Known
I
"Everyone knows that the sun goes down early during this time of the year. Some of us are so busy that it goes unnoticed. Something, however, seems different.
The darkness feels heavy on the shoulder. As I walk about taking care of my everyday, it almost feels as if I am wading through a pool. Am I getting old? Of course I am. We all are. With every tick of the clock we draw closer to death.
I don't see myself as slowing down, though. Only last year, this past October, I began to jog for the first time ever. By March of this year, I ran a half-marathon. Am I getting old? Yes. Am I slowing down? No. Running a half at sixty-ome is no small thing. I know quite a few twenty-somethings that can't run thirteen feet, let alone thirteen miles.
But this darkness, it's different. It's almost palpable. It's as if it has a life of it's own."
Reinaldo shared his thoughts with Josue. All around them was the clatter of the kitchen, the conversations of the other patrons and the barely audible sounds of the café's radio. He was glad for the noise because he knew that he sounds crazy. The door to the café was open, which kept the small space at a comfortable temperature and added traffic noise to the conversation. He hopes that Josue is the only one listening.
"You sound like you need therapy."
"Bastard!"
They laugh.
They go back twenty-five years. Their time spent together has produced a friendship of complete trust and mutual respect. During good times and bad, they are faithful to each other as family should be. They met in church over two decades ago.
Though the church has failed them in different ways, they have never failed each other. Supporting each other through any and all circumstances. Strangers sometimes confuse them as lovers, but they call one another, "My brother from another mother."
After coffee, Reinaldo walks Josue to the nearest train station. Josue had to go home to prepare dinner for his wife and teenage son.
At forty-eight, Josue did not look his age. He stands at five feet, ten inches tall. People confuse him for Caucasian. He was born and raised in New York City. His father was from El Salvador. His mother was from Puerto Rico. His passions are cooking, exercise and sex.
His wife, Mariana, is his height, of Puerto Rican descent. She aspires to be a playwright. Although, if she wanted to, she could do very well in front of the camera as an actor.
Unfortunately for her, she suffers from depression and struggles with bipolar issues. Multiple traumas suffered during childhood coupled with a chemical imbalance keeps her debilitated often, making it hard for her to reach her full potential. On many occasions, Josue has had to call Reinaldo for emotional support during one of Mariana's episodes. He becomes her punching bag.
Joshua Peter, Josue's sixteen year old son, stands almost six feet tall. He was born with autism. High functioning. Brilliant when it comes to music. He wears his hair past the shoulder. When he allows you in to his private world, you can still see the child-like innocence.
*******
"Why am I so tired?" Josue yawned broadly as he climbed the stairs from the train station. He had every intention of stopping at the local supermarket before going home.
"I'm not going to make it." He leans against the car parked directly in front of him at the top of the stairs. He wonders what was in the coffee that he felels as though he could fall asleep right on the spot.
He reaches for his phone. He wants to call his wife, but the world begins to spin. He slides off the hood of the car and faints.
*******
Reinaldo decides to walk west. He likes the Hudson River at night. There is no plan. He just wants to stroll.
That heaviness that he was speaking about to Josue lays on his shoulder like an overweight child. As he approaches the Hudson, he begins to concentrate on his breathing. He's felt this before. When his thoughts weigh heavy like this, he practices mindfulness.
Deep breathing exercises. Unpeeling layers of clothing in order to allow for the natural elements to touch him. Running his hand across textured surfaces and other exercises to keep him grounded in his today, instead of being lost in his yesterdays.
Fifty years. Fifty years learning how to manage Complex-Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder. You would think that I would get it right eventually.
"Every day above ground is a good day."
"I'm sorry. What movie was that from again?" Really, quoting dialogue? Have our sessions become that-
"Trite, I know. I'm sorry! You were so into what you were thinking about that I had to catch your attention. Since I know that you hate cookie-cutter answers, I thought that I would flimg one at you to get you going. What were you thinking about?"
"Just that I don't get people. They have the capability of such great love, as well as, such destructive hate."
"And by they you mean we, yes? You do include yourself in that statement?"
"No worries. I don't think that I come from another planet or that I'm just passing through on my way back to Heaven, if that's what you're implying." Idiot!
Sometimes it's so frustrating talking to you, Author. I know, though that when I share this moment, the mindfulness exercises that I'm choosing to practice, trying to fight off the dissociation, instead of giving in to it that you will look at me like any other parent would their child that brought home good marks on their report card. I love that my therapist has issues. Life is too much fun sometimes.
Deep breath, now. Concentrate. Unbutton your coat. Let the wind touch you. The Hudson River. Lights glistening on the black water.
The phone. It's Mariana. "Hi! How are you?"
Did Josue take a detour? No. According to my watch it's only been fifteen minutes since we parted ways. He'll probably walk in the door as we speak. Is she in a manic state? What do I tell her that will keep her calm?
"It's Josue. He's in the hospital. I'm on my way there now. I'll text you the details of the room he's in once I find out details." She cuts the conversation shori.
Reinaldo walks towards the hospital near their home. A cyclist passes by playing his radio the loudest it can possibly get. Annoyed, he wishes the cyclist would fall. He did. Unfortunately for the cyclist, he fell in front of the truck that was following closely behind. The radio continued to play as onlookers scream and run to help.
Reinaldo is frozen where he stands. All he can do is stare at the scene.
Let him live! Let him live!
Someone bumps into him, bringing him back from unconsciousness. He stumbles forward a few paces, then he walks away. He hurries to the hospital.
Please be okay. Please be okay.
His thought was of the cyclist and of Josue. As he pressed forward the heaviness that he has been feeling holds him down. Slowing his pace...