Still Birth

ONE
Storytelling
“I didn’t play a real role that night yet it was my life that came into this world stained by the blood of another. My life was produced by evil. Still, I can’t explain what happened because I don’t exactly know.
“I cannot remember the night as it happened. I was barely alive. I know that there is a string of emotions I should feel, but I also know that those feelings, should they exist wouldn’t belong to me. They would belong to what I think someone like me should feel. They would belong to an idea of me, but not me.
“I would rather not think about that night. I would rather not think about how I should feel about the whole episode. I wish that night never happened; I wish I didn’t exist.
I wish I could wash my hands of the whole thing, but I hate public washrooms.”

Bottle of water in hand; wristband in place. My sweatpants keep sliding down my waist. Annoying. I am running full speed down the main boulevard of my small town. I tie the waistband tighter for what I hope will be the last time. I am running as though I am running from something. I am running to sweat. Running to forget.
I woke up this morning, brushed my hair back into a ponytail, put my old grey jogging pants on and threw my sweatshirt over my head. I tie my shoelaces in a double knot and head for the door. Bottle of water in hand; wristband in place. I begin my run.
I don’t run to be distracted, nor do I run for sport. I run, because like I said, I want to forget. I am not trying to escape my mind. On the contrary, I want to collide with my memory. I want to conjure up the events of that night and face it head on. Contradictorily, I run to remember.
While running I find myself exceptionally alert. I tune into even the faintest sounds and I notice the smallest movements- a baby crying in a restaurant across the street, a shadow creeping up behind a terrace seat or a phone vibrating in a man’s shirt pocket. All of these diversions attract my attention but they never throw me off track. Literally. I follow the same path obsessively every morning. I am diligent in my schedule and route; I have the streetlight sequence stop-watched. I don’t wait at corners, jogging lightly in place. I never stand still. I run. I run for a full hour and a half.
I run thinking about the distance I would have to go in order to clear my conscious. I run thinking about the pace at which I would have to keep up in order to shed the guilt. I run, and while I do the sweat from my eyes drips to the pavement, leaving the dirt behind.

TWO
Remember to Forget
“I have been trying to forget.
“Just as the opening image appears in my mind- I shut off. Darkness. I haven’t allowed the story to unfold since the night I lived it many moons ago. I see the beginning often; but, in a trance-like habit, the image behind my eyelids inevitably blurs and fades to black. I haven’t seen the story through to the end; I probably couldn’t if I tried. Either way, whether I could control it or not- I would stop at first glimpse.
“I remember for sure that I was born. I know that I was born because, lo and behold here I am. I was born and there unfolded the memory that defines my life’s suffering. My destined burden; damn that night.
“I want to understand what happened. I want to know why it had to be me that was picked to carry this weight. I want to know if there is anything I could have done differently to alter the course of my life. Did this fate choose me? If it did, is there a way for me to undo this destiny?
The bottom line: is there anything I could do to change the path my life has been set on? If I am better as a person, can I make things better? I know the answer to that.
“Shadow in the dark. Bright lights overhead. Loud screams; sounds of threatening desperation. I am trying to remember, but damn! I don’t. Just like that: BAM! My mind shuts off.
“I don’t try to escape; I know I can’t. I have run before- my body races at a speed that shouldn’t allow my thoughts to catch up with it, but it does. It always does. It runs. It runs fast enough to keep my memory at a far distance. But, not far enough I guess because it unrelentingly catches me time and again.
“I can’t remember the night as it happened nor can I remember my first telling of it. I can’t bank on the spoken version of my memory because I’ve never told it to anyone. I’ve never even told myself. Never. The words have never been heard aloud.
“I remember that it was night. It was night and I was there. Oh! Also, whatever it was that did happen that night has caused me to spend my entire existence trying to figure out why I am like this.”

I jump into the shower and let the water drip down my body. I do this until my entire body is wet. While this is happening I run my hands through my hair to hasten the process. I don’t want to rush it, but I like to be wet in the shower for the least amount of time as possible. Once I am wet, I stand there. I stand still, pouting my lips to keep from swallowing water. I reach for the soap and lather my legs first. Once I get to my arms I no longer need to hold onto the soap bar, I have enough foam in my hands to lather my upper body.
Shampoo. The bottle is empty. I try to squeeze out as much as possible but there is not even a drop left. I pull the shower curtain open and step out onto dry land. Cold, soaking wet and naked. I rummage through my bathroom drawers searching for a new bottle of shampoo. Dripping water onto my bathroom rug. My hair resting on my back drips drops of water leaving a puddle at my feet. I stop; take a moment. Breathe. Brrr.
I jump back into the shower.
Warm. Wet again. I clap some shampoo into the palm of my hand, rub my hands together and run my hands through my hair. As the water washes the bubbles from my head I keep my eyes closed tight. Soap burns the eyes. Water trickles down my back, I comb my hair and wave my head from side to side making sure there is no shampoo left anywhere, not even behind my ears. I look down. I breathe in through my nose and spit out the water that has managed to find its way into my mouth. The bath is practically filled knee high with soapy water. I look down and contemplate my options. I’m tired- I should sit. I can’t sit here, I should get out. The water is high; it has reached a level that would make for a good bath. But the water is not fresh. It is water that has rushed off my dirty body, pulling the dirt down with it and leaving it in the basin. I want to sit. I’m tired. This water is dirty. I shouldn’t sit. I sit.
I sit in the water that cleansed me.

THREE
Can I share my memories with you?
“The memories I am affected by are the ones I don’t choose to remember. Warranted or not, certain moments of my past continue to affect me.
“Moments I have lived have become a part of me. They are little pieces compiled to make up the whole of my being. I, like everyone else, am comprised of many experiences, moments, feelings… However, no one moment defines me more than another the way that that one night has afflicted my life. Without that night, who would I be? Who might I have become?
“It defines me; it is me. I tried to hide from it but it always finds me. There is nowhere to run it will always find me.
“I can’t be without it. I wouldn’t know where to begin. Would I start all over from the beginning and be unplagued, maybe even live a happy life? I am that night and that night is me. I can’t live without this memory- because I am my memory. I don’t know where to go from here; I have literally found myself going in circles.
“I can try to see what happened. But I have tried numerous times and I am exhausted. Quite literally, I am tired of trying to force my memory to conjure up the events of that night. Even if I did remember it, what then?

Note in hand I ran toward the Police Station. I ran not with rhythm and pace but rather with haste and speed. I ran with impatience. I wanted someone to read my confession. I wanted to turn myself in. Purse across my left shoulder; pulsing against my right hip with every stride. Fists held tight, elbows locked. I ran. I ran through streets that did not belong to my morning route. I ran with my eyes wide open. Alert, I ran. No obstacle, no matter how staggered would stand in my way. I was going to get there.
I pushed the door open. Stepped through it. Open. Walk. Breathe. Walk. Breathe. The door closed with tension behind me. My presence was unnoticeable. Nobody looked up at me in the forty-five seconds that I had been here. Standing. Breathing.
I needed a moment. I needed to catch my breath. Breathe. Breathing. Trying to breathe.
I walked toward a seated policeman’s bureau, knocked on his open door and let myself in.
I didn’t introduce myself. I walked up to his desk and dropped my note on the desk in front of him. My confession lay exposed in front of him.
“Hello,” I paused. I wasn’t sure if I was going to have the courage to go through with my confession, which is why I brought the note. But I was ready. I was ready to pay for what I had done. “I would like for you to arrest me. I have committed a crime and I have decided to be tried. Arrest me.”
I read a confused expression on the officer’s face as he read my note while glancing up at me. He looked at me and finally saw what I saw. A murderer. He looked at me and knew that I wasn’t joking. I was dead serious.
“Arrest me, officer. I didn’t know what I was doing at the time but I know now that it was wrong. I am guilty and I want to pay for my sin. Arrest me.”

FOUR
My mind plays tricks on me
“Somebody told me, a long time ago, I am not sure who, that forgetting is hard but remembering is even harder. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure what that meant up until now. It has been hard on me; the events of that night creep up on me in many distinct ways, in various aspects of my life. Emotionally I am afflicted; disturbed by the sinister character by which I came into this world. Mentally I am convicted: unsuccessfully attempting to find logic but constantly finding myself born guilty. Physically I am locked in a paralytic trance- perpetually being transported back to that moment but never able to understand it.
“I have been trying to forget the incident, but I have no control over my memory. So now I understand. What happened to me that night is impossible to forget, even though I cannot remember it?
“I will forever live with this daunting memory. With all the strength I have built and the determination I have conjured up, nothing has proved successful. I have decided to stop playing defense. I will no longer try to make the memory disappear; it won’t ever happen. The only way I could possibly forget is to confess my sins and pay for them.
“That is what I have been trying to do.”

The lights in here are bright and blinding. How long have I been sitting in this room? How long have I been here?
I turned myself in months ago but after much research and investigation the cops decided I didn’t commit any crime. They said that they realize that I had killed someone, but it wasn’t a criminal act. They put me in here because they said that my thoughts and memories are dangerous. I was a threat to myself. I was killing myself little by little every day; eating away at my mind with thoughts that were “maladaptive,” as they put it. I needed help. They said I needed help.
I don’t think my being here will help. I don’t think sitting in this holding cell will make it go away. I don’t think it will make things better.

FIVE
Can someone move the elephant? He is blocking the exit
“I tried to tell it once. I tried but not hard enough I guess. I tried to tell it, but you thought you already knew it. I tried once. I know I did. I tried but you wouldn’t listen. The story used to stand-alone. Isolated in my memory. Now the story coexists with the memory of attempted retelling.
“I tried to tell you.
“Now I see you and I know what you are thinking. You think you know me. I only just started talking but was halted- you thought you knew. You didn’t know. You don’t know. I am not everyone. Every story is different.
“Now I know I can’t tell you- I don’t trust my words in your mind. I’ll never speak. You skew my words and think all your talk and reason will make it better. You can’t make it go away. So, go away. I want you to leave. I want you to stop existing in my world. I don’t open my mouth when you are near. My mind goes dark when I see you. You didn’t believe me and that is why I am here and not there. You don’t trust that I know what I did. Well, I can’t trust you either.
“I want to leave. I want to leave, can you please move that elephant? He is blocking the exit.”