74. Freeze

Maybe it would be good to freeze this moment in time.

The second week in March. A bright and warm morning where the birds wake up singing and somehow ignoring the fact that they’re stuck in Solitary. A fun and relaxing ride to school on Uncle Robert’s motorcycle. Seeing Kelsey for the first time since before spring break, noticing that she looks more beautiful than she did when she left as I hug her and then feel her give me a kiss on the cheek.

The classes seem lighter and quicker.

The food in the cafeteria seems to taste better.

The blue in Kelsey’s eyes seems brighter.

Harris’s stories seem funnier.

Even Newt seems taller.

I share the news about my parents with Kelsey. And doing this makes me realize that it really has had a big impact on me. Things seem to be better. My life seems to have a future. A better one.

All of this is wonderful.

All of this is temporary, because April is going to morph into May, and the joy is going to morph into some newfound pain.

The open skies are going to cloud up and start pouring down hurt and anguish into my life.

That’s what the voice deep, deep down says.

That’s why I drown it out with Kelsey and school and the wind and the skies and everything around me.

Chrissssssss.

The voice is always there. The memories and the beating heart of fear.

Chrisssssss.

I want to lock this day down and never move on. Or fast forward to September or December.

Maybe you’ll never see them.

This is the voice of fear, the voice of something evil, the voice of something empty.

Maybe this will be the last joyous day of your miserable little life.

When the sun sets and the darkness creeps in, the voices come.

Dad is back in Illinois, attending classes at a Bible college and dreaming of the future. Mom is back working at Brennan’s, dreaming of the future. Midnight is next to me on the couch, dreaming of hot dogs.

And I’m here, not wanting the dreams to come.

I’m here, wanting the day not to fade away.

But the sun always sets, and the nightmares always arrive.