Ephemeral

Trigger for mental health, suicidal ideation, and other such themes.

Every year, a parade comes to town. It was a one-day kind of deal. Some people thought that time limit was annoying, but to me, it was perfect. Since I first came to this town eight years ago, I have gone to each one. My heart raced a little when I saw the advertisements, too excited for something so mundane. It wasn’t anything special, just a few rides and stands. Mostly a place you take your children in the summer to keep them from tearing the house apart during Summer break. Cheap rides and sugary food wasn’t what attracted me to these affairs.

One day only, the words struck me the first time I saw them, what an idea. Somewhere in the recesses of my brain, I realised it was a marketing ploy to a horde of customers to an overpriced event. It worked on me nonetheless. God, I remember how I shook, barely able to send the text to invite my old friends. One day only, that’s what really got to me. Even my favourite things were accessible any day, but there was never an assurance the parade would come back the next year. Always a once-in-a-lifetime chance, always ephemeral.

Last year, something changed. Not the fair itself, god, that place would always be the exact same set up, plus or minus a few rigged games. I’m not sure I changed either, nor did the world around me. The prospect of experiencing something that would soon leave went from thrilling to… familiar, I guess. Facing loss was supposed to bring me a sense of, well, something. Suspense? No. Feeling alive, I think, was the reason. It’s hard to remember that person’s thoughts. My thoughts, I mean.

Pulling out my phone, I click on Ann Yuen. Most recent on the list of contacts, followed by animal control. No picture or special nickname. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind the impersonal contact information, but I think it makes me a bad friend, somehow. Before, the profile pictures were of funny animals I thought represented my friends. Then it became their smiling faces, like I was trying to catch their happiness in a jar.

I should change Ann’s, but there are no pictures of her on my phone. I used to keep a catalogue of pictures, trying to capture the essence of the good moments. I haven't taken a photograph anytime in the past nine months. Err, ten I suppose since it’s June now. Time has been difficult recently, sorry. Whenever I feel the urge to capture an occasion, Ann insists I should be included, so I decline. Why would I want to look at myself, look at the smile that could only be described as a bearing of teeth? I’d rather see my actual corpse than the dead person’s face I’m using.

God, sorry, that sounded a bit dark, didn’t it? What was I doing again? What is this story about? You don’t have to read this, it won’t have anything important. I’m just rambling, gathering my thoughts. I open the messaging app and finally send the text. 

Not going today, sorry. Change of plans.

Sent 6:43 pm

Ann Yuen: What? :0 but you love the parade!

Read 6:45 pm

For a split second, I consider texting again. Calling eve,n though I haven’t done that all year. Telling her about the icy pit in my stomach that swallows up the bad feelings. That soon swallowed up the good ones too. Devouring everything preemptively until I was hollowed out; a destructive protection that I wanted to get rid of and needed to keep. Explaining that the festival took place on the same street where I used to feel something. Knowing I was supposed to feel happy and having nothing instead made the infinite icy pit grow somehow colder.

In a flash, that instinct passes. A new one pops up, suggesting softly that I say goodbye. It’s odd. I don’t think I’m saying goodbye, why would I? Even if I’ve been seeing her less and less, she’s still here. She must be mad at me for seeing her so infrequently. Should I say goodbye before we’ve grown apart for good, ending it instead of letting it fade out? Finality was so much easier than helplessly watching a divide form and being too tired to patch the cracks. Ann is like my past friends, my family, my feelings, the parade. Ephemeral.

That instinct passes too, and no new one comes to take its place. I don’t send a text, and now I have nothing to do. Being productive is hard. I try to leave my body whenever I have to do work, and when I’m back I just lay in my bed. Nice as this routine is, it makes days a bit blurry, so I keep a journal for myself. Writing down the usual things, noting anything that gave me a spark of feeling before it was enveloped. Take notes, make plans. 

Journaling is the only reason I remembered the parade is happening today. Errands to run, work to do, people to meet, plans to make. Usually, I’m good at that, making plans. Today, the thought escapes me as I stare down at the empty page. Maybe the schedule for today is just going to be me holding a pencil, aimlessly wondering if I should check the new texts and voicemail Ann sent.

Abruptly, an idea occurs. Less of an idea actually, more like the person who died shouts loud enough from the hollow to give a suggestion. It brings a smile to my lips. I’m so startled by the expression I’ve always had to force coming naturally that I have to write the suggestion down. It’s just an idea, I have to remind myself of that. Logic doesn’t hold a candle to the sudden rush coursing through me. Anticipation. I’m impressed that I can identify the emotion after so long. It will fade soon, but so does everything. For now, this anticipation is dictating my actions with a manic sort of glee.

There’s this river, I never bothered learning the name, but I know its soul inside and out. Whether by serendipity or fate, it’s located right outside my residence. Sometimes, when I don’t have a jam-packed schedule of laying on my bed, I’d visit the river. Recently, I’ve been doing everything less, but for some reason, I keep coming back to that place. The stream always goes the same way. Where is it going? Is the water going someplace nicer, does it cycle back to the beginning, or does it just come to a stop?

Hopefully it’s the latter. I imagine being running water is exhausting. Maybe the reason it rushes so forcefully is so it can finally be at peace at the end. Once, I considered taking a boat ride to find out; they probably give tours. I don’t want to though. I don’t want anything. So I finish writing in the journal with handwriting much messier than I’m used to. As soon as I write parting words, I fly up from my seat with an ardour I didn’t know I could muster.

I’m at the river, and god, I can feel each splash on my skin like I’m actually alive. For this moment, where my heart is drumming and my reasonable mind shouts at me to get down, I am part of the world.

“Charlie?” Panting, sweating, I think there are tears forming as well. This isn’t the happiest I’ve ever been, I don’t think happiness is in the cards for me. It’s the most I’ve ever been, at least since whenever it was that I lost myself. “Charlie?!” I swing my legs over the railing. The city will probably make it higher after this incident. I don’t want to cause any trouble, so I hope no one will realise I’m gone. Ann might- “Charlie!”

That’s… that’s my name, isn’t it? Forcefully, I’m grabbed by my shoulders, hoisting me to the ground without concern for roughness. The fall knocks the wind out of me, and I scramble to regain my bearings. “Fuck, I’m sorry, are you okay?” Ann helps me to my feet, but I’m still reeling from the loss of losing. Vaguely, I register that she seems to be in shambles, likely coming down from an adrenaline high. Was she scared for me?

“How did you know?” I try not to sound angry, I know she’s being a good person. Despite this, I resent her. She raises up my journal. Fuck, why was she in my apartment? I check my texts.

Ann Yuen: I know you’ve been distant lately, even if I don’t know why. It’s okay if you don’t want to go to the fair, really. but unless you have a damn good reason I’m seeing you today

Sent 6:52 pm

Ann Yuen: sweetie, please answer

Sent 7:30 pm

Ann Yuen: screw it I’m coming to your apartment and if you’re not there I’m using the spare key

Sent 8:21 pm

Ann Yuen: Jesus fuck please answer what is this?

Sent 8:56 pm

Of course she read the journal after I left it sitting out in the open like an idiot. I didn’t intend to leave a note, I didn’t want to leave anything behind. Not much of a surprise that I managed to screw up dying.

June 1st, 2024

Journal, on this day every year, I go to the parade. Today, instead, I had a new idea. Not ephemeral. Something that’s finally solid, that I can control, that I can keep. Today, Journal, I’m going to walk the street I know I’ve walked but can’t remember the feeling of. My steps will lead me to the bridge over the river with the name I never learned. Today, Journal, I’m going to jump off the bridge and find what happens at the end of the stream. I don’t know whether the fall will get me or if I’ll survive long enough to drown. Drowning seems painful, but maybe the water could fill the pit, and I’ll feel again. Goodbye Journal, thanks for staying around, even if you had no choice in the matter.

It’s held out to me, a reminder of my failing, of the peace I could have found. My mind won’t stop racing, spitting vitriol. You’re a fuck-up who should have his bones broken from the fall, making your struggle to swim in the rushing water excruciating. You shouldn’t be here, but you are.

“Charlie, please stay with me, please stay.” I break out of my own spiral seeing that Ann’s in one of her own.

“I’m sorry, I can’t. There’s nothing - nothing in me anymore. Everything’s, ha, it’s ephemeral. I can’t keep anything. This is all I can think to do to stop,” A frustrated growl leaves me, dripping with rancour, with long-standing fatigue. “Stop losing.” I finally find the words that I couldn’t piece together in my own mind. Loving comes to me so naturally, even through the nothingness, but loving me seems to be a burden for the rest of the world. Temporary is all I am to them. A fling, a hobby, a pet. I try to play into whatever they want me to be, but I still lose them.

Ann takes a breath, trying to steady herself, but it comes out as a choked gasp. Comfort isn’t something I’m good at, especially when I’m so broken, but I try. Wrap my arms around her, give placating whispers, soothing her with a routine I’d forgotten, nothing like riding a bike. Somewhere along the way, I begin to cry as well. Now she’s comforting me, and she returns my hug, the first time I’ve been touched like this in a year.

“Everyone loses, and you lost hard baby, but I can get you through it. We’ll have a great day, just the two of us, I promise. You won’t lose that.”

“The parade’s over. It’s too late.” I sob into her shoulder, frustrated at how hard it is to get the words out.

“Don’t worry about that.” I’m clinging to her shirt sleeves, holding onto the only solid thing in the world. Ann responds in kind by tightening her embrace even further until I scarcely have room to breathe. It’s perfect. “We’ll just have to do it next year.”