Desire and Despair

Chapter 2

"You'll be okay," Katie had told him before he'd had to leave her. And he knew on some level that she was right. Nothing could really stay awful forever. He could make it work, he'd made everything work so far. Someday, probably, he wouldn't be miserable. He'd wake up every day in a cell, far away from everyone he loved, without thinking anything of it, because you really can get used to anything eventually. But it still hurt to think of everything he was leaving behind, of the fact that life would never quite be as good as it had once been. He'd meet some friendly people, he'd talk and laugh with them, and sometimes he'd forget he'd ever known anything different. But deep down underneath he'd be haunted by perfection, perfection he'd hardly ever appreciated until now. Once upon a time, his life had been great. He hadn't known back then, not really, because life was still busy, and he didn't have much time to stop and think. On a random Wednesday, you don't just pause and appreciate how happy you are, you don't even know it until one day you realize you'd give anything to go back. He'd focused too much on surviving, not really living, because even though his life had been perfect, it had been overwhelming sometimes. He'd often thought if he could just survive the week ahead he'd be okay, instead of treasuring every moment. But now he'd give anything to go back, even to his worst day. But he hadn't known he'd lose it, because even when you see something coming from miles away, it still hurts when it hits you. He couldn't help wishing a little that he'd never learned to be so happy with Katie. Once upon a time, he'd truly had nothing to lose. But he'd had it all, for a little while, just in time to lose it. His life meant something now, he wanted to hold on to people, and comfort, and the feeling that he'd finally made it. Over his life, he'd gotten used to being sad, it was practically a hobby for him. He'd spent years of his life alone in his huge, empty house. But he wasn't used to knowing there was something better, out of his reach, but still always there taunting him. At least he'd already had to learn to live without the people he loved most, thanks to Heather. It still hurt, but at least it was a kind of familiar hurt. If he'd never found so much good in his world he might be happier now, never realizing it could get better. But he was glad, in the rare moments he had perspective, that at least he'd been happy just once. Now he'd keep on living life, just like always, and he'd have some good days. But it would always hurt a little to think of what could have been, of the elusive happiness he could've held onto if one thing had been different somehow, of how in this very moment he could be smiling, instead of facing the hardest day of his life. And he wasn't sad exactly, it wasn't awful, truthfully it wasn't much of anything. If anything he was bored and uninspired, not miserable, just a little sad for all the potential he was wasting. And he'd get through it, of course, he always did, and maybe someday things would work out. But he knew life only lasted so long, and he hated to think that so many of his precious moments were being tossed away. He might go to prison anywhere in the world now, his life might take so many different directions, but he'd never go back home. He'd meet so many people, but none of them would know him beyond his name, and reputation, and how he was doing that day, none of them could comfortably sit in silence with him because they just got each other. And the people he truly cared about would still be around, but nothing's the same from a distance, he'd get little updates on their life, but he wouldn't be a part of it anymore. Their lives would be like a TV show, he'd hear their stories once a week at some scheduled time, but from the outside, just an observer. And that would only be when he remembered to call, managed to bridge the huge distance that had sprung up in a matter of days, a gap somehow much larger than the physical distance from his old home to prison. He'd fake so many smiles, but he'd miss the happiness you almost don't realize is there because you didn't have to conjure it up with thoughts of all your blessings. And more than anything he missed having something he cared about, because now no one would cry if he left, and he wouldn't either. Leaving home had broken him, but now he'd leave without a second thought. Sometimes late at night when he couldn't bear to face reality, he'd make ridiculously hopeful, idealistic plans to fix his life, and half believe he could achieve them. He'd make a plan, he'd always been good at that, and imagine how good his life was about to get. But he'd always wake up in the morning faced with another day, and realize those thoughts had been as much of a dream as what had come after them. His only hope was in little things, like tossing pennies in a fountain, birthday wishes, and 11:11s. They might be childish, but they were all he had now that he couldn't make any real, tangible changes to his life, couldn't go through any reasonable process to make it what it had been before. It's hard when you have to blame yourself for your mistakes, but it's worse when you can't because you can't try to fix anything, all you can do is watch the world keep spinning and hope it doesn't wreck you again. He couldn't believe in himself anymore, so he believed in everything else, staring at the ceiling hoping his life would get better, and crossing his fingers that he wouldn't wait forever.

He'd try to be happy, of course, he still hoped he could be, and he'd do his best to make it in jail because he didn't have a choice. He never had a choice. His life should've been in his own hands, but he'd always belonged to someone else, to Teddy, to Katie, to duty. Still, he couldn't blame it on anyone. He'd made his fair share of mistakes. On some level, he deserved what was coming to him, but that didn't make it any less painful. In fact, it was harder, somehow, when he knew he couldn't conveniently pin all the blame on someone else. He knew he couldn't change the past, he could only change the future, but he couldn't get rid of a lingering, indefinable mourning somewhere deep in his heart for all the little immeasurable moments that made up his life. Of course, he would try to be happy here, to do well here, and maybe someday it would even feel something like home. He fought for himself on some kind of autopilot, even when he hated his life he'd fight to make it work. He'd cling to a world he didn't like for the sake of familiarity, fight so hard to hold onto something he'd never even really wanted just so he wouldn't be left with nothing. But when he slowed down sometimes he'd wonder what exactly he was fighting for anymore, what he was still defending now that he'd lost everything. Because it would never be the same, not really. No matter what happened, he'd compare it to what could've been, and nothing can ever quite measure up to perfection. Of course, it hadn't really been perfect all the time. But through some trick of his memory, every old moment was golden, with all the pain and mistakes erased, somehow so much more beautiful than he'd realized at the time. His mind's one last cruel trick on him was that he couldn't even remember what he'd been sad about back then, couldn't even remind himself that he wouldn't miss everything he was leaving behind so he'd have at least one bright spot. It was tragic to think that somehow he'd hit his peak with nowhere left to go but down, and somehow between the past few crazy weeks that had flown by, the best days of his life had ended.