The Beast

Remember the boy in high school? The beast got you good. So good that you drove past the store where he worked just to catch a glimpse. Back and forth on that busy road in your old beat up car with no air conditioning. Your back was sweaty, and your hair had turned to tendrils around your flushed face. 

You stood in the drug store across the street turning the spinners of postcards and road maps. Humiliated and embarrassed but unable to move as you watched him load and unload the trucks. No one knew but the man behind the counter, and he wasn’t talking.

The hall pass was the golden ticket. It enabled a slow leisurely stroll past his math class. Both embarrassed and flattered by the attention, he knew it was him that you were looking for. When he moved his seat closer to the door, the deal was sealed.

The beast accompanied you on every date, uninvited and unwanted. The thoughts spiraling around that it was actually him, it was actually happening, stood in the way of any real communication.     

Did you love that boy? You thought so. He didn’t treat you well, left you hanging, broke your heart. The first time the beast reared its ugly head was the loudest it ever roared. It consumed you.

Round and round your finger dragged that rotary dial, heart pounding, hoping to hear his voice. Did he know it was you? Did his parents? The stay at home mother was subjected to the repetitive shrill ringing. If he had picked up instead, the beast might have been satisfied. Did she find it amusing, thinking back to her own teenage years? Or was it something just slightly out of the range of acceptable?

Be careful. The beast hasn’t forgotten that boy in high school. When the lights are out and sleep evades, the beast scrolls. Once too cool for school, it’s not a surprise to find no selfies or memes. The proud wife, however, shares their lives for all to see, the stalkers, the talkers, and the quiet ex-girlfriends. The beast downloads his photos, puts them into a file marked with his initial. The graying hair and laugh lines take nothing away from those eyes that held the beast. 

Your actions, your conversations, your musings, and even your secrets are all up for grabs, for the beast is always there waiting. You know it’s coming sooner or later, but there’s no preparing for it. Like a cat sitting in silence watching a bird, it’s a shock to the system when it finally pounces. Not much hope as wings flap furiously while being ravaged. 

If you think the beast just hungers for the human connection, you are mistaken. Its hunger is nonspecific, unpredictable and has led you astray more times than you dare to count.

Remember the job? Big shot manager of hundreds of employees. Did you want that job? You thought so. Although looking back after escaping the clutches, you can’t remember why. The stress level was too high for even the most extroverted, high energy person, which you aren’t. You prefer the company of a good book, a glass of wine, your solitude. But the beast got a taste and wanted more, pushing its way through the masses up the ladder to dizzying new heights despite your greatest fears.

Staring at a reflection unrecognizable with the impeccable hair and makeup, you wondered how you got there. You fought nausea and panic before every conference you were forced to take the stage. Preferring to be listener over speaker, you were egged on by the beast pushing you to the microphone with eager faces hanging on your every word. You didn’t ask for that but rather were unable to break free until it almost broke you. The moment you quit in a mad flurry was perhaps the best moment of your life. Let the shocked colleagues fight it out, and may the best man, woman, or beast win.

The beast loves refreshment. Not a refresher course in self-improvement nor a cool drink on a hot summer day. Not the gentle reminder of a forgotten tale from long ago. The refresh of the beast is the refresh of a screen, leaving behind the smeared fingerprint, evidence of tapping the same icon over and over. Just one more tap, just another, another, filling you with disgust and self-hatred but unable to stop.

The beast rides along in the passenger seat, taunting you as the light turns red. Tap, tap, tap. It distracts you on the checkout line while the customers ahead slowly beep their items through. Tap, tap, tap. Your dinner companion excuses himself for a trip to the restroom, and the beast is quick to occupy the empty seat, salivating for a secret chance to refresh. It gobbles up your time and attention as if indulging in the meal on the abandoned plate. For maybe, just maybe, there had been an update in the last millisecond. Tap, tap, tap. Maybe now? Maybe now? Maybe now? What exactly are you hoping to see? What will be enough to satisfy?

On the rare occasion the beast was fought off before getting its claws in. Small events could have grown wildly out of control had it persisted. That missing vase you thought of while watching Antiques Roadshow. You knew you had picked up that same vase at an estate sale and packed it away carefully. The beast taunted you to find it, to continue looking in the attic, the basement, the garage, to delve into each nook and cranny until filth and grime oozed out of every pore. And then to start again. You decided to call it quits early in the search, calmly announcing it would turn up eventually. Then the victory cry when you discovered the treasure months later when taking out luggage for a much needed vacation. Score! You won that battle.

Oddly enough, the beast is quiet at night when sleep finally comes. Where it retreats to is of no concern, the less known the better. The release from its clutches is a sweet relief allowing thoughts and dreams to filter in and swirl about peacefully. In the morning there’s a few moments of blissful awakening before it creeps back in to set up shop for the day.

Does everyone know the beast? 

Is it a yearning? A desire? A lifelong ambition? Not necessarily. 

For those who don’t know, haven’t met, let me introduce you.

It’s invasion. It’s all consuming. It’s hungry.

It’s obsession.