They squeeze me. Thousands of them. Millions. Billions. Tiny, invisible, impossible little clamps on every molecule of my body compress my form making me dense and heavy.
The twists are powered by hopes halfway and memories the other. The leverage of those screws cannot be denied. They press me into myself and I fall into bed leaden.
How often do you feel like the only person in the World that feels like you do?
How often do you cry?
My dreams are a mystery and a refuge. Sometimes I wake up thinking I was just where I should be, not here. Not this. Not again. Nonetheless, yes.
No, not none. Me-the-less. This World-the-less without Silas. I'm still not sure how it is possible, that I can still be missing him. That he needs to be missed. That cognitive dissonance disorients me every day. It fucks with my soul, it complicates friendships, it makes family distant and uncertain.
Silas didn't do that to me, but his absence has. And there is absolutely no way to miss him more, but I've been missing him for so long now that it feels like more.
Deeper and deeper this longing has wormed its way into my being. Each day without him and each day without another child compresses me, packs me tighter into myself. This pressure of reproduction is devastating. Staying positive and letting go and having faith in love and science and sex all sounds so easy and right, but all of that is almost impossible to contain in these tightly packed cells of mine. I have room for so little beyond survival of my psyche sometimes, but sometimes my dreams take me deeper.
In one dream I am driving and it is pitch black. Black so black the light of my headlights that I know are on are swallowed only inches from the paired glass at the front my speeding car. I'm certain the wipers are working, but I can't see them because the windshield is obsidian except for the brief flecks of white that must be snow.
Downhill I drive, the car faster than I want it to be but I have places I need to go down the road, just beyond this hellish storm.
My hands are white and bloodless on the steering wheel. A deathgrip. I'm breathing only through my nose.
And then it happens as I knew it would. The car just goes. Out from under me it goes. Wheels suddenly spinning, loose and free, sliding frictionless through the snow-flecked darkness I feel the whole machine lose purpose and coherence around me.
The steering wheel is jellied spaghetti. There's no turning back because I'm pretty sure I'm airborne, spinning and spiraling into disaster and I remember something I heard from my brother I think: That if you're in a car accident that the reason the fucking drunks are always okay is because they are so trashed they don't tense up and so they don't get as fucked up when physics take over. All that in an instant I remember and so I go loose. I relax as the car spins through the air, through the endless darkness, through the blizzarding, blowing snow.
And then it's over. The car catches back onto the road. Not airborne. Not crashed. Torque and control return in an instant and as I clutch and slow I see the destination up ahead. It's a road-house of some kind. A way station and restaurant and hotel maybe out in the middle of no where, but it's where I was going.
I get out of the car and it's really snowing now. I find some people that live or work or play there and I asked them about Lu and everyone I was supposed to meet.
Surprised and dismissive they tell me I'm wrong. Not the place I'm looking for. Not where everyone else is. Not my destination at all.
Up that way, they tell me, and point back up the road I almost died on just now. An hour, maybe two, someone says and I feel the clamps of inevitability twist another turn on every cell of my body. I'm sputtering, distraught.
You can't stay here, man, he says to me. You gotta go back up that way, back out of the storm up the road. Back exactly the way you came. I want to tell them that I can't. That I almost died there. That the path I just came from is impossible for me to traverse again. I open my mouth to speak, but they're gone, there's no one for me to talk to, no one to argue this impossibility into nonexistence.
So I do what I must, as always. The door shuts me into the car like the vices I feel in my skin. My mind tightens to focus on the road ahead. My hands clamp the wheel, I accelerate into the darkness, uphill and snowy.
Lu is that way, so I've got to go. No point staying where I'm not supposed to be. No point in being afraid of death. After all, when I die someday far along down this dark, snowy road, maybe Silas will be there. And if not, maybe someone will know which way he went. And wherever that is, anywhere in the many brutal & beautiful Universes of this World, someday I'll find him no matter what the weather, no matter how long I must be without him.
Lu will be with me I'm sure, but I've got to go get her first.
What are your dreams? Where are you going? How do you describe the pressure of your loss and grief?