What had happened to her little book of daily affirmations?
Melody swore that she had put it back into her purse before she went in to see the doctor that day, but she couldn't for the life of her find it. This also meant that she'd gone without her daily affirmations for a week now, and she was beginning to feel sick and stressed and scared. The little burst of comfort those gave her were a big part of what kept her so steadily mentally healthy. Now, without them, she didn't know how to handle all the negative thoughts flooding her mind. The reality of the loss of her affirmations book also proved something else to Melody, which was that she would never be truly well if she couldn't survive without a little book of coping. So, Melody sat down at her desk, her eyes red from crying so much, and uncapped a pen. She'd write a note. She hadn't written a note in years, but now she was relapsing, and now she would write a note. And then she would kill herself. *** "You've been avoiding me," Father Krickett said as he stopped at the usual table in the diner, where Boris was seated eating soup. Boris dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, as John took a seat in the booth across from him. "I wouldn't say 'avoiding', because that makes it feel personal, and I assure you it's not personal," Boris replied, spooning another mouthful of soup to his lips. "Feels pretty personal," John said, folding his arms. "If anything, I'm just trying to spare you having to deal with my problems," Boris said, "I'm doing it for you." "So...you're hurting my feelings by avoiding me...because you're afraid me dealing with you would also hurt me? Is there any version of this relationship where I don't get hurt, maybe?" John asked, the two men smirking at one another. Boris set his spoon down in his bowl and scooted it to the side, cupping his hands on the table in front of him and sighing. "Alright, I guess I owe you an explanation," Boris said. "You really do. Carol gave me reason to think something was wrong, so I figured I'd track you down and see what was going on. We haven't spoken in a few days, which is sort of unusual for us. I know I've been busy with getting the church in order and stuff, so it's partially my fault, but I've missed you, so-" "John," Boris said, interrupting him, his voice low, "um...I have...I have to tell you something." *** Melody used to write suicide notes regularly, even when she wasn't planning on killing herself. For a while, she did it because it allowed her to get her feelings out of her head and clear her mind for a little while at least, but she stopped doing it in earnest once she started to try and get better. Medication didn't work for her though, nor did therapy, nor did meditation, nor did most new age spiritualistic stuff, nor religion, but the one thing she did find worked for her was daily affirmations, and now...without them...she was struggling and back to writing notes. Only this time she meant it. This time it wasn't just to get feelings out of her head. This time she intended to follow through. She finished the note, then leaned back in her chair and thought about how she should go about doing this. She didn't own a gun, nor did she want one. She hated the sight of blood, so cutting anything was out of the question. Hanging or drowning sounded too terrifying before the darkness overtook her. Then she remembered an singular wall in an empty lot near an old apartment building downtown. She could drive right into it at top speed late at night and nobody would get hurt and she wouldn't even survive long enough after impact to be in pain if she did it right. Melody nodded, chewing on her nails nervously. That was it. Drive her car into the wall. That was the answer. It calmed her nerves, finally having a plan. She felt strange, wondering how her parents would react to this, but the way she saw it, if they didn't care about her while she was alive, why would they care about her after death? Sometimes a girl's just gotta take her life in her own hands. And end it. *** John opened the doors to the church and walked inside. He couldn't focus on anything, his eyes completely glazed over, his mind anywhere other than his current surroundings. He still hadn't managed to parse what Boris had told him, and he didn't know if he ever really would. He was a priest. He was used to death. He was aware of the inevitability of the end, and the comfort religion could bring himself and others during those times. But he'd also, aside from Steven and his brother (and perhaps by osmosis somewhat Polly) he'd never really had to face down the grief of losing someone he loved deeply. As he headed through, going to the space he'd sanctioned off as his office, he heard another door in the hall open and saw Sister Jenn standing there in a sweater and some black dress pants. "...are you okay?" Sister Jenn asked, and John stood there silently, unsure of how to respond. "I, uh...I don't...I don't know," he finally replied, his voice barely audible as he reached up and wiped at his forehead anxiously, "I saw Boris and...and uh..." "He told you," she whispered, leaning against the wall. "Yeah," John replied quietly, chewing on his lip, "...I don't know how to handle it." "We could discuss it if you want," Jenn said, "In fact, I was only waiting around here to see if you would show up, because I thought you mind need someone to talk to about it all." John smiled. Sister Jenn was a good person, and he appreciated her friendship. Even if she were to leave the church, he knew he'd always keep her as a friend, because she just was that nice a person. John nodded and pulled his keys from his pocket, put them into the lock on his office door and swung it open, allowing Sister Jenn to enter. He followed her in afterwards, shutting the door behind him and then, kneeling down in front of a cabinet, he opened the door and reached inside, pulling out a large glass bottle of something and set it on his desk, to which Sister Jenn glanced at with a look of surprise on her face. "You're going to drink straight gin?" she asked, "impressive." "It's disgusting, but it does calm ones nerves," John replied, standing back up now, two glasses in his hands, but Jenn shook her head, chuckling. John shrugged and set the glasses on the desk, unscrewed the lid to the bottle and poured something for himself. He swallowed it in one gulp, then exhaled deeply, wiping his mouth on his long shirt sleeve before looking at Jenn, who sat down on the chair across from him at the desk. John then slumped down into his own desk chair and looked back at her. "...how are you feeling?" Jenn asked, crossing her legs. "How do you think I'm doing?" John asked in response, sounding snippy, "my best friend is dying. You'd think a lifetime of dedicating myself to the lord would grant me some semblance of peace, but it hasn't. There's so much emotional turmoil. Oh sure, I could tell myself that he'll be fine. He'll be taken into the lords arms in a warm embrace and not be in pain anymore, physically or emotionally, but...why would I do that? I don't want him to go to Heaven. I want him to stay here." Jenn nodded and watched John pour himself another shot as she chewed nervously on her lip. "...besides," John said after throwing the 2nd shot back, "what's the point in making claims when I have no evidence to back them up." This statement surprised Jenn, and she raised an eyebrow. "What are you saying?" she asked. "I'm saying that I don't even know if I believe in anything anymore," he whispered, starting to cry, "so it's not enough to lose my best friend, but to lose my faith in the process? That's indescribable terror." *** Boris and Ellen were sitting at a cafe having coffee. Ellen had actually insisted on this meeting, as she'd spoken with her mother that morning and now wanted to bring her father up to speed, and, frankly, Boris was pleased as punch that she had wanted to meet with him of her own accord and made it happen. If nothing else, at least he had this to look forward to today he thought. Sitting across from his daughter while she sipped her coffee and he bit into a muffin, he couldn't help but notice how happy she seemed. She finished taking a long sip and then set her cup down, looking across the table at her father. "This is so sudden," Boris said, "pardon for being, uh...a parent, but hah. It definitely seemed to come out of nowhere. Who even is this person you're marrying?" "Actually," Ellen said, looking down at her cup and blushing, "um, they're my physical therapist. After waking up and needing to learn how to walk, I was placed with a physical therapist and we had meetings three times a week. Then, after a few weeks, we just started having lunch together and stuff. So it's actually not that sudden, it's been going on for a while, I just didn't say anything about it. I just wanted to make sure it was something serious first before getting everyone all excited, you know?" "Understandable," Boris said, chewing his muffin, "...when's this wedding?" "Actually, that's the thing...it's not for a year at least," Ellen said, sounding nervous. "...I don't even know if I'll be here for it," Boris whispered, and Ellen nodded. "I know, but I didn't know you were sick." "Neither did I," Boris replied, chuckling, which put Ellen back at ease; Boris continued, taking another bite of his muffin and adding, "well, I'm just happy knowing you'll be taken care of once I'm gone, not that you haven't done a great job taking care of yourself your whole life. If nothing else, I at least know I raised a self sufficient kid. Course, I also didn't leave you much choice, I 'spose, given how I bailed." Ellen looked back down at her cup and sighed. "Dad I have to tell you something else," she said. "You're not pregnant are you?" Boris asked, and she laughed, shaking her head. "No no no, nothing like that, no. In fact, I don't know that I even want children, so," Ellen remarked, "um...my physical therapist, my fiance, uh...well...they..." Just then a woman approached the table. She had long reddish brown hair and was wearing a collared button down shirt and jeans. She looked a few years older than Ellen, and took a seat beside her, pulling her helmet off her head, letting her hair fall over her shoulders entirely. She set the helmet down on her lap and then looked at Ellen and kissed her cheek. "I'm so sorry," she said, "I had a session that ran long and, given my profession which is all about patience in recovery, I couldn't exactly cut out early. Is everything okay?" "Dad, this is Miranda," Ellen said, "this is...my physical therapist." That's when it hit him. He smiled and, setting his muffin down on the table, he leaned forward and cleared his throat. "You know," he started, "one of my best friends was a woman named Polly. She was...amazing. She was vicious, funny, but genuinely caring even if she didn't always show it. Polly and I had known one another since I'd moved into the home, but we'd never really spent the time or taken the effort to become friends, at least until a certain point, and once our friendship was inevitable, I came to realize what a wonderful person she actually was. And she really was a wonderful person. Maybe the best person I've ever known aside from your mother and yourself. She was also the strongest person I've ever known outside of you, Ellen. She went through tremendous loss, and lived a life that, especially in our lifetime, most people didn't accept." Ellen's eyes widened, nodding as she understood. Boris cleared his throat and continued. "When Polly died, I realized how lucky I was to know her. To know someone who'd endured such indifference just to her personhood, and yet she still persevered. She wasn't gonna let others stop her from being happy. I see that same strength in you, Ellen, and if this woman makes you happy, and makes you feel loved, then god bless her. I'm happy for you. I just want you to be happy and safe and appreciated. You deserve it." Ellen put her hand to her mouth, wanting to cry. Miranda pulled her head towards her and planted a kiss on it, smiling at Boris. He leaned back in his chair and continued eating his muffin, shrugging. "You don't live a whole lifetime without growing as a person, and if you didn't grow, then you probably didn't live," Boris said, making the girls laugh. *** "Every single day I'd stand up there at the podium and I'd exclaim notions of peace and love, of miracles, but the thing is...peace isn't truly attainable, love is sadly most often a weapon and miracles? Please. I have never once seen a miracle," John said, putting his feet up on his desk and sighing. "Are you saying you don't believe in things just because you haven't seen them happen? Isn't this entire profession based on faith? I mean, how can you stay in a line of work you don't even believe in?" "Politicians do it," John replied, shrugging. "Yes, but you're not a politician." "We're both as crooked, Jenn, don't pretend like the church and the government are any different when it comes to morality," John said, sitting upright again and leaning on the desk, "because look at how often one strokes the other. We're just as corrupt, we just aren't as open about it. We like to pretend we're not, and I can do everything in my power to change that, but in the end, there's only so much one man can do to change public opinion in regards to an establishment older than time itself." Jenn stood up and put her hands on the table, leaning across it and glaring at him. "Now you listen to me," she snarled, "you say you don't believe in miracles, but miracles don't have to be amazing to be miracles! They can be as mundane as simply meeting someone you never expected to meet, to feel a connection to someone twice your age, someone who...someone who makes you realize that you were lying to yourself and it's time to be yourself. That's a miracle. Opening your own church? That's a miracle! Falling in love? That's definitely a miracle!" John looked in her eyes, swelling with tears, and he nodded slowly, listening. "So yes, it isn't fair, and yes the church is corrupt, but that doesn't mean everyone inside of it is, and that doesn't mean miracles can't happen," Jenn said, pulling away from the desk, adding as she wiped her eyes on her sweater sleeves, "because...because yes it hurts to lose someone you love, but it doesn't mean the time you had with them was any less important. Their absence doesn't negate the things you felt. If anything, it should only make them stronger. I have a date to get to, and, honestly John, I don't think you should drink." Jenn turned and exited his office, leaving the priest alone. He looked at the bottle and nodded, capping it and putting it back into the cabinet before standing in his office, feeling oddly enlightened. He looked at the door and smiled weakly. He was pretty thankful for Sister Jenn. Her companionship, well, one could call it a miracle, he supposed. *** Melody was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her note was written, her affairs were in order, her outfit was chosen, and tomorrow night was the night. She'd been putting off her suicide for far too long now anyhow, and nobody would really be surprised as it was. As she lay there, thinking about what came after death - the moment of impact and how swift it would be - she couldn't help but think back to her little book of daily affirmations. Amazing, she thought, how easily it was to make a person crumble. Just remove the one thing they truly loved from their life, the one thing they desperately needed to keep going, and watch them fall like a house of cards. And she wasn't wrong, because sitting in Polly's Gremlin right outside his apartment, Boris was thinking the same thing. His daughter was going to get married - something he wouldn't even get to see - and his roommate had fallen in love and Chrissy had been returned to her family, and he was going to have to face the end alone. He started to cry. He didn't want it to be painful. He didn't want to face down the end slowly, terrifyingly. He wanted it over now. Boris started the car and decided to go to the hardware store. He'd buy some rope, he'd finally finish what he'd started when he met Chrissy so long ago, and he'd end his life on his own terms tomorrow night. Polly went on her own terms. It only seemed fair, he thought. He had always been the jealous type.
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Golden Years follows the exploits of a bunch of old people in a retirement home as they try to have fun, relax or come to terms with the soon to be end of their lives. Archives
April 2024
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