Dirt

Nothing is Something

    Upon exiting Trevor’s trailer I mentally prepared myself for the carnage I was about to see; I envisioned thousands of bodies and rivers of blood so that whatever I may face would become nothing in comparison. With eyes half shut I observed my surroundings; it was quite dark and all was still, only the sound of crickets were heard.
    I opened my eyes fully to what surrounded me, convinced that I had brainwashed myself into being alright. It wasn’t nearly as traumatic as I had expected it to be; there were 4 or 5 bodies scattered about the lawn and driveway, most of which having been shot directly in the head.
    The fact that their deaths were likely instantaneous comforted me to some extent. They also appeared to me to be peaceful, lying there like fair maidens lounging in their bedchambers, eyes shut and faces dulled with boredom. The blood appeared black in the darkness of the night as it trickled down their faces and mingled with dirt and dried yellow grass.
    It was strangely fascinating to look at, humans so completely void of life but freshly gone so that they appeared to be sleeping. Scenes from slasher flicks where the corpse suddenly jumps from the ground in a sudden and cliché turn of events flashed though my mind as I gazed upon them.
    I felt very little at that moment and I wondered if I should feel guilty about not feeling anything. The detachment and indifference that flooded me made me shudder, and it seemed bizarre that watching these events unfold on the television might have gotten more of a rise out of me than it did at the moment.
    Trevor tapped at my shoulder and motioned for me to go to the garage to collect my belongings, which I did, having to step over a body of a young man as I did so. He was below average height in stature with misshapen sideburns and a sunburnt nose; I convinced myself that by acknowledging his appearance I was doing him some sort of justice.
    I grabbed my lime-green duffle bag and returned to Trevor who was readily seated in his truck awaiting my arrival. He took my bag from me and threw it into the trunk before bringing the engine to life and backing out of his driveway. I wondered if I would ever return to this place, and if I would look back upon it with fond nostalgic memories or recollections of human slaughter.
    Though I hadn’t witnessed the murders first hand it didn’t faze me much to know that I was in love with someone who had intentionally taken the lives of others. Maybe it was because I had already assumed such things about him long ago, but I still would have expected myself to be a little more perturbed by these events.
    As we drove into the darkness, away from dismal Sandy Shores, I finally decided what I needed to ask to soothe my racing mind, “Is it terrible that I don’t feel anything right now? You know, I can’t help but feel that I should be feeling something right now like, anger, sadness, fear or even joy or something at least. I don’t feel a god damn thing.” My voice was shaky and uncertain.
    “You don’t have to feel anything.” He told me simply, “Nothing is kind of like something.” He glanced at me momentarily before averting his eyes to the road. I understood what he meant even though at the same time I didn’t; at least it was slightly reassuring.
    “Can I ask you something else?” My voice continued to tremble even though I felt void of my emotions, I suppose it was because my nerves had yet to settle. Trevor replied with a nod, keeping his eyes fixed to the highway. “How did you end up here, doing these kinds of things? If you don’t mind me asking.”
    “Shit happens,” he responded bleakly, “You try different shit, shit doesn’t work out and then, lo and behold, more shit. And then you just kind of have to settle for doing shit and before you know it you’re running a meth lab and beating the shit out of some crack-head for looking at you funny.”
    Though this would have been hilarious at any other point in time we both remained quiet. “And what shit did you do before you did this shit?” I inquired.
    “Flying jets.” He stated simply. It was hard to imagine a Trevor with such ambitions, or imagine him pursuing a life other than the one he had unfortunately ended up with. It was strange that I was a little taken aback because I could imagine him perfectly with an unkempt little uniform, bombing the world and loving every minute of it.
    I had no desire to ask what happened to these ambitions or what stopped him from pursuing them, instead I asked him if he enjoyed flying jets, to which he replied, “Yes.”
    “What did you like most about it?” I inquired, observing his facial expression as I did; they appeared somewhat nostalgic, but mostly blank.
    “Not being stuck down here with roads and sidewalks and fucking fences and walls and every little fucking thing in my way.” He frowned slightly as the agitation grew clear in his tone of voice. “I guess it’s that when you’re flying there’s no boundaries, you know? I could go wherever the fuck I pleased and there was nothing stopping me.”
    I felt bad for bringing up unwanted memories and simply wanted to reassure him, “From what I can tell you don’t let anything get in your way regardless; if that’s worth anything.”
    He let out a sigh, making me feel even worse, “Let me tell you something, there’s a difference between actually having freedom, and doing whatever the fuck you want. Just because I lack a fucking filter doesn’t mean I’m free; freedom is not having to fight for everything that you want, it’s being able to get up and fucking do things without having to push every fucking step of the way.”
    He was perfectly right in saying this and I bit my lip in realizing a was a fool for ever bringing any of this up. How had I not known this would be upsetting for him? I was selfish for asking insensitive questions simply to settle my petty curiosities.
    Trevor still carried the same frown on his face and I decided that an apology was in order if I actually intended to redeem myself, “You’re right. I’m sorry Trevor.”
    “No no no no, don’t be sorry.” He finally turned to face me, expression immediately changing, “I’m just being a big fucking baby, don’t mind me.” He gave me a smile that I couldn’t tell was genuine or not.
    I half-smiled back at him though still upset for having strummed some repressed chord within him, “Okay. You are right though, about the whole freedom thing. I get it. I mean, you go about your entire life believing you’re free and then one day you find something that makes you realize you never really were. It’s like living  in a box and but never knowing there was anything on the outside, and then finally someone opens it and you feel as though the whole world is yours to explore. No one deserves to be put back inside after that, it wouldn’t be living.”
    His expression remained blank and he took in a deep breath, I was unsure as to whether I had said the right thing or not and found my heart to be pounding in my chest. And then it occurred to me that what I had been saying wasn’t solely addressed to Trevor, it was something I too needed to hear.
    I opened my mouth and without thinking I said exactly what my mind had come to grasp, “I never knew real freedom up until a few days ago, when I met you.” My heart continued to pound and my chest trembled as though a 2 ton weight had suddenly been lifted from it. We turned to each other with expressionless stares, what I had said had surprised even me.
    We got off at the nearest exit and Trevor pulled into the parking lot of a gas station. He turned off the engine and brought an arm to my waist, pulling me towards him into a bit of an awkward embrace.
    I collapsed into his chest, burying myself into him, and we simply sat there holding each other without saying a word, not that there were any words that needed to be said. I knew that some day soon I would once again be confined to a box with no means to leave it and I knew that as I clung to Trevor I was clinging to pieces of freedom that were slowly crumbling in my arms.
    My idiot self wanted to cry again but I couldn’t bring myself to ruin such a perfect moment, I wanted to look back on it fondly. I took slow deep breaths wishing that I could just inhale him completely and contaminate myself with his entire essence, so that I might possibly never be accepted into normal society again and could stay here.
    He squeezed me tighter before letting me go and bringing the car around to get gas. I couldn’t help but watch his every movement, how he walked, how he bent down to open the fuel door of his truck, how he unscrewed the gas cap and filled the tank with gas that I knew he would not pay for. He was perfect in the worst of ways and imperfect in the best of ways, just looking at him made me want to create art that I knew could never capture him.
    When he got back in the car I told him I loved him, directly for the first time without regret or fear. He told me I should try and get some sleep and that when I woke up we would be somewhere new and he would treat me to breakfast. I made myself comfortable with my head in his lap, and felt oddly at ease for being in the company of someone who had just committed 4 or 5 murders.