A Walk

I walk. Literally and figuratively this keeps me from my aunt’s concerns. On the down side, it lets me think and I don’t really need to do much more of that. I’m trying to NOT think. Perhaps if I could think about something else, anything else for more than a few seconds it would help. I just can’t get past the everything.

The lawsuits are finally behind me but what a draining experience. Defending my actions while trying to rebuild my department at the same time was just miserable. Even once the criminal case was complete, the waiting for the civil case to be over and done with just ate at me.

And once that was finally over and done with, once there was a light at the end of the tunnel that didn’t seem like a train, then there was New York.

But I’m trying to not think of New York. But I can’t not think of New York.

Crap.

I'm...falling...I'm...

It’s the falling I hate the most.  The lack of control, the feeling of helplessness, and, most of all, the crash at the end. And there it is.

I pop to my feet and brush myself off. Where am I? Oh. Of course. Why did I bother to even wonder. I’m always here. Rubble. A half collapsed building. New York.

Sound thuds loudly around me. I am soaking in it like a bath. I try to run but the sound is so thick I can’t make progress through it. I move in slow motion, desperate to get to the other side of the wall. If I could just get there maybe this time it will be different. Why can’t I move? I have to move! Please let me move!

I awaken suddenly, my heartbeat pounding loudly in my ears. I gasped for air before slumping back into the bed.

My aunt bursts into my room, concern displayed all over her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” It’s not a lie. I had a dream. I’ll live. Unfortunately.

“Same dream?”

I might as well be honest. “Yes.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry Patrick. Is there anything I can do?”

“No. There’s nothing anybody can do. Thank you for asking.”

She nodded, looking sad and concerned as she does so. “I hope you can fall back to sleep.”

“Thank you.” Then she leaves me be.

I hope I can fall back to sleep as well. Even the whiskey doesn’t stop the dream, stop me from going back there. That place where I went to hell.

What else is there?

No wonder she was keen to get me doing ‘something’. The sun’s out. The sky is blue. The air is warm and clear. It’s a beautiful day.

I wish I were dead.

Perhaps that’s overstating it a little. It’s not like I’m considering doing myself harm, apart from my liver of course. It’s not that I really want to be dead and take my chances with whatever is next. I’ve never seen any reason why there should be an afterlife. Why should people need an incentive to be nice to each other? Because people tend to be selfish, that’s why. Even when we try to look out for each other, there’s always that side of you that’s worried about what you’ll get out of it, the good feeling you get for doing ‘what’s right’.

That good feeling can fade. Quickly.

I slug down some whiskey, trying to enjoy the burn as it travels to my stomach, to enjoy ANYTHING, and I fail. Is this it? Will this be the rest of my life? Nothing but pain and misery and whiskey? Is this how people end up like this, losing the reasons they had to live and trying to drink the pain away? It’s believable.

Every day is a fight. I fight to care. I fight to not hurt. I fight to move on. I am so tired of fighting.

This...is now...

“Shouldn’t you be doing something?”

I love vague questions, don’t you? Questions that ask nothing while attempting to ask everything. Perhaps more irritating than the question itself is the fact that I knew exactly what my aunt was trying to ask me but didn’t. As a result, I found it all too easy to be difficult. “I am doing something. Sitting is something.”

“And drinking.

“There, that’s two somethings. I’m multi-tasking.”

“It’s just… I expected you to be doing other things than sitting and drinking. You could do that at home.”

“This is true.”

“I thought you came here for a change of scenery, to take your mind off things.”

I did, so help me I did. I hoped I would be distracted somehow from the everything that’s been going on in my life. I really did. Does anyone think I want to be like this? Waking every day and hating taking breath? Hating seeing a new day rise? It’s all such a mess. And no one can help me with it.

I said none of that. I couldn't. The words choked in my throat as I thought of them. All I could manage was a quiet “Yes.”

“Maybe, maybe if you drank a little less…”

“Really? I’m in Ireland and I’m being told I’m drinking too much. That is possible? Well, now I’ve learned something new. Hey, three things at once. That truly is a skill.”

I finished my beer and made it to my feet. “Tell ya what,” I continued. “I’ll go for a walk. Is that better?”

“It’s something.”

Ha ha. I’ve got whiskey available to me outside so I can continue to multi-task.