Gobbledegook

On the face of it, John’s world was entirely as it was before, and yet it was as different as chalk was to cheese. John thought of cheese and what it had meant to him. He’d liked cheese and occasionally loved it with a respectful passion. Cheese was a constant friend and occasional lover. Now though, the thought of cheese left him perplexed. He knew he would continue to have cheese in his life. Cheese was necessary. But it didn’t hold the same appeal for him anymore. John and cheese had drifted apart.

Everything had drifted. Except John. John was still here. He’d awoken to a day where his world had moved sideways and he couldn’t refocus upon it. That was the change that he had encountered. There was something in the way, but he could not see it. An invisible impediment to his living. A much needed adjustment that eluded him.

Everything had changed and John was at a loss as to what it all meant. He felt his face contort into a smile and he knew he was smiling, but this knowledge of the smile was foreign to him. He wondered at the act of smiling and knew this to be a largely unselfconscious act. He was too aware of what he was doing. A voyeur of his own life. Detached somehow. But not unattached sufficiently to see himself and discern what was at play. 

He was a on a split second time delay with his experience. He was there, but a late arrival to his being present. Whatever was going to happen had already happened. The battle had occurred and all he could see were the dead and dying on a desolate battlefield. There was no cause here and never the victory. Always the aftermath.

He was standing at the church door of opportunity and looking down at the soggy and forlorn confetti. Pieces of paper that had not long ago conveyed joy. Flung into the air, each piece had had its moment. Had hung in the air and experienced all the meaning in the world. Now they lay there transformed. Soon, the next swarm of raindrops would arrive and take them all away to another life. Theirs was not an end, but a new beginning.

John did not have an end and so could see no beginning. Something was missing, but he could not see what it was that was lacking. He had no recollection of what was gone, but still he mourned. There was a terrible sense of loss without any ideation of the loss itself. 

As he navigated what had been a familiar habitat, he struggled for breath. The air was water and his eyes swam as he sought a grip in this alien environment. His body shook as his nervous system filled him with chemicals that went beyond the panic of anxiety. He wanted to shut down. To curl into the foetal position and enjoy this womb like state, but adrenaline coursed through him and he was given the choice to fight the situation or embark upon a flight of fancy.

And so he froze. That was all there was. All he could open himself up to was a voyeuristic experience. He was a passenger in his own life. Sitting on a stained seat in a driverless bus. The automated commentary had long since fallen silent, saying all it needed to say. This was broken. It was all broken and failing. The ride was so lacklustre that he could not even imagine how the inside of the bus smelt. Instead, there was a vacuum that spoke to him yet again of loss and disengagement.

This was a new dawn with an old outcome. The only feeling that came through, jolted him in sad waves; foreboding. He knew better than to think things couldn’t get worse. They were getting worse by the second and he was on a cliff edge awaiting the fall. A fall that would not bother killing him. What was the point? He was already dead inside.

John looked about him and formed a pointless O with his mouth. This was the closest he could get to articulation of his plight. He was floating in space. Cast adrift from all he knew and the coms in his spacesuit were down. Huston, we have a problem. And the problem is John.

He felt the eternal drift within himself and wished that he could bring it all to an end. For want of anything better to do he opened the fridge and brought forth the cheese. He held it in the light of the open door and attempted to discern its meaning. The yellowed entrails of a sacrificial offering. He entertained a forlorn hope that some of that meaning might brush off on him. Two alien beings regarding one another across a chasm of misunderstanding.

“What are you doing, John?”

And what was he doing? He stood even more frozen. A statue in the false light of the fridge. There were no answers. He couldn’t even form the questions. This was no longer his world and he had ceased to be. And she was no longer her.  He didn’t think she ever had been. There was something there, but it wasn’t the same. He’d created a mirage and spent a lifetime staggering towards the healing waters, only to discover far too late in the day that they contained poison.

She didn’t mean it. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. But then, she hadn’t meant any of it. Could he blame her for that though? He’d sought salvation in her. Invested himself in the meaning that she contained. Because he doubted he had anything to offer. No worth. A meaningless shell that required filling.

Turned out she was the same.

Maybe they all were.

He looked at the cheese and wished himself away from this place, but his wordless wish fell upon deaf ears and as it did, he fought the betrayal of tears. Reverentially, he placed the cheese back in the fridge and retrieved the milk.

“Tea?” he asked the stranger who was also his wife.

“Yes, please,” she replied as they fell into a script of meaningless words. A ritual they could hide behind as they hid from the world that threatened to assail and crush them both.