Depressing Weekend: Existentialist Nirvana | Theland E. Thomas

Atheists are the only ones who reach Nirvana because when they die, the cycle ends. When the rest of us die, we all go somewhere else. Heaven for some, Hell for most. God and the Devil lay in wait like bogeymen under the bed. But atheists, they learned the trick: If you don't believe, they can't get you.

Do you often stifle the urge to scream? Do you ever feel that sinking, hollow feeling in your gut? That churning dread? That brooding storm? Do you ever look out the window and want to jump right through it? Are you ever tempted to keep the wheel straight at a bend in the road? Do you struggle to hold your head up? Do you collapse when no one's around? When you're alone, are you plagued? By profound heaviness? By unforgivable guilt? Aren't you tired? Don't you just want some rest? Don't you want to fall asleep and never wake up?

This is partly a confession, partly an experiment to see who’s really listening.

Shadows lurk in every crevice. They've been watching me my entire life. They swarmed and crept from the corners, slithered and hissed, and when I was spooked, pulled the sheets over my eyes. They whispered in my ears until they crawled right in. Satan has been on my shoulders the entire time. His claws cleft wounds in my back, constantly reopening, oozing. His words contaminated my thoughts, painted them all black, built stumbling blocks and tore gaping holes in my mind through which I fell over and over again. I felt his hands weighing down my eyelids, constricting my neck, dragging me lower still. Like a puppet master, he planned my days, coordinated my steps, set up every moment. Like an imp he brought the memories to circle me. He brought the depression and negativity. He brought the inescapable pain. He pushed and crushed me. And when I couldn’t take it anymore, he guided my hands as I tied the noose. He lifted my head through it, and kicked the stool from under me. Choking, gagging, sputtering I kicked, flailed. Suddenly, I remembered: I didn’t want to die! He jumped giddily, clapping, laughing. Hot pressure pounding in my head. Throat crushing suffocation. Fuzzy, black splotches…..

Blasphemy against the Holy Spirit is the only unforgivable sin, and there is no greater blasphemy than rejecting it until death. I remembered this as I descended into Hell.

Shh! It's okay. It's okay. Everything is alright. Just calm down. Take a few deep breaths. Relax. It's okay. You can get through this. Another damn day. You got through yesterday, didn't you? You can get through this one too. Just a few hours until lunch. Just a few hours until you're free to go home. Just a few lonely hours filling the void. Staying up to avoid sleep. Don't want to sleep. Yawning cavern, pouring rain, drowning, suffocating -- No -- Wait! Don't think that! Turn the corner. Think of something else. Something funny. Don't cry. Don't feel that! After all, tomorrow, another damn day awaits.

They said to me, You’re in a really dark place right now. I said, No, I’ve always been there, I just never had the courage to write it down. But when I’m alone I admit that it has gotten worse.

It’s always going to be like this.

Isn’t it?

There’s no amount of anything that can fix it.

Is there?

There is something broken deep down inside of me,

so far down,

I can’t even see it.

  G a p i n g  h o l e . . .

Festering wound.

Dark emptiness.

I’m not the only one. There are lots of us out there. Some go on living normal lives, smiling, pretending to love, functioning like normal human beings. No one knows the truth, and they keep the secret hidden in their hearts. Others hide it from themselves. In drugs, booze, late night parties. They don’t want to know. They don’t want anyone to know. Some of us can’t even get out of bed. Some of us struggle to function. Many of us are already dead. Me? I’m not that bad yet. But everyone knows there’s something wrong with me. I’m just a little weird. Just a little too cynical. Just a little aromantic. I think a lot about how people would react were I to end it. Many of them would say, I had a hunch.

My neck. In the morning, there is a sinking feeling as I wrap the necktie around my throat for yet another day. It’s so handsome to slowly choke to death. The uneasiness comes from the awareness that it would be so easy to just keep tightening. A morbid fascination. In the day, I pull my shirt away from my throat. It’s suddenly too tight. I’m suddenly winded, lightheaded. I just need a minute. I just need a year. Everyday, I’m digging, sinking lower all the time. I’ve gone so far down, the soil just falls back and buries me. If I can just make it through this day. If I can just make it through this year. If I can just make it through this life, then what?

Depressing Weekend: Cloud Suicide | Theland E. Thomas

I drink coffee in sips, but I drink water in gulps. Coffee is a slow drip, a steady injection of liquid energy. Water is thirst quenching, life giving. Greedily, I gulp water from my coffee mug and watch a drifting, wispy cloud commit suicide. Beaten by the wind, dried out by the sun, little puffs without enough water to survive. All the water is formless in the air or snow on the ground or liquid in my hand or contaminated with ground coffee and used to fuel a dependency. Sometimes, I think coffee is something I can’t live without, but after the highs and lows those brown beans bring, I’m left with an intolerable thirst. Without coffee, I can still wake up in the morning. Without water, I will shrivel up and dissolve like that wispy cloud.

I had a dream that I met this great girl at a club. Or maybe it was a private party at a club. Who knows, it was a dream. But anyway, her and I were two kindred hearts. Both seeking something, but uncomfortable with the party atmosphere. I don’t know who approached who, but once we started talking we didn’t stop all night, even though we had to huddle together and practically shout into each other’s ears. No, I’m not sure what we discussed, but, whatever it was, we were laughing all night. And she was absolutely gorgeous. What did she look like? I honestly don’t know. All I can remember is that she had dark hair. Well, anyway, we were still laughing and having a good time by the time everyone had left, and finally the place was empty and we had to go too. When we left, I woke up smiling, totally convinced I’d fallen in love that night, and then I had to face the slow realization that the girl didn’t exist and that it was all a fantasy.

Dreams are like clouds. They’re tangible but untouchable, heavy yet weightless.

Why do I even wave to people in the halls? They never wave back. I wonder if something happened to me while I was gone. During the break, I must have disappeared. My friends stopped contacting me. When I say hi to someone they don’t hear me. When I wave, they don’t see me. At first, I wondered if maybe I was speaking too softly, so I went up to someone I used to know and shouted her name, flailing my arms. She smiled, waved, and ran right past me into the embrace of another. Then, in the hall, I stood still to see if anyone would bump into or even brush me. The crowd just walked past me and through me. Desperate, I shredded my voice screaming and wore myself out running. But nobody noticed, nobody saw, nobody cared. Eventually, I sat on the sidelines of their lives, crushing despair weighing on me, watching everybody else interact. Laughing. Eating. Sharing. Loving. I sat and watched. Alone.

Dear God, if you reject me on Judgment Day, you’ll only be the second father to do so. I was tired of being so sinful, so I stopped believing in sin. I thought that you were the source of my self-hatred, and without you I would be happier. And I was for a little while, but now I don’t have you, and I still hate myself. Which came first, the faithful or the faithless? I used to talk to God, but I couldn’t hear him. Now he doesn't hear me because I don't talk to him. I asked God, what happened to your faithfulness? He said, I delivered Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. I asked, what about the other six million?

They say people who think happy people are deceiving themselves are depressed. But it’s true. All you happy people, sorry to break the news: you’re deceiving yourselves. Just take a look around. They say to identify and call out depressive thoughts. As if the depressive thoughts aren’t my own. Well, I thought it, didn’t I? My happiness is not contingent upon anything. If I get a raise, I will not be happy. If I get straight A’s, I will not be happy. If I am surrounded by loving family and friends, I will not be happy. If I stop everything and go travel the world, I will not be happy. When I was younger, my uncle asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up. I said, I wanted to be happy. He said wisely, “If you are not happy now, you never will be.” He was right. Funny thing is, happy clouds are dark, stormy, and brooding. They scream and cry and rush in a whirlwind. Depressed clouds commit suicide.

It’s all a joke. Stop looking at me like that.

July 20th | Theland E. Thomas

I thought I could get over this, but I can’t. It seems I relearn every day that emotions weigh more than logic and that the brain is an emotional machine. I drove to see you with a stone in my gut and a lump in my throat, and I started to remember the apprehension I felt last time. The unformed disturbance. The dangerous emotion creeping underneath my conscious logic. My conscious logic says, Yes, this is behind me. We can still be friends. Forgive and move on. My conscious logic is a fool because in the moment it does not realize that it is a thin guise masking the irrational, emotional beast. It’s like a matador who thinks he has the bull under control. The bull will only be patient for a little while until it has enough, and suddenly the confident bull fighter has a horn through his chest.

Consciously, I ignored the patient warnings of the bull. It was saying to me, You need to stop immediately. This is dangerous. I am starting to fall in love again. I said, How can that be. With her? Impossible. After what happened last time, I can’t fall in love with her again.

See, time makes you forget what you once learned, what you once felt. What once was horrible, dramatic, and gut-wrenching doesn’t seem so bad after a while. Your scars heal, and you get over it. I saw you after months without contact, and all the fear I had evaporated. You didn’t turn into the faceless shadow monster I’d conjured in my nightmares. Suddenly, you weren’t so scary after all, and I forgot about the violence and the pain. Instead of the monster I’d made you, I saw the human being again. A human, just like myself, with all my same fears and struggles.

When I saw you, I was terrified at first, then relieved when you embraced me. We caught up. We smiled. My emotional sirens died down, and I remembered what made you so special to me in the first place. When I left, I said to myself, Everything went better than expected. I’m going to be okay.

But my emotions were starting to whisper an impossible scenario: I love her. I tried to ignore this, but I thought of you for the rest of the day. And then, I made plans to see you again. I adjusted my route for this explicit purpose and then told myself I was going to go that way anyway. I saw you again and we laughed and made jokes, and this time it was more difficult to argue logic against my tumultuous emotions. This time, I caught myself enraptured by you and gazing too long, and I hoped you didn’t notice, but then I hoped you did, and my God, how can we be friends if I act like this around you?

This time, I left beaming, unable to control my grins. I continued this way for the rest of the day, but I woke up sober. The matador was beginning to doubt his position, thinking, I need to be more careful. Emotions can’t be trusted.

So, the next week, I thought about seeing you. I thought about how you would react, what you would say. I remembered when we were friends. I remembered what happened when I wanted more. And, as the storm clouds rolled in overhead, I just went home.

This morning, I figured enough time had passed for it to be safe. As I planned my day in my head, I scheduled a slot for you right after work. I thought about you as I picked out my clothes. I wore this suit last time. I’ll wear a different tie. As much as I wouldn’t admit it, I wanted you to think about how great I looked when I showed up. I wanted you to love me.

The closer I got to you, the more sick I felt, so I blasted my music to shoo the doubts away, an ineffective but comforting technique. But the lyrics of the song only compounded my fears: You make me feel like I am worth nothing.

When I pulled into the parking lot, I knew I couldn’t do this anymore. It was time to jump out of the way before the bull trampled me. Then, I knew that as long as we’re together, I will always fall in love with you, and I will always end up bleeding because you’ll never feel the same. As much as I would like to get over this logically, I have to remember that my conscious logic only conducts the emotional engine on set tracks, and the path that leads me to you ends in a trainwreck. I drove in circles. My emotions screamed over the music: Something wicked this way comes! And this time I couldn’t ignore it; I turned the car around and drove away.

So, I’m sorry. We can’t be friends. You see, when someone bares their heart to you, and you rip it to shreds, it can never be fully repaired. It just becomes a patchwork of fragments held together by scars that tremor and bleed with each new injury.

Home | Theland E. Thomas

And then he goes home, but all the houses look the same, and he’s not sure if he’s arrived at the right one even when he settles into bed. He looks out the window at the leaves swaying in the gentle breeze, and he thinks maybe I should go out, I’ve been trapped inside all day, but then he wonders what he would even do out there, and he’s pretty tired anyway, so he rests his back against the wall. He’s gotta find something to do in the time between now and sleep, so he turns on the TV and flips through a few channels, and then he turns off the TV and tosses the remote away. Then he sits with his hands in his lap for a few seconds. Then he scrolls through a few contacts on his phone thinking there must be someone he can talk to or text, but there isn’t anyone, and that’s when the loneliness begins to set in. All of his friends have gone away and left him alone, and he decides this is not a healthy train of thought, so he goes for a walk to lift his spirits.

It’s too bright, so he wears sunglasses, and it’s too quiet, so he listens to music, and it’s too chilly so he wears a jacket and the sidewalk is lined with trees. He noticed a long time ago that the natural design of this neighborhood is just designed to look natural, and the trees are plotted precisely, and the path winds around and around in one big circle, the perfect length to get your mind off of things. But the music he plays is sad, and it stirs resigned loneliness - a kind of lamenting, languishing loneliness whose pressure compounds and breadth expands with each passing day. A kind that seeks no resolution, only perpetuation. He follows the path left and right, and when he comes home he doesn’t feel better, so he sits down and thinks there must be someone I can talk to, but no one will really understand what he’s saying, they’ll just impose their own reality on his or trivialize him with well worn wishes because they don’t know what to say or it’s the only thing they can say, and he doesn’t really understand what he’s saying or how to say it anyway, so it just remains undeveloped and festering.

He opens up an anonymous app on his phone and thinks about posting something, but no one cares that teen angst doesn’t end in your teens and anonymity is meaningless, and sometimes you’re anonymous even when they know your name. So, he sits thinking about choices, steps, missed opportunities, and missteps, and the girl he should have dated and the girl he shouldn’t have dated, and the girl who’s already dating someone else, and how everything ended with him here alone watching the light outside die again. And then he thinks, these choices don’t matter and maybe nothing matters, but then why does it all matter so damn much? And then he grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes to hold back the wave of feelings, and it works, but it leaves him feeling empty and suffocated.

The light is gone, and he curls into bed, and closes his eyes, but the darkness doesn’t bring sleep, instead it brings the void, so he opens his eyes, but it’s just as black out here, so he closes his eyes again. And he’s so lonely, he thinks he might pray, but God doesn’t hear him, and if he does, he’s not saying anything back, so he stops and stares toward the wall. At night, the other side of the world is awake while he lays still in bed. Night creatures and party animals creep and frolic while he lays still in bed. His phone restarts while he lays still in bed. And he doesn’t end up sleeping, and before the sun rises, he showers and gets dressed and goes to work and pretends to be alive for other people, and they don’t care, and he doesn’t care, and he just thinks about how many hours left until he gets to leave, and then he smiles and waves goodbye, and then he goes home.

The Dark Morning Coffee Shop | Theland E. Thomas

Another day passing, and I drag through it like an ant struggling through sickly sweet caramel flavored syrup, more drowning than persevering. The warm, inviting smell of coffee becomes an oppressive stench if you inhale it eight hours per day. It’s not the worst job, but it’s ultimately just something to get the rent paid. And no matter how busy this place gets, no one wants coffee at 2 pm. I’ve wiped down the counters and tables at least five times. Not that the wash rag really does anything but smear the mess across the table in shining circles. Even that guy who always spends all day in here reading newspapers and books and never talks to us except to order his small, black coffee that he sips on periodically and must be ice cold after so many hours obliged me by moving to another table. I turn to Derrick, who stands, hand on counter, staring out the large windows at the overcast sky.

He looks at me. “It’ll pick up again soon when all the kids are out of school.”

“Where do they get all the money to spend on coffee anyway?”

Derrick shrugs. “I dunno. When I was a kid, I wasted my money on all kinds of stuff. Still do, I guess… just make room for the things you love.” He settles into a self-assured smile. I envy him for that trait, that easy-going, nonchalant confidence. He lives life by the day, having fun, doing what he wants while I watch, cautious, fretting, doubting, and uneasy. I too stare out the window, seeing my grey apartment in the grey clouds, thinking of countless nights clicking through pages of Internet jokes, laughing, then immediately forgetting what was so funny.

Ding. I look up and turn face the door, straightening my posture and inflating a smile in the same Pavlovian routine I’ve performed thousands of times. In walks a young lady, authentic, glowing smile making mine more real. “Hi,” she waves as she approaches the counter. Her brown hair is tied back a little sloppily, she wears a professional-looking blouse and slacks, and her light blue eyes reflect the warm shop lights and point them back at me.

I know I have to talk now, but the words seem held up in my brain. Finally, I sputter, “Hi. Uh, welcome to uh, The Dark Morning Coffee Shop.” I could feel Derrick staring daggers into my back. I’ve already been talked to about the greeting. It’s supposed to be, A Dark Morning to ya, and any variation of what can I brew for you today. It’s stupid, it doesn’t even flow when you say it, it’s like the owner of this stupid franchise just decided he wants to make sure every single customer hears this not-even-funny pun.

The girl holds up a sticky note. “So, my coworkers sent me out to get some coffee for everyone…”

“Yeah?”

“But, their notes stink. It’s all abbreviations and chicken scratch. Can you read this?” She hands me the sticky note, and our fingers graze as I grab it.

“Yeah, yeah, I know what these are, I think.”

She chuckles, “Well, if you make a mistake, I’ll just tell them it’s their fault for having bad handwriting.”

I smile again as I start mixing the first drink, “Well, I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I won’t throw you under the bus. That wouldn’t be very nice.”

I don’t know what to say, so I look to Derrick, who starts preparing the second drink. He’s usually the first to jump into conversations, usually rescuing me from putting my foot too far in my mouth, but now his odd silence leaves me floundering in an unfamiliar sea. “Well, I’m already working here, I mean, how much worse can it get?” Heat blooms in my cheeks as Derrick shoots me a quick glance and a nearly imperceptible shake of the head.

But the girl laughs. “Oh, I’m sure it couldn’t be that bad.”

“Oh, it is, ask Derrick.” This is your cue, man, help me out.

But Derrick only offers a muffled, “Yep,” as he passes the drink to me.

The whirring of the coffee machine whips the fatty smell of cream into the air and beats back an uncomfortable lull in the conversation. “Uh,” I start, “so where are you working?”

“Oh, just at that bank across the street.”

She points in its general direction, but there’s a different bank on all four corners of the intersection, and I don’t really want to ask her which one, so I say something even stupider. “Aren’t you a little young to be working at a bank?”

I see Derrick look over again, this time smirking, and I know he’s just going to tear into me as soon as she leaves.

“No, actually,” she says, still smiling at me, God, she’s gorgeous, “They hire at 16, apparently.”

“Wow,” I said, wishing I could stop the neverending stream of stupid words coming out of my mouth, “you’re quite the achiever.”

Derrick finally brings over the last drink, unfolds a cardboard carrier, and places the three drinks inside. “Alrighty, here you go, thanks for stopping in today.”

“Thank you,” she waves, balancing the lopsided carrier, “see you guys later.”

She walks out, and the coffee shop returns to relative silence. Derrick goes to wash out the blender cups, and I clean the brewers, and soon there is nothing left to do again. My gut twists as I hear Derrick’s slip-resistant shoes pad from the back room.

“Dude,” he says.

I stare at the brown, granite countertops. “What?”

“You… are such an idiot.”

Cringing, I face his incredulous grin. “What do you mean?”

“That girl was totally into you.”

“What? No.”

“Yeah. She was.”

“Whatever.” I don’t have anything else to say, so I just say that.

“She was, man, and you were just like ‘hurr durr, you’re quite the overachiever.’ I mean, what the hell, man?”

I throw my hands up, “I didn’t know what else to say!”

He continues mocking me. “She’s all trying to talk to you, batting her eyelashes, and you’re all oblivious like ‘aren’t you a little young-’” he messes his face up into an angry caricature - “aren’t you a little young to be working at a bank?’ Oh, my God, dude…” he trails off in a fit of laughter.

The flashing sound of a page turn reminds me of the man in the corner. He doesn’t have to talk to anyone. He just sits in the corner every day and does his thing, quietly reading, reading, and reading. Sometimes I wonder if his brain ever hurts from all the information he stuffs in, a new book, cover-to-cover, every single day received by tiny, spectacled eyes.

Derrick enters my field of vision again. “So, are you going to ask her out?”

The question catches me off guard, and my heart jumps. “Uh. No. Why would I do that?”

“Well, do you like her?”

“I mean, yeah, I-”

“Then that’s why!”

Familiar pain swelled in my chest. “I don’t think… I mean, cause you remember with Autumn.” I can barely get the words out of my mouth. I’m ashamed. Ashamed that Autumn still affects me like this. Ashamed at my stupidity and naivete. Ashamed I pursued her in the first place.

The chuckling stops, and Derrick frowns. “Dude, I know that was really hard on you, but you have to get over it eventually. That was almost a year ago.”

“Yeah.” But inside me feels as cold and grey as the clouds past the window and as dense as a brick of lead. Soon, the kids from school flood in and socialize, and the adults from work come in and unwind, and there meetings formal and casual, and the shop grows noisey with conversation and brewers brewing and blenders whirring, and tired, enthusiastic, complacent faces, and night creeps until the warm, yellow lights are the only ones left, beating back the dark outside. And, eventually, the man in the corner packs his books into a satchel and leaves without saying a word. Then, I’m back in my grey apartment, on my grey laptop, wasting my life.

It’s been a while, but Autumn’s memory still floats in the back of my mind. That warm feeling her smile always made me feel, now stained with ripping hurt. I was in love, but… maybe I didn’t show it enough? Maybe I wasn’t the one she wanted after all? Maybe I wasn’t adventurous enough or handsome enough or maybe she never loved me in the first place. I fall into a sick, spiraling cavern of thought until not even the sterile glow of the computer screen can reach me.

Then, it’s another day passing, with another replay of people with the same orders and the man in the corner turning the pages in another story. At least the sun’s out today.

Derrick sits on a stool, staring out the window at the snow-capped mountains, tapping out a beat with a pen. He’s already exhausted all the tales of the crazy stuff he got into last night, and I wonder how he has time to do all of this and sleep as I stare at the coffee-brown counter tops. “Dude, you know that girl from yesterday?”

I cringe. I’d been hoping he wouldn’t bring it up again. Allying with this hope, I play dumb and say, “The banker, you mean?”

“Yeah, you know you didn’t ask her name? You’re supposed to get a name for every order.” Silently, I point to the man in the corner. We don’t know his name, and he’s here every day. Derrick waves his hand, “That’s different. That’s been happening since before I got here.”

“Well, what does it matter?”

“Because she’s going to come back in today.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she likes you!”

I purse my lips, counterpoints invalidating that argument flood my head. “How do you know?”

“Because I know these things.”

“See, that’s not a good reason to-”

“Well, speak of the devil!”

Ding. I stand and see the same girl from yesterday, for some reason still surprised when Derrick is right. Her blue eyes meet mine, and she smiles saying, “Hi.”

I swallow as she approaches, and my lips part, but no words come out.

“A Dark Morning to ya,” Derrick steps in, “He can help you.”

She slides a sticky note onto the counter. “They sent me with the same order as last time, I think.”

I reach across the counter, closer to her, to grab the paper, the fluttering in my chest disproportionate to such a mundane activity. “Well,” I say, “looks like it.” I place the note in between myself and Derrick, and we both get started on the drinks, blenders working loudly.

“So,” her voice cuts through the machine noise, “how’s the day been?”

“Oh, just… the same as yesterday, actually.”

“But, the same is good, right? It’s better than worse than yesterday.”

She’s right. “I suppose so. So, uh, how’s your day going?”

“Pretty fun actually!” Her already bright eyes glow even brighter, “We get paid to volunteer, so I spent all day playing with puppies!”

“Wow, that sounds awesome. I wish I could do that!”

“You should volunteer. They’re so cute - they just run around you and want to play all the time!”

As I finish up the second coffee, Derrick muttered something. I turned, “Hmm?”

“Name!”

A flash of heat. I fumble to get a sharpie from the pen-holder. “Oh, uh, what’s your name?”

“It’s Carin. What’s yours?”

I pause. “It’s actually just so I can write it down on the…” She’s looking at me expectantly. I glance at Derrick, who seems to be stifling laughter. “Uh, Daniel. Dan.”

“You know, I’ve always liked the name Daniel. I’ll call you that.”

I chuckle. “That’s what my mom calls me.”

A sudden laugh startles both of us, and we both look at Derrick, who struggles to maintain his composure. He waves his hands in front of his face. “I’m sorry, just thought of an inside joke, that’s all.”

Carin smirks, leaning on the counter, and looking from me to him. “Sounds funny. Is it the kind of joke you can share?” I’m trying not to visibly cringe.

“Unfortunately not. Friend confidentiality, you know.”

She nods sympathetically, and I step in with my sharpie ready, “Okay, so which one is yours?”

“Actually, none of them. I’m just the errand-girl, getting coffee for everyone else.”

Derrick prepares the drink holder and slides it across the counter. “Do you at least get a tip?” he asks.

“Just seeing your smiling faces.” She takes the drinks. “Thanks guys, see you later.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

The door opens with a ding and swings shut. She’s barely out before Derrick exclaims, “Dude!”

Here we go. I swing around. “Okay, shut up.”

He grins from ear to ear, but a malicious kind of grin - at my expense.

“She’s totally into you. How can you not see that?”

I frown. “I don’t know, maybe you’re reading into this too much.”

“I’m not. She asked your name. No one cares about our names, that’s why you never get busted for not wearing your nametag. But, you’re all like-” He contorts his face and voice to mock me - “‘Hold it! Hold it! It’s just for the coffee.’ She’s all asking your name, and you’re like, ‘Nope, I actually just want to write it down.’” His cackling laughter echoes from the walls of the shop. “‘Uh, you don’t, uhhhhh, you don’t get my name, lady, I get yours.’”

I roll my eyes, hoping he’s done, but instead he simply continues pointing at me. “And you totally like her too! I saw you. You’re all spilling the pens everywhere, and you’re bright red. Look at you, you’re still bright red, ha-ha!”

I throw my hands in the air. “Okay, so what if I like her. How do you know she likes me? She probably doesn’t. I’m not interesting.”

“I agree, but who knows. Haven’t you heard of visceral attraction?”

“I… don’t believe in that.”

“Okay”, this time he throws his hands up before him, “You don’t have to man, but please, just do us all a favor and ask her out already.”

The thought twists my gut when he says it, but it remains in my head for the rest of the day and preoccupies me throughout the night. Instead being bleached by the neverending emptiness of Internet memes, my mind is full a tumultuous battleground of vibrant hopes and paralyzing fears, soaring possibilities and limiting doubts. I can barely picture myself taking the first step to asking Carin out, but I can picture a million rejections with stunning clarity: A polite but debilitating decline, a crushing absolutely not, a disgusted face, laughter, and worst of all, a yes that leads to the inevitable end where fleeting joy always plunges into eternal sorrow.

That night, I have a dream that I’m finally going to meet Autumn and reconcile. I’m walking from a grass field onto the blacktop of a vast, empty parking lot, the wind brushing past just quickly enough to bring a chill. My feet slap the pavement as I approach the red car in the middle of the lot, but, with every step, my apprehension grows until my stomach is clenched into knots, and my hands are clenched in my pockets, and my teeth are clenched together. I stop halfway to the car. Despite the wind, there’s a disturbing lack of movement, as if the entire world is focusing on that blood-red vehicle, and then Autumn steps out, her dark blonde hair blowing sideways in the wind. I gulp, tears welling in my eyes. She didn’t even break up with me face to face - it was over a text. The cold, heartless words burning through me, shattering me, slowing time to an airless still, each one registering individually like long, arching blows to the chest: “I’ve been seeing someone else.”

It’s like it’s happening all over again, the pain welling up within me bursting forth from that barely stitched wound, bitter acid flooding my chest, my throat tight, and pressure in my face from tears held back. The now freezing wind whips up, clouds covering the sun, and I take more tentative steps forward, and I look up. Instead of her face, all I see is blackness. Everything else is there, but behind her flashing hair hangs only a terrifying shadow that seems like both the entrance to hell and my own reflection. The blowing wind is now a frenzied roar that drowns out my throat-shredding scream as I stumble backward and fall, and suddenly, the darkness expands from Autumn’s face, tearing across the entire landscape until I’m in my pitch black room, bolt upright and drenched in sweat.

That day, like the previous days, Carin comes in shortly after two, lighting up the shop with her smile. “Hi guys.”

“Hey,” I say, completely ignoring the formal greeting. “The usual?”

“Yeah, we’re just going to do the uge today. Did you memorize it already?”

“Well, it’s only three drinks.”

“Oh, that’s really thoughtful. Do you memorize everyone’s drinks?” Carin looks earnestly at me, her blue eyes big and enveloping.

Derrick interjects, “Nah, I’m pretty sure that was just for you.”

My face burns as she goes along with the joke. “For me?” She feigns flattery, “Oh, my, next thing you know we’ll be going steady.”

I give a nervous laugh and speak utter nonsense as I mix the first drink. “Yeah, that would be quite the thing.”

“Hey, you seem like a nice enough guy.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Yeah…” she trails off. “You know it’s always good to pay a compliment when you can. That doesn’t happen enough in the world.”

“You know, you’re right,” I agree, “I couldn’t tell you the last time I got a compliment in here. Or even gave one.”

Derrick stares at me, unsmiling. “Yeah, I mean, I give compliments all the time, but no one ever compliments me back.”

“Well, maybe you can be the first to start a chain reaction and change the world,” Carin says.

“Maybe.” He puts the three drinks in the cardboard carrier and slides it across the counter. “Here you are.”

“Alrighty, thanks again guys. Bye.”

“Bye,” I say.

I watch her leave, and as soon as she does Derrick starts in.

“Dude, why didn’t you ask her out? She obviously wanted you to ask her out!”

“Well, I don’t want to,” I say.

Derrick sits in his stool. “Why not?”

“Well, because… I don’t think… I’m just not ready for a relationship right now.” My chest is heavy.

“C’mon, man. You and I both know that’s just fear.”

“No,” I say, feeling a slight indignation, “it’s logic. Why should I let you pressure me into a relationship that’s just going to end eventually? Everything always ends.”

“You’re right, man, everything ends. I mean, friendships end, relationships end, and, eventually, everybody dies, but that shouldn’t let that stop you. Life is so much more than that.”

I mutter, “I don’t think you get it.”

Derrick shakes his head. “No. I do get it. You’re the one who doesn’t get it. I used to be the same way, you know. I thought love was pointless. But, then I realized, I don’t have to live a depressing loveless life. In fact, I deserve more than that, and you do too. Because, underneath everybody’s hurts and scars, are people. And people need each other.”

I’m speechless. Partly because I’ve never expected more than surface-level conversation from him, but more because he’s cut straight to the truth of what I’m feeling. All I can do is stare at the man sitting with his back to the window, sunlight illuminating his book. Softly, I say, “I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

“Well, what should I do?”

“You should ask her on a date tomorrow. I mean, the thing worst she can do is say no.”

Already, the idea is growing on me again. “Okay, but what should we do? How should I ask her?”

“Honestly I usually tell my friends to take all first dates to coffee shops, but that would really suck, wouldn’t it? Just don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” I make up my mind to ask Carin out when she comes in tomorrow. I go through what I’m going to say in my head, testing a million different possibilities and formulating something to say for each one. I replay it over and over, tweaking and modifying. Sound natural. Sound suave, no, just be yourself, add an uh, or a so somewhere. Or, if the topic presents itself, just pivot into it. I imagine her face as I ask her. Surprise lighting those bright, blue eyes. A gleaming smile? Or maybe a furrowed brow as she rejects me. That’s okay too. Will we exchange numbers? Duh. Should I have my phone on hand or just write her number down? Call, don’t text, texts can be ignored. What if it’s busy when she come in? No, that never happens.

By the next day, I’m filled with anticipation, completely prepared for every possible contingency. It’s slow, as usual, and Derrick sits, phone on the counter. I stare out the window, hearing the man gently turn the page in his reading. I’m checking the door every five seconds just to make sure I didn’t miss the ding, but the next time it does ding, it’s not her. It’s just the usual crowd of kids, signaling that the afternoon lull is over. Oh, well, it’s not big deal. I guess I’ll see her tomorrow. But I don’t see her tomorrow. I wait all day with the same anticipation, but she doesn’t come. This repeats again and again until clinging hope becomes despondent disappointment. She never comes back. Instead, every day is just another day passing, vanishing like my line of sight over the snow-capped mountains, past the man in the corner turning another page in another book.

A Fleeting Thought | Theland E. Thomas

    I see a beautiful girl as I step off the train car. She has flowing, brown hair and soft, dark eyes, and she smiles at something on the screen of her phone.

    I take a step.

    I wonder if she would go for me. Or if she would go for that guy in front of me? What do girls even like? Buff guys? Even if I become buff and toned, I’ll never be a hulking hunk. Not that it matters. I could just hop back on the train...

    I take a step.

    Suddenly, the idea overtakes me. I alter my course and push the button to reopen the train doors. They yield to me with a hiss, and I step back in. My heart pounds in my ears. It’s OK. Be calm. Fear is only the feeling you get when you’re about to cross a threshold. Well, that’s what I tell myself.

    I take a step.

    Why am I doing this? Because I’m so lonely? Because I have a lot of love to give? Can I handle this?

    I slide into the seat across from her. Her big, brown eyes catch mine, and she offers a smile. I try to reciprocate, but I know from experience that the corners of my lips have barely budged. That I look like I’d rather not be communicating with another human. I feign a glance across the car - a thinly veiled opportunity to give her a once-over. Knee length floral skirt, legs crossed, earbuds in, empty train car, she may be wondering why I chose this seat.

    Well, I should probably do this. The shuttering of the light rail fades as blood rushes to my head and limbs. My heart thuds. OK. This is it. Just- c’mon, it’s not that bad. But don’t be awkward.

    “Um…” I start with a slight hand motion toward her, palm up.

    She glances up, eyebrows raised and with that smile again. Is she one of those naturally nice and friendly people? They’re fascinating.

    “...Hi.”

    She pulls one white bud out of her ear, and her hand hovers near her chin. “Hi,” she says.

    I gulp. My face is burning. Now conversate! Small talk! “Sorry to interrupt your tunes there…”

    I trail off. My mind is blank. I literally can’t think of what to say next, so I just introduce myself and extend my hand. What is this, a business meeting?

    She leans forward to shake my hand, uncrossing her legs and tucking them beneath the seat. “Nice to meet you. I’m Chloe.”

    “Nice to meet you,” I say. I love that name. It just sounds pleasant. Suddenly, I’m encouraged. Maybe it’s the adrenaline pumping through my veins. “Well, I was - um… just wanting to see if...uh,” Oh, my God. “Do you want to go out with me... sometime?” I glance up at her.

    I glance away. Images flit past the window, a slideshow of human life. Now, whatever happens happens. My stomach is twisted in knots, and my throat is parched, and my toes are clenched in my shoes. Should I have done this differently? How do people normally do this? I know nothing's like it is in movies, but I didn’t expect this to be so real.

    I look at Chloe. She’s staring right at me with a smirk on her face. “Sure. Why not?”

    I remember to breathe. Now I’m smiling too - a real one this time. An unquenchable ear-to-ear grin. “Cool!”

    The tracks squeal as the conductor brakes. We quickly exchange numbers, and I stand to up to exit, saying, “I’ll see you soon.”

    I’m walking, and I take one last look at the beautiful girl - her flowing, dark hair, her soft eyes, and her sweet smile.

    And I take another step as the train pulls off, carrying away the girl and the daydream.