Odyssey
Read Along Song: Deep Stone Lullaby
A glance up from my work computer treated me to the sight of vermillion and violet rays blending together on the western horizon. I’d have to head home that way in a couple of hours once my shift was done. Driving down through Somerville, Cambridge, and then arriving in Brighton once I crossed the BU Bridge. It’s not my usual route, but when I work the normal hours, traffic can prove to be a handful heading down I-93 and the Tobin Bridge. I tilted my blue light glasses up and over my forehead, rubbing my temples with fingertips pressed hard. This was it. Nothing but a dull headache soothed the thoughts swirling around— pushing me to finish the day, to welcome the dusk with a final sprint across the finish line. But then tomorrow we start again. Another gun fires and we take off running, chasing the sun before it crashes across the sky again. What we do in those daylight hours, and how we cope once they’re gone— that’s what I thought about as the clock struck six. My work here was done, at least for today. Swinging the brown leather satchel I inherited from Dad over my shoulder, I grasped my car keys and made for the door.
The commute home was at least a half-hour long, the scary part was I hadn’t remembered hitting the gas. My muscle memory took over and brought me home to Cleveland Circle. Of course, it was softly raining outside as I parallel parked across the reservoir, where the only spots remained. Dangling my key card across the neck of the hoodie and flannel top I was wearing, I often feel like a corporate man buried under layers of metrosexuality, if that’s even the right word to use. I stepped into multiple puddles on the way up the road, soaking through my Vans which still looked new for some miraculous reason. I stopped to tie my shoe in front of the CitySide window. I peeked inside underneath the blinds that were blocking the glaring sunset that was at my back. Numbers of students lined the tables, and couples flooded the bar— staring into each other’s eyes without care for the outside. I’ve spent many weeknights sitting there alone, splashing my old-fashioned around in the stout glass they often chose to give me. Some tenders made it too strong which I liked, others smothered it in oranges. As I laced up the double knot I consider making tonight one of those nights where I would sit in, listening and pretending to be texting someone important on the phone. It wasn’t like I was jealous of the people that had company there, I just wanted to be among them— even just a fly on the wall. I didn’t mind if no one noticed me, in fact, I preferred it that way. But a look at the checking account persuaded me otherwise, and I took another soggy step toward home. Walking up that hill, sorry Kate Bush.
Recently I made a decision. It wasn’t a profound one, nor was it something of the same magnitude as some men the same age as me are making in the NFL, NHL, you name it. A word stung the back of my brain where feelings of grandeur used to lay. “Odyssey.” Turning the cold silver key into the front door, I grasped the railing heading to my apartment only to feel a splinter slide deep under my skin as I climbed. It didn’t hurt. They never do anymore. Odyssey. The word allured me like I was a fly seeing a lamp in the distance. I imagined it all. Spending the rest that I have set me up for a journey west, wherever that meant. In an ideal world, I could buy a motorcycle and just get going with Dad’s satchel and nothing else. Mom would kill me for even thinking of riding one— just wait till she hears about the tattoos I want to get too. Changing up my fashion style, swapping out the flannels for something more sleek and tattered. Bidding farewells and handing out numbers to stay in touch. Landing at some dusty motel in the middle of the desert, a place with which I have little to no familiarity. Wonder how long it would take a scorpion to find me. But out there I would be free, wouldn’t I? Not that I’m not already, but the idea of change enthralled me. It beckoned, wagging a blazing finger high in the sky saying “maybe tomorrow you’ll have the guts.” I never did, I never have, and maybe I never will— my knees hit the aged wood floor of my apartment. The headache had grown into a faint hiss of the radiator next to me. Is my tinnitus acting up again? Who knows, but I’m not giving up the blaring music headphones give me— I’m banking on hearing aid technology advancing in the near decades. Some of my friends make fun of me for trying to be a man of mystery. For the most part, it’s a cringy idea and part of the reason why I haven’t disembarked yet. Changing your whole appearance, and your whole lifestyle wasn’t the most attractive way of thinking about the Odyssey for me. I didn’t want to look cooler. I didn’t want to go for my own sense of adventure. I just felt I had to go. A reaction to my current state. See what’s out there sure, but more so see what’s in me.
How would I fare out in the wilderness? Maybe I wouldn’t last long. Maybe I’d never come back. I was curious and tempted to put myself to the test out myself with strangers and lesser-known surroundings. The change in my life came secondary to that. I pulled the splinter out of my thumb with my bare fingers and the new nails I had grown back since I quit biting my nails by lathering them in polish. Blood came soon afterward, and afraid to leak onto the floor I clutched it and quickly opened up my first aid Tupperware bin to cover it up with Neosporin and a Band-Aid. Would I have to bring a first aid kit when I left? Probably. That could take up a bit of space, and the clothes I wanted to wear would too. Sighing, I fell back onto my made bed clicking on the blue swirling light that was positioned behind my PC. Watching the outside turn into darkness, the flat churning blue became the only thing illuminating the neighborhood besides the electric faux gaslit street lamps on the curb. Who was I trying to fool? Likely myself, right? Heading out into nothing, expecting nothing, and cutting away from the people who love me. A horrible idea, right? What would you get out of that, you quarter-life-crisis-having prick? The headache burned again, I shuffled into the kit and pulled out Tylenol. It was only 7 o’clock at night, but it may as well felt like midnight. Let the coping of the wasted day continue. What did you learn? Nothing. What did you plan for the future? Nothing. What a day.
There it is. I grinned a bit at recognizing the thoughts my therapist taught me to look out for. The catastrophic thinking, the self-critic, and the droning lull of pessimism had arrived to stay for the night. It’s one thing to see it, it’s another to show it the door. Turning over and burying my head in the pillows I see nothing but blackness. Satisfied with my dissatisfaction, I pop a Melatonin pill and feel the effects begin to swing me to a drowsy state between consciousness and peace. That makes three drugs I was on now, counting the caffeine from hours before. The thought of waving people off and saying goodbye is a sad one for me. Rolling over, I clutch the jug of water I have on my wooden nightstand. Lifting it too high, the water rushes too fast through my throat and I cough and sputter as liquid infiltrates the windpipe. Tons of celebrities say in interviews that one day they woke up and made a decision to end the tough days. They pushed themselves, followed their hearts, and started a business— something like that anyway. I opened my eyes for one last time on that calendar date, watching the blue dance upon my cracked ceiling. Could I do the same? Reinvent in a way that’s meaningful to me and no one else? It would hurt to go and I hate to hurt, subtracting myself from the day-to-day lives of others. Not gone, just not around. Gritting my teeth, I unplugged the lights and fell deep into the pillows I’d had since middle school. The headboard shook as I did. Just a decision— that’s all it takes, they say.
I just decided.