A Complete Unknown

Playing around, always fun until someone loses an eye, or worse, both, ending up completely blind, and while I may be the only one to speculate how Carol went blind, besides ignoring safety protocols, it’s just what I do, like what was she synthesizing, something particularly Nobel Prize winning probably, something acidic got all up in her feelings, by feelings, apparently I mean vision, or did the heat and pressure cause a beaker to explode, shards of glass embedding themselves in her cornea, piercing her lenses, the fact remains (yes, I came back to where I was pre-run-on sentence), the simple fact is she can’t see and Flinn Scientific wants to profit from her unfortunate situation. Don’t make fun of blind people, umm, people. Or keep going all helter skelter, and Carol will be the one that could have saved you, but you just weren’t in her sight lines anymore, not because it’s all dark, no, for her it’s nothing but light, because in my head, she is on the road and bumps into Stan Lee, who introduces her to Nick Fury, she gets outfitted with hooker heels and an all seeing plasma bra, wired to her brain via the heart, so she witnesses intentions, one stare at a time, but really, she’s going to find Professor Flinn, no, wait, Professor Plum, in the sitting room with a candlestick, yeah, he did it, and Flinn never glowed so perfectly in the darkness of sudden, sadistic stillness.

Ignoring the previous paragraph completely, that was just to get the creative juices flowing, and gush like the gaping wound inside my head they did, thank God for staples, and His wisdom for including clotting factors in blood, the real subject here is life.

A few nights back, I came home to a crowd around a body. That’s reality in recovery. Not everyone gets it, but thankfully he gets one more chance because the pieces of that moment fit together rather than not. Had he been inside his apartment, I would be really sad, but he made it out to smoke a cigarette, so when he quit breathing, people who knew what to do where there. A mere 5 feet, one side of the door, all that separated him from the bitterest of ends, from me writing about hope versus some sad eulogy.

Maybe it is enough, a deep enough hole to call his bottom, but all the Narcan saves, all the near misses, the shallow breathed prayers, and the resultant ravages of lives and their sanities, none of that stopped me. I was something carnal, fueled by self-created pain, lit up by the promise of despair. The most beautiful earthbound angels came one after another, each trying harder than the last to develop something eternal, while I sliced off pieces of promise, slivered sanity to fortify the illusions, hints of who I should be, enough to shield the truth temporarily.

To the most recent celestial soul in my life, I never leave you out of a single prayer. What you did for me, that will never be forgotten. Almost feel guilty I got one more chance at this gift, that the boy woke up and was tired of pretending; it’s time to be a man. I want to tell you how there is such an easier way through the fog, that it’s science: the sun always burns it off, no one needs to end up like Carol above. My brain has every inch of you on display, all that attention to detail on those early morning visits, the ones that could never last long enough, even if they somehow stretched into forever. Sometimes I wish I could forget you, somehow ignite the celluloid memories, but their permanence I treasure. I am sure you think I have forgotten you, that in some way I have moved beyond my heart. You’d win the Powerball never buying a ticket before that would happen. Something magical happened when I saw you, that was 14 years ago. I never forgot that seemingly random moment, and that autumn night when purple crescent moons and the pear scented body spray forced us to say goodbye for a decade.

Now I am trying to find the right words, who I was, what happened, and how it has all led to this. A time when I get the courage to look you in the eye and tell you I was never anything I claimed to be, as dirty as the most original of sins. I love you, always will, my dearest friend, find peace please. I get it, we might never talk again, that I don’t even deserve the chance, but I’d be an idiot to not reach my hand out to you, at least try to explain that who I was is nothing like who I am becoming. I am just thankful for the chance at doing it in the flesh, and not the ether, even if there’s no one I’d rather watch over. So much of us was carnal, I get that, but a little secret, I have this voicemail, listened to it the other day, the sappy romantic inside me was the one truth ever present. Maybe one day you can see that without all the baggage I shouldered, but if not, I more than understand. It doesn’t taint anything, because the beauty of those moments are cherished, always will be.

The push of that plunger should have closed the curtain on me, one blessed failure (I have a flair for the obvious, since after all dead folks can’t blog), but it blew up in my face. I got one end, that life died a celebrated finality. I got something else from the ashes of that day, the cliché phoenix, a healthy fire for life, one guided by faith. There is no more running from myself, a past that grants wisdom as long as I am willing to truly open my eyes. An opportunity to get more out of life than my wild imagination can dream, funny that I don’t think about tomorrow, yet I sculpt it into something endlessly beautiful by making the most out of today.



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