PREFACE
I never thought It'd come to this. Death that is, in the way it almost had. Flickers of possibilities ran through my mind from time to time, but not this. This was misplaced and arrogant thinking, of course. I tried alone. I tried in the dark. Gasping for air, cursing myself and the god, or lack of one, responsible for me.
Now more than ever, while staring wide-eyed into my cracked bathroom mirror, glass splintered out like cobwebs hanging on to the corners of antiquated furniture, the same very cobwebs I felt so synonymous with, I knew that Charlotte was right.
"You know that old saying? There is a method to the madness Daniel. I know you can't see it now, but sometimes madness is the method all along.
-Charlotte"
The message was still in my jeans pocket from weeks before, scrawled on a sheet of folded notebook paper, the ink smudged along the creases from folding as I scanned it again and again. Written in the most elegant cursive and signed with a winky face, a juxtaposition which would always make me laugh. I hated when she'd sign her notes with winks. I desperately wanted to believe her then. That neither of us were born to just sit and wait. You could be picked from a crowd, your life cast into a rampant chaos from that day on, and it could be beautiful. It was beautiful. I wanted to take her word as the gospel, a true redemption story.
Ensnared in the subtle hum of the fluorescence inside the west wing of Riverview Medical Center, trying to recall that memory felt heavy-blurry almost. Whether that was the sedation, or the steps toward the dark that placed me here, I don't think I'd ever know. If any moment in time were to stay with me when this was over though, I wished for that one.
Let the rest be lost to the madness.
1.Auto-Pilot
I drove myself for the first time to the University of Augusta, the start of the spring semester. The early morning weather held up despite my objections, a boundaryless blue. It was finally warm again in Maine, a cool fifty-one-degrees. Looking down at my usual attire, a light-grey t-shirt and black jean jacket, I almost felt grateful for the sudden change in weather, but I couldn't be more disenchanted with the idea of spending it here.
Augusta had it's last snowstorm of the season this weekend, and opposite my hopes, unusually warm weather negated any delay of the semester's start. Living this far northeast had the benefit of weather cancellations, but predicted snow had turned to rain, drying up by Monday. The chance of one last day slipping through my fingers was devastating.
To say that I didn't enjoy school would be an understatement of the kindest degree, though my marks were fine and the subjects came easy enough. Living in a small town left plenty of time for academics and not much else. To me though, it was a dull drone, the most trivial of events that would occupy my time on earth. While there were those who were exuberant by the ever changing gossip of the day; Who Katie Hawkins cheated on Don Tanley with last night, why Mike Berry and Kyle Cloutier fought in the lunch line, you get the drift; These events would stay in the limelight for a week, maybe two at most. I longed for something more permanent, away from the fast and hedonistic lifestyle my age had grown accustom to. I counted the minutes of every hour of every day to spend the occasion, confident that time passes even when it seems impossible. This rewarded me with a select few for company in Augusta High and I almost welcomed it being accustomed to talking to no one at all. I didn't make it easy for others to try exactly, but now here I am.
As I lingered in the line of cars coiled along the narrow streetway to get through the front iron gate, everyone was jovial, honking and waving at one another; An early high school reunion. I couldn't help but sigh. This would be a long semester.
I pulled into an almost empty gravel lot far from the main campus that all but one ignored. A single white Audi sedan was parked along the outskirts, shrouded underneath the shade of maples that provided our backdrop. I made sure to park as far from the gleaming white as I could, they seemed to want their privacy too. "Lot M" was stenciled and spray painted white onto green signs scattered throughout, this must have been far from the closest parking other's would surely choose. With my bag over my shoulder, I closed the door to my Jetta and set out on foot. I didn't mind the distance nor the solitude, I needed time to think. Things had changed.
It started over the last few nights, but I couldn't decide whether they were dreams, or something more; It's possible my mother, the psychology professor that she is and her constant dinner table talks on the subconscious (practicing for a lecture no doubt) were taking it's toll.
Every night begins the same. I lay there in an open field, incapable of moving, chained by a tightness around my throat to the ground beneath me. I can only look up to the jet-black sky, so dark and dense that it's like obsidian. There are no stars, no ounce of light for vision or escape, only a repetitive sound, a high-tone call, in sync with a heartbeat that I struggled to recognize as mine. The weight of the solidified black crushes down on me, increasing until the cracks and splinters of my bones echo into the landscape that I cannot see. I open my mouth to let loose a guttural cry, but no sound comes. I panic, rasping for air to more and more difficulty, exhausting all the oxygen that remains within the impenetrable void; the sound increases in frequency until a single torrent floods my ears. One last push forces the finality out of my burning lungs, inflamed by the desperate attempt at the preservation of my life. I close my eyes, the call is gone, and I'm awake, sitting up and staring at the white walls of my room.
I held my hand to my throat as if blocking the vice. My feet navigated me closer to campus, weaving in and out of the foot traffic. Mostly, it was students comparing schedules to great joy or disdain, or with campus maps out and ready for an expedition. Racking my brain for an explanation, I did my best.
"I have to stop reading before bed." I mumbled.
Surely that was it, a product of Alighieri and apprehension. Suddenly, the crowd grew and I was waiting in line again.
"WELCOME CLASS OF 2019" was displayed in LED school colors, the green and gold cycling left to right on a massive screen fixed to a stone archway, accustomed to a castle or diocese, not a university. I understood that the University of Augusta was old and prestigious, but this was borderline regal. "Welcome class of 2019?" I thought.
"Welcome to the first circle Daniel."