Or: That Which Cannot Be Seen
Some say that the darkest hour never comes in the night, no, to some the darkest hour fits in their morning routine. In their cup of joe. In their serene sunrise on a serendipitous sunday. In their wilfully tired mind. In their most hidden of hidden away thoughts (Ala~ Milo’s orphanage). In their brightest smiles, their cheerful clapping. In their subtle movements, in the brother you had. Some people’s darkest day comes right between a morning in August, right between a hot shower in the early glow. The autumnal sense of sadness can be attributed to a variety of differing maledictions, though most won’t have the words to describe it. I was that way, for a time. Stumbling through the indifference that the uncertainty of waking up brought. Wishing to a deity of my own creation for a grand, intoxicating silence to befall that which troubled me. Yet, with all the swears I made, only one thing changed: those around me.
“You are someone else. I am still right here.” (Nine Inch Nails “Hurt”)
I had a few people I’d relied on for some kind of emotional support, whether it be to laugh or cry. They found me comforting, as I did to them. I’m one of the lucky ones, I suppose. To put words to something so indescribably unrealistic that surely no one had thought of it before: a curse so impious and all consuming that my life had been swept under the rug. Folded, used as a bookmark to something higher. The scene, though it isn’t pretty, is something I fear I need to set. People laughing, knocking into one another, passing out blindly from the most violent of alcohol. Men behind the party, howling at the moon for no apparent reason other than to feel like a werewolf. Men screaming in ecstasy from the bathrooms, oblivious to the sound they were making. Men behind the bar, screaming “CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!” at the top of their lungs.
I was the outsider, the one with the awkward face. The one people assumed was just some nerd with no sense of fun. I looked on in horror at this menagerie of madness, so disgustingly sickening that I could barely hold it together. My closest friend (even then) would taunt me for my lack of participation in what (to these people) was the greatest night of their life. I sat in a stunned silence by what I’d seen, how rowdy and uncouth the actions of some of these people were. Why the women ever showed up was a complete mystery to me, to this day it still is.
“Surely this can’t be everything.”
I thought naively. The sun had just gone down and there were already four jocks passed out against the walls. I closed my eyes for a moment, just to meditate as to what they could be enjoying. I was slammed into by two halfwits, drunk up to their eyeballs, fighting over the last drop of heineken. Another grand mystery to me was Steve. Steve was a (for lack of better description) very stereotypical gay man. Overly preppy tone, painted nails, well groomed.
“Of all people, why would he come?”
Surely he must’ve known he’d be ridiculed (or worse). Of all people, why would he show his face here? I stepped outside, one of the few people I didn’t recognize asked if I wanted a light.
“Hm? Oh. I don’t smoke. Thanks, though.”
“Oh come on! Just try one puff, it won’t hurt!”
“Really, no thanks. I-”
He practically forced the cigarette into my mouth, lighting it while doing so. When the rampant coughing began (I’d always had a low tolerance to smoke) so did the laughing. It felt… Cruel(?) in a sense.
After facing this debacle, I went back inside. At this point I’d had to go to the restroom yet I dared not interrupt the extremities happening in there, lest now I thought I’d be dragged into it. My best friend at the time (Simon) came over, asking how I was doing and how the drinks were. When I informed the (now drunken) Simon of the two very obvious facts I’d told him before even coming to this carnival of corruption, he retaliated with shocked amusement. Joining the growing list of people making me feel uncomfortable.
The lights dimmed. Another man I didn’t recognize went on to the small stage in the corner. Once in the light, you could easily tell he was fairly built, at least going to the gym twice a week for who knows how long. He invited the few other bodybuilders there into a competition to see who was the toughest. Not a bloodsport or anything, but certainly a head to head antler crash.
“So lift your face the western way. Build your muscles as your body decays” (Queen, “Hammer to Fall”)
I was never into the whole machismo act. The entire concept seemed unfulfilling and too much a dedication when there were greater things to be learning. For Christ-sakes, look at Hawking. That’s the model human. He tried and through trying was one of the smartest people that ever lived. Watching these few sparked something in me, a certain type of dread that only someone who feels the same can understand. A certain dropping in the stomach, your heart sinking. They looked around, the biggest of the five (Ron) calling out random women’s names and asking them to undress (as though any would). That’s when he locked eyes with me, sitting quietly “enjoying” the show in the corner with Simon. He exclaimed with profound glee (as though someone who discovered they were having a baby) that I should go up and join. I turned to Simon with what I imagine looked like a mix of desperation and all-foreboding doom.
“Oh come on, ya scamp. It’s not that big-a-deal.” Simon said easily, shrugging all the while.
Though, it was a big deal. I hadn’t fit in at all with anyone here, now being singled out because of that fact, about to be the joke of the party. The crux of the witless, the one Uber Alles to sing the night out.
“Simon please, I-”
“We all know you’re different or gay or something anyway, just go do it, man!” he said through slurred words.
A gutpunch, surely. Though he had been masquerading so clearly now, I never would’ve noticed. My head started spinning a million miles a second, my words slowing down in defiance. I was inching towards the stage with assistance from Simon’s unusually strong pushing. As they laughed and laughed, just from my approachment of the podium, a trillion- no, a nonillion things were spinning through my head now.
“Was Simon ever my friend? Why is this happening? Why am I different? What happened? What’s wrong with me? Should I be here? Is there something else?”
It was crushing, standing there. The roaring laughter adding nausea to the vomit-inducing cruelty of the joke that was me. Once I could see again and noticing their wide grins, even the ones who weren’t laughing, felt like the titanic sailing smoothly over my already pounding heart. Destroying it in a thousand ways. My arms shriveled, coiling around in circles, forming antennas around my deformed face, now seeping with pus and bile. My legs were crushed by a thousand tons of force, leaving me paralyzed. My teeth grew jagged like a small rodent, squealing at the hundred cheshire cats waiting for their nightly feast.
My eyes burned with the fever of a million neon lights boring into my retina with the strength of a lightning rod. My stomach morphed into an ever growing expanse, hanging to the floor as though it were made of dough. My head elongated, reforming that of our ancient Astrolopithicus ancestors. I shrunk, resizing into naught but a small ant, the masses carrying one gargantuan magnifying glass. In my head all I could hear was the buzzing of some-hundred people in synchronous cachinnate. One thought managed to get through
“I’m not needed here.”
Their smiles deepened, the room growing darker. Their eyes lit up like beacons in the night sky. Their teeth grew sharper, extending beyond their mouths, their nails doing the same. Their smiles deepened.
And deepened.
And deepened.
And deepened.
And deepened.
These things were so vaguely human that God would’ve spit at them for even daring to say they were made in its image. They howled like wild dogs, snarled like rabid beasts, laughed like a broken toy. Their voices were distorted, like a failing children’s toy. They became red, slowly inching their way towards me, their vascular system escaping through their ears. Small tendrils of tender veins burst through their fingertips. Black mucus poured from where their eyes had just fallen out. Their legs growing into something resembling a goat's. These weren’t people anymore, honestly I’m not sure what they were. I began making my way towards the front door, noticing they’d stopped.
I took a sigh and blinked, only for the herd to be closer. On the floor were budding fleshy plants, looking similar to the tips of mushrooms. On the walls were writhing tendrils, red in color, emanating from the ragged red demons I was beholding. One that vaguely looked like Simon stepped towards me on the next blink, disobeying the rule of blinking I thought had been established, he talked. His distorted voice haunted me to my core, even those that I found familiar enough were inexplicably maladjusted.
“Oh, stop~! You’re killing us! Come on, it won’t hurt.”
In unity, the most disturbing part of this all: they began to raise all their slimy veins towards the air. Their mouths opened impossibly wide, whispers coming from every direction. They began chanting over and over.
“Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”Come on, it won’t hurt.”
It was sickening. This chorus of a hundred agonies screaming into the illfitted night. Their disturbing faces mouthing these words towards me over and over. Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
And it just wouldn’t stop. They had covered the door with vines, slathering their red liquid against the handles so that they were hopeless to open. The room was burning now, the corner having caught aflame. In this inglorious, ignominious sight, I fell. I fell to my knees with nothing but a sad whimper keeping me from passing out. A cold cry from the deepest parts within me, screaming to be let out of this hell. Yet, nothing came. I cried and cried, laying curled over while these things stood above me. It was the most harrowing sight you could think of. Grim. Disturbing. Sad. Futile, futile.
When I finally passed out from the rage of not being able to free myself from this torment of what felt like an infinite stretch of time, I awoke back into the normal reality. Checking the clock, I had seen only thirty minutes passed by, an improbably short amount of time for what I’d just seen. I looked around and no one was laughing, smiling or secreting liquid anymore. They had simply resumed their normal partying behavior. The girl I woke up next to, Amanda, was one of my other closest friends. I hadn’t seen her the whole night until this point; I assumed I was still dreaming.
“Amanda, is that you..?” I asked with what probably seemed a drunken overtone.
“Of course it is, goofy, who else would it be?” she said quickly and with her classic snarky tone. The way I’d knew I was awake at this point was that name, Goofy. We shared a love of Disney, giving everyone in our friend group names of the most popular characters.
“Simon called me over and said you weren’t doing well.”
“I just… Don’t feel right. Something's off here.” I replied.
“I mean I’m- I’m physically fine if-”
“I can see that, I don’t think he meant physically.” she said.
“Just… Don’t leave. For a little bit?” I asked shakily.
“... Sure. I’ve got nothing going on anyhow.” She said back after some contemplating.
I was never the type to ask people to hang around, let alone because I was feeling bad. She knew something was up. After a long amount of arbitrary trying to get up from the cold, hard floor, I eventually managed to stumble to my feet. I walked towards the front door, checking over my shoulder every few moments as though I had a stalker. At this point, she knew something had happened. She always had a knack for that. I ended up divulging the entire sequence of events near word for word how you’ve just read them. She listened with the same intense, caring gaze as a mother would her sick child. I tried not to hide anything in the loose details, though I most likely had, storytelling wasn’t my strong suit. After hearing this troubled tale of debauchery, she asked (after more contemplating) one question I had not thought of.
“Do you know who you are?” She said, as though this was a standard affair.
I sat, stunned.
It must’ve been minutes.
She could tell I was thinking.
With a longly thought out sentence I replied.
“I did.”
She smiled, innocently as ever. Even offered me a ride. Of course I took it, for, that is what any sane person would do.
She let me crash at her place, her girl-friends leaving me be across the long span of the night. I awoke in a washed up haze, despite having nothing to drink. The entire night seemed a blur, in the worst sense.
“Rise & shine, goofy!” she belted out in one bountiful breath. I slowly rose up from the couch, seeing that the other two had left for the morning. She turned on the television. After what felt like an hour of silence, she broke the constricting hiss of nothing.
“So~, howddya feel?”
“I… Alright, I guess.” I said quietly.
“Could be better?” She asked.
“...Yeah.” I solemnly replied.
“You know, not everyone is meant for certain things.” She said with a smile.
“I know. It’s just… I’ve never felt so humiliated, out of place and… That kinda stuff before.”
“Remember what you used to tell us, back in eighth grade? You were jealous of your sister?” She asked.
“Yeah..? What about it?”
“Come here.” She said with dutiful haste.
She rushed me to her bedroom, quickly yanking several things aside in her closet.
“Take this.” She said, handing me a black dress.
“Are you crazy? This is yours. Plus, I’m a man, I don’t wear-”
“Try it on.” She snapped back.
“Are you s-”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
It was a feeling unlike no other. Pure bliss. Magic. Exhilarating. Empowering. Breathtaking. Heart-stopping.
It felt perfect. The dimensions were perfect for me, as they were her. My long curly hair matched the fitting exactly, my glasses only adding to the mystique.
“So~... How’s it feel?” She asked.
“Unlike anything I can describe.”
“May I call you Ashley?” She asked with such casualness that I pulled a muscle in my neck, snapping it to her direction. In eighth grade, I had signed a few diary entries under the name Ashley. I’d forgotten I’d even shared those with her.
“How did you..?” I asked with utmost inquisitiveness
“Well, goofy, unlike you, I can remember some things” She said and chuckled a little.
With my excitement over this revelation, of course the body has a way of letting that be known. I began holding my hands downward only for her to spring to attention.
“Come on, Ash! Let’s go!”
The sudden shift in name almost caught even me off-guard. She sprinted with me in tow out of the closet and leapt onto her bed. Of course, the rising happiness within me had manifested and my general nervousness over being what I wasn’t had come to a head. I shut the door, leaving the room and thinking to myself, only to hear a shout.
“Ash, come in here! I know it’s just exciting.” She reassured.
“...Are you sure?” I asked after a small bit of silence, trying to give my lower half a chance to calm.
“Ughhh! Of course!”
I sheepishly walked back in the room, sitting next to her on the bed. She pulled out a massive container of makeup, hundreds if not thousands of colors.
“Any time you want to try some of these, let me know.” She said as if this were something she’d been planning for.
“I’m still just a little bit tired, if that’s alright.” I replied, yawning halfway through the sentence. It was only 6:43 A.M after all.
“I would be, too… The kind of night you had?” She said back in a sardonic tone.
I put my head down on the pillow, slowly closing my eyes.
Twenty-one years.
Twenty-one years.
I had waited so long for this moment. I just couldn’t bring myself to accept it. It was unexplainable. Unfathomable. And yet, I felt so much more right than how I had before.
I opened my eyes to the now burning warmth, realizing that with her arms wrapped around me, in the arms of this one person, this one thing that can see me…
I’d found it. My place out of time; My place in this world.
Love. Though unexplained, can make the most burdened feel welcome, the most disturbed feel sane. Beyond all forms of explanation, love & joy are the two things that bring the most comfort to people as a person. Whether that be as a neutering hate or the arms of your wife. Love is love.
~Ashley Evenstar.
Written by Retrovoider
Inspired by Amanda Abizaid’s “The 4400” intro song lyric:
“We’ll find our place in time, a place in time beyond the sun.”
Pitch-line inspired by Scatman John
“Wanna hear the secret? Let yourself free. You’ll inherit your life; it’s ecstasy.”