The Fourth Child - Session 5

(Beep. Music fades in)

I love you. I love you so much. I could never say that enough. And yes, I do think it is possible to say true things too many times. You know how constant repetition of a word can make a word no longer a word. Why would that be limited to a single world? After all, it’s a failure of the human mind at the root of that phenomenon. A synapse or two doesn’t fire like it should, having been drained of its energy from all the demands placed upon it. That could happen with sentences or facts. Then again, that’s what I think is happening. I don’t know much about the brain or neurology or anything like that. I’m just trying to make sense of something, trying to make sense of this tendency of our minds that could very well twist my words or pull my heart out of the place where I want it to rest. And I don’t want that to happen. I want to be clear and understand and heard because of what I’m trying to say to you.

Because I love you. I love you so much, and I– I really don’t want you to forget that. Which might be selfish of me, I guess because living with knowledge like that can be hard to do,. I do it all the time. I live in the company of a hundred phantoms, and while it isn’t all that unbearable, it never gets easier to do. And I want your life to be easy and happy and peaceful. I want you to have all the things we were never able to build together. I want you to have everything that is good, everything that might make you happy.

And I’ve said that before, haven’t I? A few weeks ago, after the last message I recorded for you. You listened, came into the room right after and did just what I had asked you to do. You opened up a conversation that we really needed to have. And that was my bit, that was what I said to you. Then it was your turn.

“I shouldn’t have called you ‘broken,’” you said. “I shouldn’t have made it seem like you were the worst case scenario, some undesirable thing or that you were hard to live with.” Or maybe you said be with. I don’t fully remember. I didn’t mean to forget. I earnestly tried to commit every last word you said to memory. And I promise I was sitting there with you in the moment, trying to engage with you and participate in what earnestly felt like a deciding moment in our relationship. 

That’s probably what it was, right? I can’t think of what else to call it. We were on the brink of something, and there was no going back. There was no rewriting the previous moments, no erasing the words you yelled at me in your own fear, frustration, and the like. Some people would be able to forget them, sure, or that’s what I wish I could do. Forget whether or not I should. You can’t deny that it would make things so much easier if I did. Because you didn’t mean it. I know you didn’t mean it, but that doesn’t mean none of it was true. 

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

We’ve been living with something for so long, living in the shadow of our dysfunctions, of the truth we didn’t want to recognize. We were living in a fantasy, a beautiful, beautiful fantasy. Or a dream, perhaps. I called it that too. And should I have clarified what I meant by that? Maybe. I didn’t mean a fanciful imagination to occupy your waking hours or provide some sort of direction to your endeavors. I meant the world your mind conjures up when you’re asleep. The world you have to eventually leave. Eventually you have to wake up whether it’s because there’s something you need to get done during the day or because your body can’t stay at rest forever. There are limits to that function. There are limits to all things. The human experience is both a collection of limitations and our attempts to navigate said limitations.

It’s like a game, frankly. And I think we were good at that game. I think you were a better player at it than I ever could be just as you are better than me at so many other things. But I wonder how much any of that really means. 

On one hand, it means what we have is real, undoubtedly. Or there’s no reason to doubt it. It’s real and beautiful and something we held in our hands. But it could never last forever, could it? Those things that are delicately carved by human hands cannot endure forever. We can’t muster a ‘forever,’ no matter how much we promise that we can or will. And sure, it says a lot that we want to, not the least of which being that we are slightly out of touch without reality.

And that isn’t a bad thing, per say. Especially in the moment. It just means that the waking up is hard. But I think we already expected that.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

I should tell you that that night a few weeks ago you said everything right. I should probably tell you that you covered every base you could and answered all of my questions. I should tell you that you were earnest and genuine and kind and so much more. You’ve always been everything you needed to be. You’ve always been enough. And people who don’t tell you that are horribly intimidated by you and your amazingness. You were enough right then, but in that moment neither of us could answer or even think to answer why it had all happened, why you had even lashed out at me the way you did. And it’s not that you didn’t try to explain that part. You said you were just emotional, hurt and lashing out like an animal cornered and scared, a small creature that thinks it’s about to fight for its very life. So while you knew it was me there in front of you, trying but failing to console, you also–on some subconscious level–did not. 

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

And I think that you were right about that, but there was a part that we didn’t talk about. The threat, the thing that cornered you, it never left us. How could it? It made itself at home in this small paradise we carved out for ourselves. So it towered over us and became just another thing we lived with but dare not acknowledge. Except it was bigger and clumsier than everything that had come before, so there was no way to escape it. It was constantly underfoot, and we were constantly bumping into it. 

And I still felt it, even as we reconciled, even as I pulled you close and felt you press your body against mine. It was still there. It being the lingering knowledge that all things made by human hands will fall apart eventually. Lives will end, and they will take love with them, but even before then, there’s a chance we may lose it. 

And on one hand, we should not let that bother us. There’s no need to get existential daily. Something, something, life is beautiful because of or in spite of its fleeting nature. But that isn’t what I’m talking about. Or it wasn’t meant to be a value judgment. 

But there’s a question about that ending. What comes after? It is something to contend with, though, isn’t it? And the details matter, of course. They matter quite a bit. Because I started thinking and then I couldn’t stop. About you and what I have done to you.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

You’ve always been a fighter. And that’s neither good or bad, frankly. It all depends on how you look at it, so I used to focus on your fight for me, on this fight for us, on this resilience you have despite being in a relationship with… (sigh) Well, I never liked calling myself a medium, so let’s go with oracle. It was never easy to be in a relationship with an oracle. You had to fight, and while you were good at that fighting, it came with a price, didn’t it? So maybe you were right. Maybe the struggles we go through do change us. I mean, they’d have to in some capacity right? We are not static creatures left to rest in place. We are constantly learning and believing and pursuing and hoping and so many other verbs. We are creatures in action. We are growing. For better or worse. We are adapting. For better or worse. And I think I made you worse. 

And that’s the part I can’t stop thinking about. I know I made you more secretive. You did not use to keep so many secrets from your family, but now so much of your life is swept out of sight. Or for most of them, that’s true, but even the sibling who knew about me hardly knew the truth. You lie sometimes, almost constantly, and justify it however you need to. You fall into worry and anxiety. You panic. And while you have not lashed out yet or more than once, it seems inevitable, doesn’t it? Maybe you do it more often than I know of, and I’ve just convinced myself you haven’t. I mean, your temper seems shorter than it’s ever been. And I know I’m the reason for it.

I bring out the worst in you, don’t I? And maybe that worst is not objectively too bad, but I don’t want that for you. I love you for you. I want you to be you. To be out in the world, happy and the blessing I always knew you to be. I don’t want to be the thing that destroys you. And that seems like the way this will end. So what’s there to be done about that. I know you won’t like my choice, but what other choice did I have?

I’m sorry. And it is probably appropriate to say that this time. I love you, and I’m sorry.

The rent’s paid for the next year or so, so you’ll have time to figure out what to do next. The key’s on the counter. I asked the neighbor to lock the door when I left. I don’t know what lie I told her to get her to lock up after me. Um… I really wish I could remember that seems so relevant. 

I don’t know how to end this. I– Maybe this is just the coward’s way out to leave while you’re in class, but I didn’t know what to do. I know where I’m going, and I’ll be okay. Um… I… I left some phone numbers on the fridge if you really don’t believe me. But I’ll be okay, I promise. Just be happy, please. I want to live in a world that knows your joy. I couldn’t bear to live in one without it.

(Music fades out. Beep)

The Oracle of Dusk is a production of Miscellany Media Studios with music licensed from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. It was written, edited, produced, and performed by MJ Bailey. And if you like the show, tell friends about it or the quasi-friends that are still on your social media feeds because social norms evolved before words did, am I right?