The Headache's Eyes At The Door

I am not standing outside the home of a famous writer and I don't know how long I would have to walk from this very spot to be standing outside the house of a famous writer. Maybe the Margarett Mitchell house downtown? That would take hours if I went on foot. A tourist's idea of how to be in motion already. Despite living in a city of many varied look-at-able things I rarely move so much unless I'm on vacation and how can I go on vacation when I haven't worked in a year? How did we ever make it work like that?

They say not every vacation is what it's cracked up to be. No, they don't say that, I say that. And I don't say that like I say it all the time, I say it recently and only in reference to a vacation I didn't go on.

My friends took friends to Florida and one of the people they took to Florida was a headache to everyone. Weirdly demanding, obsessed with and highly defensive of AI chat bots which he tries to use for everything, screaming at people when he thinks they are dominating him. The kind of headache that leads to brain aneurysms.

It's been a good teaching tool for me. I've been showing myself the outcomes of this vacation and saying "See, this is what someone has to do for Everyone To Hate Them. See, these are the outcomes of being the kind of social pariah you think you become every time you spend time with people you've known and loved for years." I'm slow at learning but I'm trying my best to pay attention to me when I decide it's time for a lesson.

I don't have a story from the past to draw upon for this. I haven't alchemized any wisdom except that it's easier to be in motion if you are already in motion. To start moving you must find a way to put yourself into a state of Already In Motion from a state of Already Motionless.

I'm motionless in that I am not traveling to or returning from Florida. I'm motionless in that I sheltered indoors from Hurricane Hellene. I'm motionless in that I was sheltering indoors already. I'm motionless in that I haven't really worked in eleven months. I've been sheltering from motion.

The same headache from Florida called me on the phone a week after the trip. A week after multiple people told me multiple sides of multiple stories of What Happened. He called me in tears. He described how he had abused his wife. He said she filmed him and said she would "show the world." So far she hasn't come forward unless it's on social media where I have no eyes.

When I heard his upset voice I knew what kind of call this was. The kind of call his friends have told him not to make to them. One by one the boys in the friend group had to tell him "You can't bring this into my life." "Don't call me when you're like this." The girls... he doesn't call them I don't think.

My fiance (a French term you have my permission to type into google translate if you need) was napping in the other room. I tiptoed all around him earlier — closing the blinds, putting a blanket on him, dimming the lights.

The headache called me. When I heard his upset voice I knew what kind of call this was. He wanted me to calm him down. I told him to breathe. I asked him where he was (outside.) I asked him if it was raining (it wasn't.) I asked where his pets were (in the house.)

I was in my desk chair staring at half a cover letter which I was certain would not be read by a human.

The upset in the headache's voice told me I wasn't helping. He yelled over my voice. He described the way he had abused his wife. His words opened up a cellar door in my skull. He described in surreal detail the exact experience I had when someone did those things to me. I could feel the hands of someone I never wish to see again on my body. I could feel the male shame of letting someone shorter than you hurt you. (We never stop being little boys.)

He said he Needed me to Help Him Find Her. He said he Didn't Have Anyone Else To Call. He said I was all that was left. I could distantly hear the sound of my own sympathy for the alone. I covered my inside ears.

I opened my mouth to say NO and he said "Oh she's back!" and hung up on me.

I looked at my phone. I looked into the cellar door. I felt a bullet enter my gut, faster than the human eye can see.

We have a rule, my fiance and I. We have a rule that says "Whosoever sleeps can be woken up." We need this rule because we, both of us, will bury our own needs and greatest fears and pains beneath I Didn't Want To Bother You. I tried to keep the tears in for a monumental forty-five seconds before following the rule.

He awoke and understood why I felt like I felt. He always does because he worked so hard to. He told me to call someone who knows the headache's wife better. To warn them if she needs help. I thought about my friend's wife, she organized the Florida trip. I didn't call her; I called my friend, her husband — because I was crying and I know him more.

"Hello."

"I'm sorry for calling. It's just emdash;"

My friend was kind, he always is. Sometimes in obvious ways anyone could understand, sometimes in his own ways which I know from knowing him. He said he doesn't even answer calls from the headache. He said he almost didn't answer my call but thought "No, I trust Joshua." I told him I knew, that's why I apologized when he picked up. I hope that didn't hit him as hard as it hindsight-ly feels like it might have.

He told me many stories of Florida. I calmed down. I acutely felt the links in a chain of explosive feelings. Each link is one person calling another person looking for calmness. My Friend told me a story of when the headache came to their home ("Back when they still lived nearby.") before dawn, to more or less demand they fix his marriage. He described his wife trying to keep the headache from chasing his wife down in the street. My friend described the look in his eye when his wife tried to stop him. It was a look which he says instantly unnerved her. Us humans sometimes know how animals feel, I thought.

I spoke to my friend's wife who proved to me (once again) that despite us rarely talking she is not My Friend's Wife but she is, in fact, My Friend As Well. She told me the headache's wife refuses to discuss the problems in the marriage. That she's so tight lipped that there's nothing to be done. I accepted it, and I guess I accept that I accept it.

My Friend As Well told the story of the headache's eyes at the door. She knows how animals feel.

We ended the conversation with the formation of dinner plans. I could breathe again.

I went to my fiance who will one day be someone else's My Friend's Husband. He put his arms around me. A text slipped into my phone. It was from the headache. It was lengthy. It smelled like AI had been employed in its writing. It told me I was a good friend, that my safety was the most important thing, and that I didn't have to respond immediately if I didn't want to.

I was already motionless.

September 2024