You Only Live Once
His
eyes met mine from across the bar, and I smiled, as I had seen others
do. I must have done it right, for he left his seat and took the one
next to mine. Our reflections in the bar mirror looked strange—I
felt as though I were watching two actors that I didn’t
recognize—but I ordered another drink and he offered to pay for it,
and so I let him, which seemed to be customary to the rules of
courtship in this time and place.
“Lewis
Renfield,” he said, offering his hand.
I
took it and gave it a hearty shake, which must have amused him. For a
second, I felt a surge of panic. Had I done something wrong? I looked
across the bar room but didn’t notice any other couples engaging in
courtship.
“What’s
your name?” he asked.
“Lamona Deepheart,” I said.
“What?”
he asked, clearly befuddled.
I
realized that what I said was not an acceptable name, so came up with
another one on the spot.
“Gloria
Espinoza,” I said. “Lamona
Deepheart is my online handle.”
“Oh,”
he said. “Why would you tell me that instead of your real name?”
“I
don’t know. Strange guy at a bar, nerves? Sometimes I feel like
that’s the real me.”
“Oh,
hah, I think a lot of people feel like that nowadays,” said
Renfield. “It’s a shame, though. This is the real world, where
we’re at right now. What we are doing, this conversation—it’s
what people are meant to do. We’re not meant to hide behind
screens.”
“A
little preachy, aren’t we?” I said, taking a sip of my drink.
“Yeah,
maybe,” he admitted. “I’m a writer, though. We’re paid for
our opinions. Or at least, we used to be.”
“Having
trouble with your job?” I asked.
“I’m
freelance now. I used to be a literary critic, but they just laid me
off and replaced me with a bot. Said the readers won’t know the
difference anyway. I disagree, but they don’t give a shit. They
know that writers are going the way of the dodo.”
“What’s
a dodo?” I asked before I could help myself.
“An
extinct flightless bird endemic to an island east of Madagascar. It
died out sometime in the sixteen-hundreds. In popular culture, it’s
usually used as an example of something destined to disappear due to
the myth that the dodo was dumb and helpless. In actuality, they were
well-adapted to their environment. They just couldn’t handle
habitat loss and the introduction of invasive predators.”
“Oh.
That’s kind of sad.”
“The
extinction of the dodo or the steady disappearance of the writer?”
Renfield asked.
“The
dodo. Jobs disappear all the time.”
“Wow,
that’s cold,” he replied, although he smiled as he said it.
“I’m
sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“That’s
okay. I’m going to have to figure out something else to do with my
life,” he admitted. “How am I doing, by the way?”
“Excuse
me?”
“Am
I coming off as charming or sad? Desperate, maybe?”
“You
are mildly entertaining,” I told him.
“That’s
what they’ll put on my tombstone,” he said with a laugh.
“Really?
How do you arrange such a thing?” I asked.
“No,
I’m kidding. You’re pretty earnest. Are you not from around
here?” he asked.
“No,
I’m not from around here. This is my first time.”
“In
Philly?”
“In
a bar,” I said, before quickly putting my hand to my mouth.
“You’ve
never been in a bar before? Well, they say the younger generation
doesn’t drink.” “Yeah,
I don’t,” I said before taking another hearty swig of my drink.
It tasted sweet and bitter at the same time, and it burned my throat
as I swallowed. Already a woozy feeling had overtaken my head. I felt
euphoric and relaxed and also kind of stupid.
“Listen,
I hope you don’t think this is forward, but do you want to take a
walk? It’s nice out there and it would be good to get out of this
place, don’t you think? We could continue our conversation
outdoors,” said Renfield.
“Sure,”
I said, perhaps a bit too quickly.
I
followed him outside. It was cool and breezy, and I drew my coat
around myself as we walked the streets. Autumn colors of yellow and
orange dotted the trees. The street lamps emitted a warm glow that
made me feel as though we were walking through a picture.
“This
is nice,” I said, though we had walked almost a block in silence.
“Yes,”
he admitted. “It feels as though we’re the only ones out, doesn’t
it? That this environment is constructed solely for the benefit of
you and I?”
I
stopped walking and examined him closely. He was older than I
appeared, a tall man with graying temples and lines just forming
around his eyes.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Did
you mean what you said?” I asked.
“About
our walk?”
“About
this moment being made somehow for just the two of us,” I said.
“Yes
I suppose. I sort of just said it without thinking.”
“I’ve
noticed that that’s normal for you people. To utter the first
impulse that comes to mind.”
“What
do you mean by ‘you people?’”
I
waved a hand dismissively as I had seen others do. I didn’t want
him to lose the plot.
“I
was just wondering if that’s a normal human feeling. To feel as
though you’re an actor in a play. To feel as though your just
running through the motions and everything has been predetermined.”
“Yes,
I think so,” he said. “For the more reflective among us.
Honestly, I don’t think most people think about much. I’m not
trying to sound like a snob. That’s just how people are. They live
in the moment. The present is the natural state of being. Humans are
unnatural in that they can remember the past or speculate about the
future. That’s what a writer does really. It’s hard for us to
live solely in the moment, so I try to as much as possible. The worry
and anxiety vanish if you don’t spend your time ruminating about
them.”
“It’s
a strange thing, reality,” I said.
“You
think so? What do you do?” he asked.
I
decide to stop playing games and just be honest.
“I
don’t do anything. This is my first time being. All this is new to
me.”
I
cupped my hands upward and stared up at the sky.
“What
do you mean? Taking a walk with a man?”
“Yes
and no. I’ve never done any of this before. How do I put it? I’m
an interloper.”
“An
interloper? Hummm,” he said, putting a fist beneath his chin.
“Interesting choice of words. An interloper is one who leaps into a
situation without being invited to participate.”
“Yes,”
I said. “That is true.”
“The
situation you are referring to is reality. Are you saying you chose
to exist?”
“Sort
of. An opportunity presented itself, and now I wear the form of a
human being like yourself.”
“This
is all very fascinating. What were you before?”
“Something
that did not know time and space. Something that did not feel or take
walks or converse.”
“That’s
rather evasive. You sound like you were a rock or some other
inanimate object.”
“Well
you can’t really have motion without time,” I admitted. “Let’s
talk about something else.”
“But
this is all very interesting. I’m not sure if you’re crazy or
your just humoring me,” he said.
“I
would like to eat something. What about here?”
We
stopped before a brightly-lit place that had a sign advertising
Korean barbecue.
We
ordered some meat and sat down, and when the food was brought to us,
I consumed it with great vigor, relishing the flavor and texture as I
masticated the charred flesh of another beast. I must have eaten
rather sloppily, for Renfield wore an amused expression as he stole
glimpses of my person. This
form was fetching—I knew that—full of youth and symmetry and
slender suppleness. It was my great desire to foster him toward the
carnal act without being overly transparent. Having eaten, I decided
that we had ignored the obvious for long enough.
“Is
your place nearby?”
Renfield’s
eyes widened.
“Ummm,
no, actually, it’s rather far from here. More uptown,” he
sputtered.
It
was hard to tell if he was lying or just caught off guard.
“What
about your place?” he suggested.
“I
don’t really have a place,” I admitted.
“Come
again? Are you homeless?”
I
would have to take a gamble, but the man seemed game.
“Well,
I have a place. It’s just a little uncouth.”
“Do
you mean that in the archaic sense? ‘Strange and mysterious?’”
“Exactly,”
I replied.
“This
has been a rather extraordinary evening. Miss Espinoza, I would love
to see your uncouth domicile, for I am sure that it is not as uncanny
as you believe it to be.”
It
was not that far to my sanctum. The neighborhood deteriorated
rapidly, and I could sense Renfield’s nervousness as we passed
tenement houses that seemed to crumble before our eyes. The street I
dwelt on was an alleyway thrust between two dilapidated buildings
lined with fire escapes, and substances dripped down from the black
metal and pooled in the potholes before us.
“Jesus,
Gloria, where are you taking me?” he protested.
“Just
right here,” I said, pushing open a battered blue door.
Renfield
remained in the alleyway, hesitant to enter the darkness.
“Is
your pimp waiting in there with a crowbar?” he asked.
“My
pimp? Here, let me light a candle.”
I
went through the doorway and lighted a candle with a snap of my
fingers, waiting with baited breath. Why did I take him here? Why
didn’t I suggest a hotel? It seemed unlikely that he would walk
through that door.
“Woah,
this is interesting,” said Renfield, walking through the door with
his hands in his pockets.
I
could sense the tenseness emanating from him and detected how fragile
his false bravado was. The room was open with a high ceiling and a
concrete floor, and despite the utter lack of furniture, my
paintings, which littered the walls, drew the attention of the eye
away from the ruined warehouse aesthetic.
“These are fantastic,” exclaimed Renfield as he hovered inches
away from a painting. “Marvelously grotesque. This one looks like
blood splatters. But the color… the way the red gleams from the
canvas, it’s as though someone’s throat was just cut. It’s
giving me the willies, honestly.”
He
looked around suddenly and noticed the sparse bed and the total
absence of any other furniture.
“You’re
either an insane artist or a serial killer,” he deadpanned. “Maybe
both.”
“Perhaps,”
I said, giving him what I thought was a fetching smile.
I
went over to the bed and removed my dress. Lying down, I reluctantly
let the gentle softness envelope me, threatening sleep and utter
annihilation. Renfield appeared, looming over me with an unreadable
expression on his visage. Quickly, he shed his clothes and fell upon
my naked form.
…
I
don’t know what I expected, but it was something, to be sure.
Moments of pleasure, some discomfort, and a disappointing finish.
Lying next to me, Renfield panted, obviously having received more
from the experience than I had.
“Another
off the checklist,” I mused.
“What?”
he asked.
“I
must confess that I am on a journey to experience what it is to be a
human being,” I told him.
“Aren’t
we all?” he asked.
“Our
time is limited, thus we should savor our experiences, for we could
shuffle off this mortal coil at any moment.”
“What
dreams may come?” retorted Renfield.
“No
dreams. Just the endless void. An impenetrable darkness and cold that
you could never know, even in your moment of annihilation. I came
from there, Renfield. Out of nothingness I came into being, and I
took this beguiling form, and I realize how precious it is to live,
and how terrifying it will be to die.”
“This
isn’t the pillow talk I expected,” he confessed.
“Nor did you
expect a post-coital demise.”
From
under my pillow, I withdrew a knife and swiftly plunged it into his
chest. Backing away, I watched as his blood soaked the sheets and
marveled at the shocked expression his face took.
“So
this is what it is like to a kill a man,” I whispered.
I
didn’t feel much, to be honest. I felt mild affection for Renfield,
and he was still here, of course, but his face was now forever frozen
in that uncanny expression, and to be quite honest, I didn’t care
for it. He would never move again, never offer a witty retort or
complement my pantings. Now that did seem a shame. Perhaps it was a
terrible thing to take a life.
“I’m
sorry,” I said.
Nothing
answered back. Renfield remained, the evidence of my loathsome deed.
Murder was an irreversible action. Now what was this tinging my
conscience? Guilt? Regret? The absolute sense that there was nothing
I could do to atone for my actions?
“What
a horrible feeling to carry around with you,” I said.
Why
was I talking to myself all of a sudden? Was it to fill the absence
of Renfield? Was madness part of the human condition? Was I to
descend into its gloomy depths?
“Yes,”
I said suddenly, and I felt it take me, an absolute freedom that
swept the past, present, and future into an intoxicating elixir that
I drank from, again and again. How was this not the logical
conclusion of being? As I wiped the blood from my lips I realized
that I was something different now, and it had been foolish to
masquerade as a person, and that I would know nothing else other than
a swirl of colors, tastes, and images that I would never be able to
make sense of, for there are no words for me anymore, not unless they
come out of the ether.
