{"id":1888,"date":"2012-01-13T09:17:31","date_gmt":"2012-01-13T14:17:31","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/jkuzmier.com\/blog\/?p=1888"},"modified":"2012-01-13T14:20:45","modified_gmt":"2012-01-13T19:20:45","slug":"there-is-no-escape","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/jkuzmier.com\/blog\/short-stories\/there-is-no-escape.htm","title":{"rendered":"There Is No Escape"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"There<\/a><\/p>\n

\tToday I sit on a public bus. We are both waiting patiently together as it fills with passengers, brushing by me one by one. I\u2019m glad to be sitting once more. I thought I had a day of freedom today, a day where the chains of illness were gone and I could break free of the confines of my sick room. The pretending I use to forget my pain almost won the battle by killing it for real, for good. But as the pain creeps up on me now, little by little, an inch more intensely second by second, I realize I was wrong. The war is still on, my body the battlefield it scorches, with no exit door for me to escape to.<\/p>\n

\tThere is pressure exploding behind my eyes as I sit here on the bus, waiting. It rages, like it wants to break free from the cage of my skull. It\u2019s a demon that\u2019s grown old to me, even as it scampers to my lungs stealing the air from the source. This pain travels with me everywhere. It\u2019s been this way for so long, I\u2019ve forgotten if there even was a time that I lived without it. Sometimes, I even forget it is there. <\/p>\n

This forgetting I have from time to time is not a case so much of being free of the pain\u2019s existence. I would describe this forgetting by saying, it\u2019s like the longer you are in prison, the more you will call it home, and take it for granted. This is what it is like for me. The prison of pain I feel is my home. We coexist there, it and I. I take it for granted, like it’s trivia that inhabits the everyday world. So, I forget the obvious, that pain holds me in chains. <\/p>\n

\tThough I know it isn\u2019t the reason for the pain, it doesn\u2019t help that the bus I\u2019m on coughs and sputters as it sits and waits for its fill of passengers. The vehicle\u2019s fumes seem to choke itself, as I hear it gasp for its own version of oxygen to survive the next run through the city. I could leave the bus, but the pain will just follow me. I know that. So I sit, and wait. Any seat in hell is as good as any other, if the exit door to the inferno is locked.<\/p>\n

\tThe bus seat I am sitting in provides little comfort to me, which doesn\u2019t come as the biggest surprise to me. There\u2019s something resembling a cushion padding its surface, but nothing in my body registers this sham as being anything but pretense. I believe the seat was blue at one point, but I don\u2019t know how to describe the dull hue it is now. There is nothing physically soothing about this resting place, nothing to take away from the dull ache that seeps through every pore of my body. But it is a change from suffering the same exact pain while on my feet. A change from being locked up in a room, isolated from anything but my own private hell. Perhaps this small alteration is a kind of relief, in its own way. <\/p>\n

\tBodies trickle onto the bus, one by one. They all seemed tinged with the same concrete lethargy that weighs me down. I am too tired to care that I am not the only one. Maybe everyone suffers together, but everyone lives in a private hell whose walls cannot be breached by another. There is no fellowship in that place of isolation. I know that well. How can I believe in a savior for the masses when this is what life is, in the end game? The weariness that each of the passengers wears as they brush their bodies by me in the narrow aisle, one by one, dropping into their respective seats, tells me that they know this as well, at least somewhere deep inside themselves where the collective soul rots, waiting for death to come. <\/p>\n

\t The driver has been ready to go since I got on, and I was one of the first passengers. He\u2019s one of the impatient ones, the kind that visibly are agitated when someone\u2019s slow up the steps, or tries to pay cash instead of having a pre-paid pass. I\u2019ve seen him like this many times I\u2019ve ridden the bus, and today he\u2019s no less blunt than any other day. He\u2019s scolded four people, just on this run alone. He says the same exact thing to them, in the exact same tone, with the exact same intonations, every day and every time. It\u2019s like he\u2019s programmed like a robot. Does it help him pretend that life is predictable, acting like that? <\/p>\n

\tThis is what he says to the guilty ones with coins, with so much exasperation the emotion breathes out of his screeching voice, \u201cYou know, it\u2019s much better for everyone if you get a bus pass. They\u2019re easier and quicker. You can get them at the depot. Just about everyone has them. So should you.\u201d <\/p>\n

\tI\u2019ve seen people recoil at this lecture, the shock and hurt registering in their faces. Others, like the quartet today, show no new reaction. I suppose if you\u2019ve been bled out completely, there is no more life to be sucked from you. I breathe the listlessness of the travelers with every movement they make as each one fills the bus, leaving only the seat next to me and the two in front of me empty. The lifelessness of the passengers sinks me even deeper into the bottomless vortex of fatigue that my body and mind are trapped in. <\/p>\n

\tMy eyes close with heaviness. But when I give into the weariness, all I am reminded of is the physical prison each and every organ of my body is chained to. Invisible clamps compress everything that is me. This is what I am confronted with whenever I hide behind my eyes, and then I remember there is no escape from my pain. So I open my eyes once more, and the world swims alive once again before my vision. I remember that physical pain doesn\u2019t seem so overbearing when I know others are there. Even when they are the ornery and the difficult, like today\u2019s bus driver. I can go back to forgetting, when I remain awake.<\/p>\n

\tThe door to the bus begins to shut, but I\u2019m close enough to it that I can hear a shout coming from outside, crying \u201cWait! Wait! Wait!\u201d. The driver swears without hiding it. An old lady in the aisle seat that\u2019s diagonal to me, on the front right scowls at the driver in reproach, puckering her lips and glaring at him. She wears a red blazer with a long matching red skirt, with bright red lipstick to match, and a double pearl white necklace. Her white hair is coiffed into a neat bun, and she has her hands folded around a white pocketbook that sits in her lap. The bus driver ignores her silent admonishment as he opens the door so the latecomer, in this case, latecomers, can board. <\/p>\n

\tTwo tall burly bearded men climb the stairs. They almost look like fraternal twins, except the first one is dark haired, and the one following him is light haired. They are dressed in flannel jackets, jeans and work boots. I recognize the voice of hailing the bus as being the dark haired one when he says to the driver, \u201cHey, thanks a lot for stopping. Sorry to hold you up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cCan\u2019t you be on the bus stop on time? I don\u2019t like to be late. Some people have a schedule to follow,\u201d the driver snaps. The old lady diagonal to me glares at both him, and the passengers. <\/p>\n

\t\u201cWell, I hope you have a nice day too,\u201d the dark-haired one says with a toothy grin as he swipes his bus pass, and sits in one of the two seats in front of me. The light-haired one is counting out change. <\/p>\n

\t\u201cOh for crying out loud,\u201d snaps the driver. \u201cYou hold me up, and you don\u2019t even have your change figured out? I need a f%@!\u2013ing raise.\u201d Well, I think with some irony to entertain myself, at least that particular outburst proves the driver isn\u2019t a robot on automatic. The old lady glares at the driver, but he apparently doesn\u2019t get the hint as he continues, \u201cYou know, it\u2019s much better for everyone if you get a bus pass. They\u2019re easier and \u2014\u201d\t<\/p>\n

\t\u201cYeah, yeah, yeah. They\u2019re easier and quicker. I can get them at the depot. So I\u2019ve heard. Whatever.\u201d The light-haired one says with a dismissive wave of his hand as he drops the change into the bucket. The driver\u2019s mouth moves, I can see in the mirror. I can\u2019t hear him, but I see the rage in his face that goes nowhere because it\u2019s ignored. The old lady looks at the light-haired man as though he is a curiosity at a zoo. He gives her a small wave, then drops into the empty seat next to his dark-haired companion. The old lady wears a small smile as he passes her. \u201cSome things don\u2019t change,\u201d he says to the dark-haired guy, nodding his head towards the driver. <\/p>\n

\t\u201cToo true, too true,\u201d the dark-haired one replies, with a sigh. <\/p>\n

\tThe bus driver slams the door shut as vehemently in some kind of response, but no one pays him any attention. Finally, we begin moving. The jolt of the bus pulling out of its parking spot makes me briefly nauseous, but I manage to bring it back in check. I sit back as comfortably I can, considering it feels like the bus is gunning for every pothole in existence. I\u2019m glad for the only empty seat in the bus next to me. I\u2019m too exhausted to even want to participate in any chatter or conversation. I look out the window, watching the world spin by me in a blur. This makes me dizzy, so I look ahead, to the two men sitting in front of me. <\/p>\n

\tThe dark-haired guy looks out the window, smiling and squinting like he\u2019s looking for something but can\u2019t quite find it. The light-haired one sits back as far as he can in the tiny seat, but it seems to crane his neck. He sits forward instead. \u201cWhy are we taking the bus? Everyone has a lousy attitude.\u201d The old lady in the red suit raises her eyebrows as she gives the light-haired one a quick glance.<\/p>\n

\tThe dark-haired one looks over to him, then asks, \u201cReally. Unlike you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cHey. I only call it like I see it. And who better than an expert?\u201d The bus driver glares in the mirror at him. The light-haired one seems to sense it, his head still and forward. \u201cNothing like customer service.\u201d The driver looks back to the road, and the light-haired one shakes his head.<\/p>\n

\t\u201cYou\u2019re an idealist. You think one day, things will magically change. That\u2019s your problem.\u201d The dark-haired one smiles widely as he delivers this wisdom. <\/p>\n

\t\u201cOh, stop it. I hate it when you get on your positive spiel.\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cWell, that\u2019s ironic, isn\u2019t it? You\u2019re the one who expects people to change into something better. I don\u2019t. They are what they are. Yet you\u2019re the grumpy one. Right?\u201d The dark-haired one smiles up at the driver, who still is staring straight ahead. The light-haired guy shrugs his shoulders, as someone sneezes behind me, and someone else coughs. The bus stops short at a red light, and everyone is jostled by the abrupt halt. My temples feel like they are being stabbed, and my vision feels blurred again. I see the outline of the light-haired one turn around, facing the back of the bus. <\/p>\n

\tHe issues a statement. \u201cI\u2019m going to get sick on this bus. I know it.\u201d\t<\/p>\n

\t\u201cOh please, it\u2019s flu season. People sneeze during flu season. Don\u2019t get so uptight,\u201d his companion admonishes. My vision clears up for a moment, and see the light-haired one glaring at him.<\/p>\n

\t\u201cYou know, when you tell someone not to be uptight, it has the exact opposite effect. It\u2019s arrogant to say that crap to people,\u201d snaps the light-haired one to his seatmate. Someone else sneezes in the back. \u201cListen to that. I\u2019m supposed to relax?\u201d <\/p>\n

\t\u201cWell, you got your flu shot, right?\u201d <\/p>\n

\tThe light-haired one looks at his companion like he\u2019s crazy. \u201cTrust the government and big business to dispense medicine and physical health? Are you nuts? They\u2019re probably collecting DNA samples for Homeland Security with those shots.\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cYou\u2019re too paranoid, you know that, right?\u201d admonishes the smiling dark-haired lecturer.<\/p>\n

\t\u201cAnd being paranoid in this world is a bad thing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cWell, is it making you happy? That\u2019s what I would like to know. It\u2019s not like it changes anything, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cOh man, you drive me crazy with this \u2018think positive\u2019 stuff. There\u2019s no arguing with you, is there? No one but you is ever right. That\u2019s why you keep saying the word all of the time. Right? Right? It seriously drive me nuts…\u201d<\/p>\n

\tI feel the glands by my throat tighten as the light-haired one continues to squabble, my body constricting with the pressure in my head. I feel like I am breathing in a room that is losing oxygen, and switch my seat to the window seat so I can sit leaning on the wall. It\u2019s not comfortable, but I can stretch my legs, and I revel in that positive fact. The thread of positive thinking seems to have seeped into my mind. I don\u2019t feel any happier, but my legs like the new position I\u2019m in. <\/p>\n

\tMy movement seems to have triggered the attention of the light-haired guy, even as his companion speaks. The light-haired one stares, right at me. He\u2019s good looking, in a unique sort of way. Straw blond hair with darker highlights and long bangs that seem to enjoy flopping in his face, a goatee with two-day stubble on the rest of his face, blue eyes. Stocky in build, with a round angel face, he seems to embody both ruggedness and vulnerability in perfect balance. I blink at him, and my vision gets blurry again as my eyes begin to hurt. <\/p>\n

\t\u201cHey lady!\u201d The light-haired guy\u2019s outline is still facing me, so I believe he\u2019s speaking to me. \u201cYou okay?\u201d <\/p>\n

\tI sense his companion turning towards me, and the old lady\u2019s head as well. The air I breathe feels even more constricted with the unwanted attention, the pressure of their focus materializing in a chokehold on my ability to breathe. Although I can\u2019t know for sure what provoked the question, my blurry vision feels like a clue. <\/p>\n

\tI try to swallow away the terror I feel, to remain calm. But it\u2019s hard to gauge myself when everything is swimming in ambiguity. Especially hard, when it feels like I am being slowly executed by weight added by the ounce to my chest. My face trembles, but whether it\u2019s the terror or my body betraying me, I don\u2019t know. I focus on my answer, hoping to bring things back to some kind of balance.
\n\t\u201cYes. I\u2019m fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cYou\u2019re eyes are all bloodshot! That\u2019s fine?\u201d he exclaims.<\/p>\n

\t\u201cOh, leave the lady alone already.\u201d his dark-haired friend lectures him. \u201cIt\u2019s the city. Pollution does that to people.\u201d I sense him turning around to face me. \u201cSorry about my friend. He overreacts to everything. But that\u2019s just him. He was that way when I met him in the third grade. He doesn\u2019t mean it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cYes I do!\u201d snaps his friend. I sense his eyes glaring at me. Blinking, my vision clears up enough to confirm this intuition. \u201cI\u2019m going to die.\u201d he states to my face while staring right through it.<\/p>\n

\t\u201cOh stop it. Of course you\u2019re going to die. So will everyone else. Stop being a drama queen about it.\u201d the dark-haired guy says, laughing.<\/p>\n

\tThe light-haired guy gives me another look before turning away as he snaps, \u201cDumb drunks and addicts. I hate the city. I don\u2019t know how you managed to stay in this place.\u201d <\/p>\n

\tAnother laugh from his friend. \u201cOh. There\u2019s no dumb drunks and addicts in the countryside?\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cSure. But there\u2019s half a mile in between them. Not six inches in either direction.\u201d Someone else sneezes from the back, and I hear two distinct coughs as well. \u201cI\u2019m going to die,\u201d the light-haired one states again. <\/p>\n

\tI feel throbbing pain that is so pervasive I can\u2019t pinpoint where it starts, or what it\u2019s attacking. I just know it\u2019s there, and can\u2019t help but empathize with the light-haired guy. I feel like I\u2019m going to die, as well. <\/p>\n

\t\u201cYou know,\u201d the light-haired guy says to his friend, \u201cyou like to write me of as a paranoid. But we\u2019re really overdue for a pandemic, as a species. That\u2019s what history teaches.\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cOh, so sit around and worry yourself to death in the meantime, waiting for the day that you can tell me \u2018I told you so\u2019? That\u2019s your solution?\u201d The dark-haired one is still laughing.<\/p>\n

\t\u201cI\u2019m serious. With all the overpopulation, the overcrowding, all the mass transportation? Plus all the natural disasters and refugee camps in this world? It\u2019s a recipe for disaster. And don\u2019t get me started on all the crazy people with their finger on the bomb.\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cDon\u2019t worry, I won\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cYou know, I feel like the prophet Cassandra. I\u2019m seeing the Greeks breach the walls with a Trojan horse, but no one listens to me. I feel invisible.\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cYes, I know you do. You\u2019ve told me so.\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cAnd you ignore me. Just like the Trojans did to Cassandra, to their peril.\u201d The light-haired guy sighs loudly enough that I can hear him over the bus engine. \u201cAnd you know I\u2019m not the only one who feels this way.\u201d<\/p>\n

\tThe dark-haired one nods thoughtfully as he speaks. \u201cI know. The Mayans, Nostradamus, the Hopi, they\u2019ve all said stuff like you do. I do read the books you send me, you know. Out of the goodness of my heart.\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cNot just them. The Dalai Lama suggested that we need to get attacked by aliens.\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cThe Dalai Lama said we should get attacked by aliens?\u201d The dark-haired one starts laughing again as he replies. \u201cOkay, I really have trouble with that one. Where did you see that, on some You Tube video? Next thing you\u2019ll be saying is that Mother Theresa\u2019s dying words were that India should nuke Pakistan over Kashmir and sing Kumbaya when the radioactive dust settles.\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cI\u2019m serious. I read it in a book he did with this psychiatrist about happiness.\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cYou read a book on happiness? Wow! Maybe the end of the world is coming.\u201d<\/p>\n

\tThe light-haired guy rolls his eyes. \u201cI\u2019m serious! He was saying that mankind doesn\u2019t seem to realize its common humanity until it\u2019s pushed to the brink and some crisis smacks us in the face. Maybe we need something like that. Maybe we\u2019re in need of a really good disaster to wake us up as a species. All the destruction we do to this planet, to each other?\u201d The light-haired one waves his hand towards the window. \u201cLook how this city has decayed, just in the last thirty years. It was bad when we were growing up, and it\u2019s only gotten worse. Here, and everywhere else. And we keep barreling blindly, running over everything and everyone in our way. You know how it\u2019s supposed to be the end of the world soon? They\u2019ll probably hydrofrack Old Faithful just because it has two gallons of natural gas there and then dump radioactive waste there, and thar she blows! Bye, bye world! That\u2019s how pathetic we are as a species. We\u2019ll be the ones who will do ourselves in. And we\u2019ll do it while thinking we\u2019re making progress.\u201d The light-haired one shakes his head. \u201cWe need something to wake us up. I really believe it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\tThe dark-haired one sighs. \u201cWell, be careful what you wish for. You might get it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\t\u201cI hope so. I really do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\tI feel a spasm rising up in me, as the light-haired one sits back once more. The world he inhabits, the one with his friend, the old lady, and the cranky bus driver seem suddenly vague to me, as though I am slipping from them. They all seem so far away, as the pressure in my chest dispels a strange vertigo throughout my body. I can physically feel my chest drowning in some liquid that it finds foreign to it, and a strange dread rises with the volatility that is stirring in me. Seeking relief, I can feel the liquid raise up through my throat. <\/p>\n

\tI reach for the tissues I hoped I wouldn\u2019t have to use, stuffed in my pocket, afraid of what will happen next. Think positive, I try to calm myself, thinking of the dark-haired one\u2019s sunny advice. Maybe it is nothing. Why sit around and worry myself in the meantime, right? <\/p>\n

\tI cough, spitting up the offending liquid. Yet my terror lies in what I will find when I finish convulsing. Perhaps the liquid will be clear, or yellow. I hope it is. It will be nothing to worry about, then. It is flu season, after all. <\/p>\n

\tMy heart pounds as the explosion within me ends. I am out of breath like I\u2019ve run a race, one that I feel I have lost. The light-haired one is looking at me, once again. \u201cWe\u2019re all going to die,\u201d he says. <\/p>\n

\tI look at the napkin, low enough that he can\u2019t see it. Red globes of clot are mixed in with the sputum. I put the napkin to my mouth once more to wipe away the stench of death, but I can\u2019t help but meet the eyes of the light-haired one as I do. Cassandra was right, once again. There is no escape from the judgment. <\/p>\n

As the bus abruptly comes to a full stop, I have to flee as quickly I can from the eyes that stare through me. I know there is no escape, no matter where I run to, but I decide to abandon the bus anyway. As the bus pulls away, the limit of my existence is forced upon me. I am condemned to the disease that rips the community from me. The illness has made me one with it once again, and there is no escape, even in the world of the living. Now what?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Today I sit on a public bus. We are both waiting patiently together as it fills with passengers, brushing by me one by one. I\u2019m glad to be sitting once more. I thought I had a day of freedom today, a day where the chains of illness were gone and I could break free of […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[13],"tags":[],"views":4057,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/jkuzmier.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1888"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/jkuzmier.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/jkuzmier.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jkuzmier.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jkuzmier.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1888"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/jkuzmier.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1888\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1909,"href":"https:\/\/jkuzmier.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1888\/revisions\/1909"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/jkuzmier.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1888"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jkuzmier.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1888"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jkuzmier.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1888"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}