The High Plain of Loneliness

This is a story written by Tyrone.
It is dedicated to her.
It is just a love story.
If you read it, thank you for reading it.

The High Plain of Loneliness

"It’s like I just keep pouring water into a glass, but it must be going out the bottom because I can never get it to fill up. I can’t think of a better way to explain it. Maybe instead of water I could say honey. Honey because it’s thicker and this feeling has weight to it."

“What do you mean thicker? There’s nothing there.”

“To me there is. There’s always something there. I wish that wasn’t the case.”

“No. There is literally nothing there. These are memories, but memories aren’t a thing that can or cannot fill a glass.”

“It doesn’t have to be a glass. Just a vessel. But I know. You’re not really there again.”

And you weren’t and I knew that. Still I dug. My hands into the earth. I would use no shovel, no tools at all. Only my own hands.

The first layer was rock. There was more pounding and clawing and pulling than actual digging and it took me a few years just to break through into the softer earth underneath. But I never stopped, I defeated that top layer of earth out of will and patience. I can out wait anything, even the damn ground.

I think that’s one of the reasons you loved me. Because I could out wait everything and everybody. Even you. And nobody could ever do that. Except me. So I just waited. And things were okay.

That’s what it felt like when I broke through the rock. And I could see into the past. I couldn’t see you like I thought I would. I could see only love lost over time. I wanted to stop it. I wanted to bring it back. To reach into that hole and pick up each little piece of it. So I kept digging. Hoping I’d find something more for it. Time maybe. And for you. I dug more for you. To find you.

My hands began to bleed. My fingers would break. Still I kept digging. There had to be something better down there. I could put all of you there. In that better spot. The place where peace starts.

“But peace will never exist on that level, not on Earth.”

“That wasn't what I was looking for.”

“Was it me?”

“Yes. To find anything. Maybe just a part of you. Or an idea of you. I don’t really know. I figured I’d just keep digging until I found something. “

“You won’t ever find anything.”

That’s when I stopped listening. I wouldn’t accept what you had to say. So I had to put you away for a while. I’m sorry I did that to you, but it was the only thing that made sense at that point. So I stopped listening to you, stopped listening for you.

That’s when I convinced myself everything was going fine. That I was fine. That it was okay to lie to myself. To lie to anybody. That to pretend something was the case meant that it would eventually be. I was still young then. I know better now. But it set in motion so much I came to regret. Years I will never have back. People who should never forgive the things I've done. Some who will never know what it is I really did. Awful things that I cannot undo. Awful thoughts I can’t unthink. Awful things that cannot be unsaid. It was just the accepted way I chose to do things. Then I stopped. I still lie to myself sometimes. Nobody else though.

I wake up screaming most nights. Just like the earth will do when it dies.

Next my body tells me it will last until I am 90. That’s what my body tells me. I try to listen. And when I do, that’s what I hear. I think that’s kind of strange. But I’m glad to know I’ll be around for some time still. That I have that many years left to matter. Except sometimes I think that’s a long time to still miss you. But I’ll wait. I can out wait everything.

“Why do you scream?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I must be scared. The doctor said it was normal after what I went through.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I think I scream because I want you to hear me. Not my pain, just my voice. I think you want to know I’m still here. That’s why I think I scream at night.”

“But you’re scared?”

“This is the only thing that scares me.”

“That I won’t hear you? Is that what you’re afraid of?”

“The truth is I’m afraid you will hear. And that you will come back. And I don’t want you to come back. I want you to go. But I want to see you at the end. And if you come back before it’s over it’ll be too hard for me.”

“I would never hurt you.”

“No. But you’re not really there either.”

The more I dig the softer the earth gets, but the digging seems less significant.

My fingers burn. The tendons and muscles in my hands stretch and cramp. The bones crack and I eventually scream. Still, I can’t stop digging. This is no longer about what I’m doing but about something controlling me. Something I cannot stop. I want it to stop. Through sheer will I will make it stop and it does. I look back into the hole I dug. Then I look up.

It’s not dark out anymore. There is so much sun and it’s lovely and it’s warm. I’m in a wheat field and I run. There’s screaming in the distance and I run towards it. The farther I run the higher the wheat grows and the darker the sky gets. The screaming stops and so does the running.

Then I realize it’s just me again. All alone. And I’m unsure of what to do, of where to go. So I do what got me here, hoping it will take me where I need to be. I start digging again. The earth is soft here. The sun was out. It has to come back. All of it. Doesn’t it have to come back?

I don’t even realize it until I look down but I’ve dug another hole. The dirt is black and caked into my fingernails. I crawl into the hole. Then through the hole, pushing and pulling my way. The dirt fills up my nose. My throat. My mouth. I can’t breathe. I can’t see. The dirt packs into my ears and I can no longer hear. I forget which direction is up, but it hardly matters as I’m unsure where I’m going. So I keep pushing and pulling my way through. Then I feel no more dirt, only air. I pull myself out and gasp. I can breathe again.

I look around. It’s a scary place and I’m not sure what to do so I kick at the earth. It’s solid. Off in the distance the sun is either rising or setting. It doesn’t really matter if I can’t tell which, so long as it knows what it’s doing. Then I realize where I am.

I made it here. Where you are. I travelled all this way to give you something. So here I leave it for you and I hope this ends it all. You won’t like all of it, but these are things I need to tell you.

The letter

"I saved your life once. You stopped breathing and your heart stopped beating. I think that means that you died. But I brought you back. One time I didn’t though, and for that I’m sorry. But that one time I did. And I suppose you could say that makes me feel entitled to say a few things regarding me and you.”

She didn’t want to read it. Didn’t need to read it. As a matter of her and value it didn’t carry any practical weight. She’d done all she could for him. But she still loved him, and he wanted to think so, and she wanted to think so as well. And she did still love him. She’d always loved him, but not like he loved her. Not with how things were. It was different and confusing and all this time later it still didn’t make any sense. The best she could think of it was love but not love. She didn’t owe him anything. He didn’t have to come all this way just to leave this for her. They both knew that. But she continued reading, like they both knew she would.

“Do you remember what I did for you? Not just that I saved your life. And let me be clear about that. That’s a big deal. I figure saving your life gives me one card to play one time in life. A card that says, “I saved your life. Then I didn’t. Do you know what that does to a person? It ruins them. So you need to listen to what I have to say now.” I’ve never had to do that before. But I’ll do it now and I’ll never do it again. I need you to listen, so this one time and this one time only in the history of all the time is when I choose to play this card that says you have to listen. Just listen and follow my directions. In the end I can only hope that it will all make sense. That we still understand the nuance of each other. I don’t know if we do, but I hope that we do.

“I want to be honest with you. Sometimes I wish I never met you. Sometimes I think I might have been better off that way. That everything in life wouldn’t be so damn hard every single day. I really do think that. Not often, but sometimes. And I’m sorry for thinking like that, but this way of living is tiring. I’ve tried about fifty ways of living without you and every single one of them just brought me back to you. That just kills me, but I think I’ve found a way to make it stop. That unbroken circle I keep living. I think I know how to stop it and I want to tell you about it. Tell you what will happen and how it will happen and when.

"It starts tomorrow, for you. For me, I’ve already lived through it. I don’t have much time to tell you this. I’m catching up to you now. And I don’t want that to happen until the end. So I have to be quick about it. I was never quick about anything. Maybe that was the problem. But now it’s getting so I can almost see you again and it’s too soon for that. I can’t let that happen again. I can’t live through that again. So pay attention to all the things that will happen to me. Okay? I’ll just go ahead and do things. And you just watch them. Like I said, I’ve started already. Just doing things. Some things you will like and some things you won’t. But when it’s all over, when we’re at the end and we see each other again, you’ll know what I’ve done with my life. And you’ll be proud to know me and proud of the things that I’ve done and the person I was. Most important of all, we’ll have both been there for each other for that final bit at the end."