MArtyr - Tape 2

(Beep. Music fades in)

As part of a bizarre turn of events, my girlfriend likes the same candy that you did. Your favorites, actually if you remember? Okay that probably went without asking. It does just feel so long ago. But now, I am buying them all the time. I buy them for her every chance I get, which is surprisingly not that often. They’ve only gotten hard to find in the years since you died. Which I do find concerning on some trivial level. Maybe I should be stocking up. But then I remember that when you were alive, your supply was special ordered for you, so maybe it’s just an odd business decision and not a sign the company is about to go under.

I should probably look into that, and that won’t be so hard. I mean it might not be. Mom might remember where we got them. Or maybe she still has one of the catalogs or a receipt or something I can use as a lead. 

She’s been better lately, I should add. I guess now that I need her less and less and everyone else needs her less and less, she can finally breathe and be herself. Or she can finally see what or who  the actual problem is. Or at least she won’t lash out like an injured wolf in a trap.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

And maybe I should be happy about that. Or relieved. Maybe I should feel resentful or disappointed. I should just feel something, right? Anything. But no, I am just numb.

When I think about her anyway. When I buy the candy, I feel excited and happy. My girlfriend loves little gestures like this, even though I try to do them all the time, I tell her where I’m going when I’m running an errand, and she knows what stores carry her candy. You would think she sees it coming or she would know to expect it. But even if she does, she still gets excited when I do it. She feels loved and special. 

I did that. 

But within all of that, within all that joy, there is the sadness, the sadness of a distant memory, your memory.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

Even when I grew up and could put things into perspective, I still have kept silent about all the time you snuck me those candies. Maybe it’s because I worry about how it will be interpreted or received. Maybe I’m worried that my protestations are going to seem or actually will be dismissive or otherwise undermine a genuine issue. I don’t think I’m worried about those things, but that isn’t exactly something I can prove beyond any doubt. And I am not known for being particularly reasonable.

But it wasn’t like that, though. I know my truth. And I know your roll in it. You were only trying to hide just how just bad your plight truly was. The candy was evidence of something else. Nothing to do with me. Nothing sinister. I was to get rid of it. Nothing more. The only ends it was all in pursuit of was your continued independence. That no one see how weak you were getting. 

You did confide in me those fears that perhaps were not appropriate for a child. But that was only after I had stumbled upon them accidentally. I heard them first. That first exposure was merely an accident, and really, it would have more likely than not helped to have you or any adult put everything in the proper perspective. Or to explain it in a way that I could understand. 

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

But you were only human. You fears seeped into your words. And I understood those fears. There was something horrifying in the mere idea of being swept off and carried away to some place you didn’t want to go. Reasonableness wasn’t a part of that conversation at all. In many ways, it didn’t matter. Maybe you genuinely did need what a place like that would offer. But it was a hard thing for a child to imagine. No one could have made me believe it. 

I cared for you. And you were afraid. There seemed to be valid reason for that fear; it didn’t sprout from nothing. So obviously, I was going to trust you. Obviously I was going to plan this game. What else could I do?

Obviously a lot more.

What did all that candy get you? I never made much of it. I never did much to equal out the scales, I mean. That’s what I tend to think about when I buy those candies now, but I would never tell my girlfriend this.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

I don’t know if she listens to these tapes. But I did ask her not to. And she has respected all my other secrets, even though it clearly bothers her. And her frustration is well-founded. It’s not even about being a couple anymore. There’s something truly terrifying lurking in the world of my inner circle. And while it will usually attack me, anyone around me could become collateral damage. And there’s no one closer than she is.

But if I tell her, will it actually help her? I know you can’t answer that. You have died. I’m just thinking aloud. But… is knowledge truly a light in the storm? A child’s nightlight is supposed to keep the boogieman away. In theory. Practice is a very different thing. For example, I have plenty of knowledge and it has not done me any good.

If you could answer me, if I could hear you, would you remind me of what you said before? That it isn’t about knowledge. Transparency is a tool for the other person. Once I say it, their choices are their choices. That’s what you said. I remember you saying those words, but I do not understand. According to you, I should tell her. I should tell her everything, right? It’s a nice principle, I guess.

But it’s not always possible. 

Because I did tell someone when it was you. I was honest. I told someone before it happened, and maybe my mistake was in not telling you. Maybe I should not have outsourced it. Maybe. But would you have believed me? Honestly? Truly? You still cannot answer me.

  What am I doing?

Back then, I didn’t. And I still don’t. So I tried to unload on someone who had a better chance. He knew. And he did not care. How is that my fault? How is any of this my fault? Because it still feels like it is, even if I can tell you that it isn’t. Even if I can give you a reason. It still feels like my fault. I don’t want it to, not anymore.  but it does. 

So there is something that I’m missing. There is something that I don’t understand. There is something that I’m missing. But I don’t know where to look for it. And you never told me what it was. No one has. But you tried to teach me so much. And you even said… You said the thing about telling other people. You forgot something. You didn’t tell me everything.

But I’m not angry at you. I promise. Maybe I should be, but it’s hard for me to muster the anger I would want to give to someone. The act of feeling anger, an act that maybe is rightfully mine, is just not something I can consistently do. I can do it sometimes, but I’m normally too tired.

So just tell me, whose fault is it? Who do I need to be angry at? At this point I just want to know.

(Music fades out. Beep.)

The Oracle of Dusk is written, acted, and edited by MJ Bailey with music from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. If you like the show, please consider leaving a review, joining the Patreon or buying the oracle a Ko-Fi. Links for all of it in the show notes.