The Constrictor

One minute I was planted in this plane of existence and the next, I am weightless and floating in a void. The dark pressure surrounds me and there is no light to guide me out. How did I even get here?

I’m flying of a sort. Try as I might, I can’t move very far with no gravity to assist. It’s as if I’m underwater and unable to swim back up. 

“Hello?” Not even an echo in response. The oppressive silence envelops me, sinking its teeth into me and I begin to spiral. 

I am completely alone in this situation. Is this a punishment? In my life, I have been a Good Samaritan and helped where I could. So, why am I living my worst nightmare? 

Panic threatens to seize me as my throat tightens up and I struggle to breathe. I can feel another panic attack coming, except this time no one is here to help me. I’m alone. Is it possible to die from an anxiety attack? Am I to suffer here until I solve some kind of world mystery? I'm isolated, alone, forgotten and I long for my life back. 

Maybe I did die and this is the afterlife. Or maybe, I didn’t even make it to the afterlife and this is the in-between. A shift from one existence to another except I got unlucky enough to get stuck, unable to move on for eternity. I'm in solitary confinement. I begin hiccuping in my state of panic. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. 

All I need to do is remember what exactly happened before I woke up in this state. I slam my eyes shut and rack my brain but nothing comes to. I repeat my name: Christopher Taylor. Born in 1989. Single. No wait, I’m married. To Jennifer.  It’s just the panic making you forget, keep breathing.

Opening my eyes, which is pointless as I can’t even see anything to begin with, I stare into the abyss. It’s pitch black like I’ve been swallowed whole by the depths of the ocean. I know my family will come looking for me. I’m not alone. Am I? 

“Tell me, what are you most afraid of?” The question appeared in my head, almost as quiet as a whisper I could barely hear. My eyes dart left and right, trying to make a form of anything near me. 

“Tell me your biggest fear. Is this your nightmare come true?” 

There's no presence near me; however, I mustn’t assume that I am completely alone. Even if I do not know what outlandish creature is accompanying me, at least I won’t pass without someone next to me. As I continue to glance around, a bright light is found in the distance. Am I finally passing on? 

The fear that has been strangling me through this experience lessens and I take a steady breath. My thoughts had begun to spiral and I reflected on my childhood. I could never be alone either through my adolescent years. Growing up, I was always in a crowd or I gathered acquaintances and friends. I never sat in silence and I never went to bed alone. 

What made me like that? 

A sudden flashbang to the past surfaces and I recall sitting alone at the dinner table. I was staring at a cake with ten candles, unlit, and yelling in the next room. I remember it like it was yesterday and I close my eyes to succumb to the memory…

The wooden table is cold to the touch. With my forehead pressed against the flat surface, my hands are closed tightly in my lap. My stomach growls. There is no electricity and I begin to shiver. Something about a missed bill. But, we don’t know anyone named Bill. The winter air is creeping its way in and I feel goosebumps rise along my arms. I look at the wholly made cake across from me, but one side is drooped as if it got smushed. It most likely did. One of my candles lay broken on the table. 

Dinner is in front of me and served cold. Everything is cold, including this day. This day might be the most frozen one of all. I hear yelling behind closed doors and I wonder when they will be done. I wonder if they know how much I am shivering. 

The light blazes beyond my eyelids and I open them to see a silhouette facing me. 

“Tell me, what are you most afraid of?”  This question again. 

“Right now, it’s you.” I feel a rush of anger and loss. Is anyone searching for me? Surely, my absence is noted. Surely, among this abyss and void, I will be found. 

“What is your name?” 

Finally, an easy question I can answer. 

“Howard.” 

“Is it?” 

No, what? It’s Christopher. Chris for short. Christopher Taylor when I’m in trouble. How could I forget that? 

“Tell me your name again.” 

“Benjamin.” My face scrunches up. This time I had no control over my voice. How can I forget my name? Am I blending into this void? Will I turn into nothing and everything all at once?

Christopher, Christopher, Christopher, Christopher, Christopher. I chant my name like a prayer. If I begin to lose myself in this void, then I’ll forever be forgotten. Somehow, if I die here, I know I’ll be erased from existence. 

Suffocation seizes me at random and I begin choking for air. I’m alone, I’m alone, I’m alone, I’m alone, I’m alone. Loneliness seizes me in its grip and twists a knife in my rib to hold on to. There’s a pain in my chest and a heavy weight that won’t lessen. My side aches and I curl up in a ball. Isolation, loneliness, and detachment accompany me as I ache for reality. This version of my present finally sinks in. It’s not a dream. 

“Tell me, what is your biggest fear?”

I look up through my hysteria and finally, the silhouette reveals itself. In my view, a fair man with chocolate brown hair and hazel eyes stares back at me. The curve of the nose and the lanky build look similar, and it dawns on me. I’m staring at myself. 

I raise my left hand to see if my reflection follows suit. No surprise that it does. It’s just me…and me. Disappointment hits me as I realize there is no otherworldly God that’s been sent here to save me. 

“Tell me, what are you most afraid of?”  The mouth doesn’t move but I hear the question all the same. I feel a warmth slide down my cheeks and I raise my hand to wipe away the hot tears that slide down my face. In awe and terrified of watching my reflection complete the same action. 

I’m scared of right now. I’m scared that there is no future for me. But, what I’m most afraid of is turning into my father, who sits on his leather couch with greying hair and withers away leaving despair in his wake. Alone, because he couldn’t let anyone in. Because he pushed everyone out, including his family. He left his ten-year-old son alone on his birthday and never once looked back. Except when Mother died and I drove away from her funeral in his car at thirteen. The smell of depression and whiskey in the air. And every day, I wake up staring at myself in the mirror terrified that I will become just like him. Alone. 

I stare at myself and see the anguish and heartbreak etched into every crease and wrinkle. I see it in my hazel eyes, full of clouds that threaten to rain. I see my tragic nightmare staring back at me. With a face full of emotions that words can’t speak into existence; suffocation steals the words, as it always has. I reach my hand out, wanting to finally feel the warmth of someone after barely existing in this abysmal and lonesome black hole. 

My reflection reaches back and our hands connect. And I know that as long as I have myself, I’ll be okay.