out of my fucking mind. The noose ends up positioned nicely, which is lucky because if it lands wrong it will break your neck and then you’ve defeated the whole purpose of the effort. I try not to struggle, although it’s tough to stop the most primitive part of my brain from making my body wriggle around. I’m gasping for air even though the last thing I want is to breathe right now. I can’t help it. I try to focus on something else. Think about baseball. Think about car repair. Think about Lisa.
That’s the real agenda here, isn’t it? Lisa by way of rehabilitation? Restoration of my self?
No. Not restoration. I’m a tear-down. I need to be razed and rebuilt from scratch if I have any chance at all. Reconstructed, only this time with integrity and honesty and all the care and planning that wasn’t there the first time around. And none of the scars.
I need tools. I need a blueprint. I need my insides stripped and laid bare to see what I have to work with. What was there before? Where are the cracks in the foundation? What’s clogging up my emotional air ducts?
I’ve been given an opportunity. A chance.
This will work or it won’t. My master plan. If it works, I have the key to everything. I can fix what I’ve broken so badly. I can alter my fundamental being and become the man Lisa thought I was. The man that, at least for a while, she believed I could be.
If I succeed, I can change.
If I fail, then it doesn’t matter. Either way, the issue has become one of black and white. Black, I’m gone. White, I win.
If it doesn’t go as I hope, what will be the last thing I ever see? The bed I used to share with Lisa? The night table she left her earrings on? The empty half of the closet I haven’t used since she left? Is it possible to look at nothing? I wish I had nothing in this apartment. I wish it were bare and empty and alone. It should be. It deserves it.
I’ve been up here a full minute and I’m only now getting tunnel vision. I’m doing it wrong. There’s too much oxygen getting to my brain. My neck must be in a position that allows some air to get through. Dammit.
I raise my arms to grab the rope above the noose and hoist myself up a little to readjust. The tension in my throat goes away and I can’t help but suck in a huge breath. Oh, that feels so good. Best breath I ever took. My biceps are already aching from holding myself up. Maybe I should pull my head out of this and rethink the plan. No. I was afraid leaving my arms unbound might lead to this. Doubt. Weakness. Not now. Don’t be scared. Don’t give up. You have a plan. Stick with it. Let go.
I turn my head slightly, lower myself slowly into a position that I know instantly will kill me. Not a molecule of oxygen is getting through and I’m too weak to lift myself again. This is it. I think my body is wrenching around involuntarily but I can’t be sure because I’m not even positive I’m here anymore. My brain screams adrenaline at me but my mind whispers sweet nothings right back. Relax. This is what you want.
The room sways back and forth a few times before the view begins to defocus again. Quicker this time.
Sound fades away.
My vision dims.
Yes.
Black.
34
Silence.
The White.
I’m back.
Whatever I am is naked and fresh. It feels so good. Better than I remember.
I love it here. I love it so much.
I couldn’t feel anger if I tried. I have no ego to crush. I love you.
I hear the whisper and then the wail and then the whoosh.
Ten thousand express trains of memories race past me. I have no body. I am pure concentration. I am a flat line. I am complete.
I look to my right and strain to slow the images. I’m successful enough to see my ninth-grade baseball tryouts.
Waiting in line for my coffee.
Watching the cable guy work in my apartment.
Sitting on hold.
Biking by the river.
Waking up in a stranger’s bed.
Cheating in high school chemistry.
Showering.
Playing basketball.
Buying a paper.
Lying in a
That’s the real agenda here, isn’t it? Lisa by way of rehabilitation? Restoration of my self?
No. Not restoration. I’m a tear-down. I need to be razed and rebuilt from scratch if I have any chance at all. Reconstructed, only this time with integrity and honesty and all the care and planning that wasn’t there the first time around. And none of the scars.
I need tools. I need a blueprint. I need my insides stripped and laid bare to see what I have to work with. What was there before? Where are the cracks in the foundation? What’s clogging up my emotional air ducts?
I’ve been given an opportunity. A chance.
This will work or it won’t. My master plan. If it works, I have the key to everything. I can fix what I’ve broken so badly. I can alter my fundamental being and become the man Lisa thought I was. The man that, at least for a while, she believed I could be.
If I succeed, I can change.
If I fail, then it doesn’t matter. Either way, the issue has become one of black and white. Black, I’m gone. White, I win.
If it doesn’t go as I hope, what will be the last thing I ever see? The bed I used to share with Lisa? The night table she left her earrings on? The empty half of the closet I haven’t used since she left? Is it possible to look at nothing? I wish I had nothing in this apartment. I wish it were bare and empty and alone. It should be. It deserves it.
I’ve been up here a full minute and I’m only now getting tunnel vision. I’m doing it wrong. There’s too much oxygen getting to my brain. My neck must be in a position that allows some air to get through. Dammit.
I raise my arms to grab the rope above the noose and hoist myself up a little to readjust. The tension in my throat goes away and I can’t help but suck in a huge breath. Oh, that feels so good. Best breath I ever took. My biceps are already aching from holding myself up. Maybe I should pull my head out of this and rethink the plan. No. I was afraid leaving my arms unbound might lead to this. Doubt. Weakness. Not now. Don’t be scared. Don’t give up. You have a plan. Stick with it. Let go.
I turn my head slightly, lower myself slowly into a position that I know instantly will kill me. Not a molecule of oxygen is getting through and I’m too weak to lift myself again. This is it. I think my body is wrenching around involuntarily but I can’t be sure because I’m not even positive I’m here anymore. My brain screams adrenaline at me but my mind whispers sweet nothings right back. Relax. This is what you want.
The room sways back and forth a few times before the view begins to defocus again. Quicker this time.
Sound fades away.
My vision dims.
Yes.
Black.
34
Silence.
The White.
I’m back.
Whatever I am is naked and fresh. It feels so good. Better than I remember.
I love it here. I love it so much.
I couldn’t feel anger if I tried. I have no ego to crush. I love you.
I hear the whisper and then the wail and then the whoosh.
Ten thousand express trains of memories race past me. I have no body. I am pure concentration. I am a flat line. I am complete.
I look to my right and strain to slow the images. I’m successful enough to see my ninth-grade baseball tryouts.
Waiting in line for my coffee.
Watching the cable guy work in my apartment.
Sitting on hold.
Biking by the river.
Waking up in a stranger’s bed.
Cheating in high school chemistry.
Showering.
Playing basketball.
Buying a paper.
Lying in a
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