Anthology Complex (3 page)

I put two and two together, simple mathematics, and I realize that she
is going to ask me if I could move the television to the correct room. The
television isn't too big, but it has one of those huge backs, and that's what
makes it so heavy.

I'm picking it up from the ground, and when I look up I see her on the
other side of the television ready to help. She tells me I can't have all of
the fun. We lift it up and I tell her to lead the way. We put the television on
the high cabinet, and the kids cheer. They turn on the television and begin to
watch. She gives me her thanks, and says now that the kids are occupied it was
time for her to start fixing and organizing every thing in the apartment.

I left and returned to my apartment. Before, when we were walking to her
apartment to move the television, she laughed and said it was too bad that
there wasn't a man in the house, and then she laughed again. Despite the
laughs, I could hear that sound of regret in her voice.

That makes me wonder if she is taking care of the two children alone,
that the person she was with either died or walked out on them. It makes me
think, how could someone so small have so much inner strength. Enough inner
strength to tell jokes despite all of the bad in the world. It makes me wonder
if I could ever be that strong. That good.

Chapter 5:

SUICIDALLY INCORRECT

Two nights ago, I had a dream. There's a man looking at me, talking to
me, but I can't hear what he's saying. He keeps talking and talking and
talking, on and on and on and I'm just sitting there pretending I can hear him.
Soon after I find myself walking down this dark hallway. The hallway is so dark
that I can't even see the walls. The man who was speaking to me before is
walking with me, still going on and on. After a while I start to hear him, and
I realize it's my father's voice. I'm walking down this long dark hallway
listening to my father preach about something.

After a while I start to listen to what he is saying, and I end up
realizing that he is talking about how someone came up with a theory that
suicide may have no resolution to the person who commits it. He tells me that
to understand the suicide theory, I have to first understand this other theory,
this circular theory.

He says that the circular theory proclaims that this conversation we are
having now has happened before, and that it will happen again. That it cycles
on forever. That every single thing that happens has happened before, and will
without a doubt happen again. Then he goes on to tell me about the suicide
theory, he says that this other man says that if the circular theory is true,
then committing suicide has no real value or resolution because you will end up
committing suicide in every life.

John Doe is born. John Doe lives with the monkey on his back his entire
life and then he pulls the trigger and commits suicide. John Doe is dead. John
Doe is born. John Doe lives with the monkey on his back his entire life and
then he pulls the trigger and commits suicide. John Doe is dead. John Doe is
born. John Doe lives with the monkey on his back his entire life and then he
pulls the trigger and commits suicide. John Doe is dead.

I guess you can make someone think twice about committing suicide by
telling them this, and then asking them if they really want to be John Doe. Or
Jane Doe. Do they really want to be the person who kills themself every time?
Then again I guess it wouldn't matter what you say to them, because regardless
of what you say it's already been determined what they will do. But then again
maybe it's what you said that saved them in the first place, or maybe it's what
you didn't say that made them kill themself.

My father stops talking, and now we are just walking. I start to see a
light at the end of the hallway, and soon after the light hits me like a right
hook. A gust of wind blows my way, and I hear chopping sounds. Before my father
and I stands a loud helicopter. He starts to walk while I'm still standing
there, and then he looks back and he asks me what I'm waiting for. And then I
wake up.

I start to think about my father and his fight with cancer. I think
about how he barely spoke a word to anyone while he was laying there breathing
his last breaths, his days numbered. I think about how every time I would look
at him I'd see that regretful facial expression.

His look makes me think of all the people who lay on their deathbed
regretting the lives they led. His look gets me to believe that there are
really only two ways out of life, that you leave either unsatisfied or
dissatisfied. That you leave either wanting more time or you leave cursing the
life you led. That there are people who go through life not questioning a
single thing, just doing things the right way, and it goes with the saying that
ignorance is bliss.

Maybe these people are happy in their lives, maybe they aren't, but when
they are laying on their deathbed they start to think maybe they should have
questioned more things in life. That they should have tried to be more curious.
Unsatisfied.

Then there are the people who question every single little thing, the
people who are trying to reinvent the way to live life. The people who are
searching for the meaning of life. Maybe these people are happy in their lives,
maybe they aren't, but when they are laying on their deathbed they start to
think maybe they shouldn't have been so ambitious in their life. That they
should have just enjoyed the simple things that came their way. Dissatisfied.

Then of course there are the people who don't see their deaths coming.
When my father died, it's hard to say whether he was unsatisfied or
dissatisfied with his life, or if he even cared to be either.

I start to think about what I'm thinking about, and I think to myself
that I sometimes have such a negative way of thinking. How depressed do you
have to be to believe that these are the only ways you can feel when you walk
through the exit door. Surely there are some people who actually pass away
happily. Maybe. I hope.

Chapter 6:

DREAMLESS IDENTITY

The phone is ringing. I hate that sound. I pick it up to make it stop
and I say hello. The hospital is calling me telling me that Joe has been
injured. I wonder why they are calling me and not someone who actually knows
Joe, in the literal sense of course. Why not someone like his parents or his
siblings.

Later, when I get to the hospital I find out that I am listed on his
emergency contact information. I've maybe talked to Joe a total of four times,
but I guess he finds that enough for me to be concerned for him when his health
isn't at one hundred percent. They also tell me that they tried calling the
first two names on the emergency contact information, but no one picked up.

They take me to his room, thinking I am some sort of close friend to
Joe. When I get there he is sleeping, they tell me that he is in a coma. I ask
them how he got hurt and they tell me that he was in a car accident. I ask
about the other people who were in the accident, and they tell me they are
fine. I tell you they could have chosen to send me to Joe or to the other
person involved in the accident and it wouldn't have mattered which one I got,
because I don't know any of these people.

I sit on the chair next to Joe and I take a deep look at his face, his
still, lifeless face. Then I take a deep look at his entire body. I know this
man's name, I know the color of his skin, I know his gender, I know which part
of town he lives in and I know where he grew up. I know his favorite baseball
team and which celebrity he would love to spend a night with. I know all of
these things but the true character behind this man remains a mystery.

Knowing the physical attributes and the environment in which Joe resides
in is almost helpless when trying to figure out who he is. This probably
applies to anyone. Everyone.

You may feel as if you know me, or at least know a part of me, but you
don't even know my name. You don't know what race I am. You don't even know if
I am a male or a female. Throughout my one sided discourse with you, I have not
stated the answers to any of these things, but still, you may feel as if you
know me. That would mean you don't know that close friend of yours so well
because you know their skin color or their gender, but because of something
else.

I look at Joe and then I look at his monitor. All those numbers that
represent how alive he is. Or if you are that type of person, how dead he is. I
start to wonder, if Joe died right now, how would he leave the world.
Unsatisfied? Dissatisfied? Satisfied? I look at this man and I try to guess
what he is dreaming about. If he's even dreaming at all.

Regardless of what he is dreaming about, I know that when he wakes up,
if he wakes up, he won't remember the dream for too long. He won't write it
down and look for some meaning to it. I know that if Joe doesn't die a
satisfied man, he will at least die an unsatisfied man. Not a dissatisfied man.
And for that, I envy him.

Chapter 7:

THIS BLOOD STAINS

What exactly is insanity? How do you determine if someone is insane or
not? Is it by their thoughts? Is it by their actions?

If we consider thoughts; while someone may think "I'm gonna kill
that person" after the bagger bags their groceries improperly, that doesn't
mean the person that thinks that will actually kill the person who bagged
improperly. Having the sense to not commit the action of murdering another
person, to not turn these thoughts into actions, it must keep this person on
the sane side. So thoughts alone can't determine if a person is insane.

If we consider actions; if someone jumps out of a five story window for
no particular reason we can assume they are a bit crazy. A bit insane. If
someone jumps out of that same window because the building is on fire, this is
perfectly logical assuming there are no other solutions. In both of the
window-jumping examples, the action is exactly the same but it's the reasoning,
or the thoughts of the person, that help to determine if the person is sane or
insane. So actions alone can't determine if a person is insane.

This morning, I had a dream. I'm carrying something heavy. Now I'm tying
two things together. I finish tying, I was tying it to a chair. Now I'm taping
something with duct tape. Now I'm tying something else to each other. Now I'm
walking over to the light switch and I turn it on. I look down and I see a
knife in my hand, it's sharp. I look over to what I was working on, and it's a
man tied up to a chair, mouth taped.

His eyes are wide open now because the light woke him up and revealed me
to him, just like it revealed him to me. I'm standing there staring at him, and
he staring at me. I feel in my heart that I have to kill him. End his life. But
when I look at his big eyes I feel as if I can't. Like I'm taking one step
forward and two steps back in the process of killing this man.

Finally I decide that I'm not going to kill him. I start to think, I
know that I won't kill him so what can I do now? Can I just let him go?
Repercussions. I think for a while, and then I start to talk to him. I tell him
that I can't bring myself to kill him, and that I want to make a deal. That if
I let him go, he has to believe this never happened.

I tell him that if he tells a soul, I will haunt him and his family for
the rest of his life. And then after he dies, I will continue to haunt anyone
who is close to him and still living. I untie him, remove the tape and he is
gone. The chair is empty. I sit on the chair and it hits me, I have to realize
that I can't kill another person. I ask myself why? Why is it so hard? Stab,
stab, stab, that's all it takes.

After a while of thinking, I figure it out. Why I couldn't kill him. I
needed to start smaller. I needed to start with ants, and rats, and squirrels,
and dogs, and cats, and horses, and elephants, and then people. It was a
perfect and logical assumption. So that is exactly what I do. I find an ant
pile and I kick it.

Soon after ants come roaring out of it. So many ants, so much to kill. I
think to myself, step on that ant right there. Thought. And then I actually do
it. Action. Step on that ant there. It's dead. Step on that one, too. It's
dead. All of a sudden it becomes a game, and I'm winning; kill as many ants as
you can.