Flashing

Note 2: The Imminence of Death

I was lying in bed at 3am.

  Some part of me had all day craved the delicious songs by my favorite band. It was hot in that room, and my body was perhaps encompassed by too many blankets. I threw the quilt my boyfriend's mother had made off of me, laying the excess part of it over my boyfriend who was right beside me. There was not much else for scenery or sensation, but perhaps I could detail the softness of either the mattress below me or my boyfriend's smooth hand in mine. I will not waste our precious time. Speaking of time, he and I have often had debates. Most notably of his passing, my thoughts, which account for both sides of the conversation, lean towards the lacking of certain emotions and experiences I once knew myself to be dependent upon.

  How does my favorite band relate to death you ask? Well, as I was lying in bed, I came across another craving for music. This time, I was indulgent and instead of listening to empowering songs from anime, I created a playlist of mostly Green Day songs. In this situation, it's best for me to be alone so that I can sing and "rock out" to my heart's content; however, I've begrudgingly learned that this cannot always be the case. Tonight, I simply turned up the volume and made a habit of tapping beats with my fingertips. A few songs had passed before I came to realize why I'd longed for this. The song was "Maria." I heard the melody, the chorus, and flashed. Surrounded by the song, I shut my eyes and gave myself to the wave of nostalgia. It was like drowning in a soothing current. I felt the pain of it in my chest as if it were a poignant hunger.

  The flash took me to my high school, its tan walls and layers of teenagers. I saw myself sitting in the hallway, as I often was during my freshman year. "Who is this girl?" I wonder, "If I knew her once, why do I know her not now?" The emotions of the girl with bleached hair and strictly black clothing elude me now. I'm simply carried to her on the current of my past. Her notably cynical ideas and heart-wrenching sadness are somewhat foreign to me, now four years the wiser. I think of that measure of time as she drifts away, her figure getting smaller and smaller as I recede in a tunnel of blackness.

  I often ask this question of time: "Where did you go?" It's as if this is a game of hide-and-seek that I will always lose. Time hides with such skill that I do not truly believe he hides at all, but rather he changes shape. The imminence of my death smacks me like freezing rain when I think of my past. It's quite funny in a satirical way, as my past, which is part of me, is already dead. When explaining the concept to others, I explain it thus: "Where did two seconds ago go? And where did my saying that, and this, just go?" Life passes as easily and suddenly as a second. You can pretend all you want that there's some type of irrefutable difference, and while I'm at it, you can even put stock into meaning or afterlife or God. All these things mean nothing to master time.

  Furthermore, my death will occur silently, like the passing of day into night. Just as quickly as you realize your past is nothing more than a feeling, just as quickly as a second passes, we pass.