A Way to Pass the Time
It was the kiss of something not even human. Sometimes it felt almost like eating. A new way to consume something essential. Food for the mind. Other times it was closer to medicine, or poison, or some sort of deliriant. At its best it was a breath of fresh air, clear and satisfying and renewing. At its worst it was simply being stabbed. Nothing more, nothing less.
My first memory of it is that want. It was a shameful want, like sex to a young teenager. You don’t really know what it is, or what it means. But you want it and you know you’re not supposed to. Then you slowly build up the courage to ask. Just this once. And maybe next weekend.
Then you give in and let it have you and it’s like one of those horror movies where the person who’s been infected with the parasite comes to the protagonist and says “join us.” So I joined and I stayed awhile.
Laughs in the dark woods. Crying for a song. Eyes wider than the world, looking at the city from the top of an abandoned husk of a building. I followed it where it would take me and I was glad to have it.
It wasn’t just me. It’s certainly contagious, and just as it was spread to me I spread it to others. We bonded in it.
Things changed over time. It stopped being a once in a while. It stopped being only when it’s offered. It became something I could build up the courage to pursue.
Next weekend you’re losing money and think that’s all you’re losing. And damn is it worth it! A few bucks is all. A cup of coffee to see the world. To see the self. To see your friends again. Or just to have friends again.
But then some dull shroud falls over you and that bus called time swerves and turns. It jerks and slows. It might even crash. Whatever the case, that flashing sign on the back doesn’t say “2nd and Lincoln.” It says emptiness.
Here’s the funny thing about it; you know all of this! I did, at least. You can see it through that pair of eyes that sees but does not tell, the part of you that hides secrets. The place in your brain that refuses to reveal its mysteries to your waking mind. Or maybe it tries and you’re just good at ignoring it.
It’s insidious that way. Something’s happening but you can’t see it, or maybe you just don’t want to. But something is surely happening.
Some say “I know” and continue anyway but that’s a lie. If they knew, if they could open those eyes embedded in their reticent brains, they would see and they would weep. But instead they continue to search for the kiss, the release, the bloom of some deep scary thing in the mind. That terrible, wonderful, crystalline pulse.
These people sound like fools but I was one of them. I threw myself in and let it caress me then ravage my bones. I fell in love and I crashed and I was crushed.
The crash hurt, but I still crash often. Now they’re mostly light crashes, little fender benders. You need a crash every once in a while. Something to push you offtrack so you can actually learn something. Otherwise you’re just a bore.
After all, a poison’s only a poison at a lethal dose.
Jack Benzinger is a freshman at USC majoring in Narrative Studies. He is an aspiring writer; he’s spent his whole life reading books, so he figures he might as well try to write one. Jack is passionate about storytelling of all kinds, and when he’s not trying to build stories of his own you’ll find him playing chess, poring over foot-thick fantasy novels, and excitedly listening to jazz records.