A Ghost of a Memory

On January ninth, my good friend Zachary Jasper committed suicide. There is no way to sugar-coat it because at the end of the day, he is at the end of that body of water fifty paces in front of me. When I look out, I see the scenery in sepia, with only a verdant grass to add a hint of color. To the left is a gnarled tree about three feet tall desperately gripping a slight slope with its tendrilous roots. A few stones speckle the slope around the roots and some of the grass to the right. Ugly, dead bushes that had once flourished with foliage now suffer the abuse of a inclement wind. This wind disturbs the serenity of the water's smooth surface which now laps aggressively on the land. One mighty gush from the back forces me to take a step forward for balance, and I find that I have a kind of momentum that encourages me on. It isn't everyday that I come to this place, nor do I come on the anniversary of Zach's departure; in fact, I have never been here in my life. I just happened to stop by when I saw the peculiar tree slanting over two large tire tracks. It's branches creates a sort of nebula of twisted, lifeless clouds with an illusion of a smokey edge due to the concentration of smaller branches that seem to fade out of the tree like dust. When I got out of the car, in sheer fascination of the grotesque tree, I was struck with the weighty memory of what had happened two years ago on this very day. Immediately I thought of the distance between Zach and myself and stood frozen with a disgusting feeling of having lost something invaluable. Following this feeling came the stark reality of death, the utter eternity of it, and the powerlessness us humans are destined to struggle with when faced by such an opponent.

For one wild second, I thought of racing into the water and swimming to the other side as some crazy demon took hold of my mental faculties and persuaded me that Zach would be stranded there. That's when the wind had pushed me forward with not so much as a farewell. Just like that, the world was shoving me onto the path of no return. I didn't like the way it intruded upon my private thoughts, and so I anchored myself to the ground in case it should try to lure me to the waters again. I sat in the median of the two tracks, folded my knees to my chest, and waited for something to happen. As ridiculous as it sounds, I was perhaps waiting for a kind of vision or apparition, as one does when the absence of a friend has been so haunting, but soon enough I was ashamed of my childish hope. Instead, I was left with the company of that malicious wind driven with determination to disturb my meditation. I wanted to think of Zach since the harsh truth of living is that we can no longer devote as much time to those who have left us, and as unintentional as my negligence was, the guilt still lingered. I refused to allow my mind to examine what Zach might have thought or felt at the time. I think, to imagine his suffering so personally while simultaneously sympathizing with him as his friend, would have undone me. I had always known him to be a bit stubborn, emotionally introverted, but very passionate about things that he was verily concerned with. Whether he was raging or ecstatic, he was always a powerful punch of energy, which of course, was a lovely trait of his. A trait that I miss having the genuine pleasure of witnessing. Soon after my moment of reminiscing, I realized that I had shed of few tears which had been whipped away by the wind. Although the wind succeeded in concealing my outward expressions of mourning, it nevertheless could prevent the deep, intolerable pangs in my gut, the aching in my chest, or the quick, sharp breaths that shot from me. No matter how long I had suppressed the memory of January ninth, the truth was, that awful feeling of loss would always remain with me.   


© Mikal Minarich