gurgling from the pizza grease and pint of ice cream dueling in your digestive tract.
You fade in and out, not bothering to pay attention to the nuances of the plot lines. Sometimes you sleep through three episodes, then watch the next five with barely cognizant eyes, only moving to relieve yourself and shut the curtains.
You mentally calculate. Were there too many good moments, and now this year is taking back what the universe thinks it’s owed? Or are you Job – being tested by the divine for no other reason than you were too faithful? Is it the other way around: will karma finally take its share and set you free again? You’ve done everything right, as well as you could. You even fought grief the right way.
You eye the whiskey bottle – the one you’d bought to celebrate your promotion a year before. But you’d forgotten about it since neither of you liked whiskey all that much.
You crack it open, and pour yourself a glass.
By: Eliska Cramer
Read more of her essays on her website.