The Curse

The Curse

The tropical sun couldn’t brighten his thoughts or warm his soul. The fresh conch tasted spoiled, the key lime pie seemed to turn to ash in his mouth. Another rum was ordered.. it seemed to be the only thing he could stomach. The sheer heart-ache threatened to consume him in ways he never thought possible. It was a curse, he decided. It had to be. Nothing natural should feel like this. It was strange, really. Nearly four decades on this rock floating in space, and Marcus still lied to himself about how things like emotions worked.

(“Feelin my life’s bout, to wipe out.. these feelings I’m feelin be killin me..”)

Sitting on the beach, rum in hand, staring at the water, did nothing to bring the desired peace to his mind & spirit. He set his glass down on the arm of his chair and leaned forward slightly, right thumb and index finger almost absently twisting the metal band on his left ring finger. Realizing the motion, he stopped, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. After a moment, he grabbed his glass and downed it, savoring the burn of the rum. He stood and set off, aimlessly at first, before his feet began carrying him towards the pier.

(“I pull the mic out, can’t strike out.. cuz if winnin is really my enemy..”)

He stood at the end of the pier, gazing down at the waves crashing against the support pillars, eyes unseeing. He twisted his ring again, the metal band taunting him. Memories surged unbidden to the fore of his mind. A laugh, a look, that he thought had been gifted to him, alone. And yet… his breathing quickened, his pulse pounded. He wished he could rip away the memories, and the feelings that came with them. It truly was a curse, being able to feel, he reasoned. And he wished in that moment it would stop.

He had one hand gripping the rail, a foot raised towards the bench.. the water below… no. No, this.. this wouldn’t work. There was another option, in his room. Next to his badge, in his bag. No.. the water was not the way. Well… not completely anyway. He yanked the cursed band off his ring finger and tossed it.

(“I pull a n*** out, b*** my mind out.. is the end of me really serenity?")

The buzzing in the hotel room was incessant. As if emerging from a cloud, Marcus realized someone was very persistently trying to reach him. Which felt like a marvel in and of itself, somehow. He was sitting at the desk by the window, possible escape in hand. But the buzzing…

Curious, he set the cold steel down, moving towards the nightstand. He picked up the phone. The caller ID showed a number he didn’t recognize.

“Hello?” He startled himself with how much his voice cracked from disuse the last couple of days. The unexpected didn’t stop there.

“Marcus! Don’t hang up!”

His breath hitched when he heard the voice. Why? Why now? He looked at the phone again. Nope, no mistaking his eyes… it was still an unknown number.

“Marcus? Marcus, baby….”

“DON’T! Why.. why are you even… I don’t have time for this…” His chest was heaving, heart pounding as if to escape his chest. Old joy and relief warred with new pain and rage within him.

“Marcus, don’t hang up! Where are you?! Everyone’s worried! I’M worried!”

“You… YOU of all people are worried?” Disbelief and incredulous laughter.

“Please, Marcus? No one knows where you are…we’re all worried. I.. I checked the bank account.. I saw the airline ticket purchase. I.. I’ve been trying to call you.”

“I blocked you.” Delivered as gruffly and plainly as he could through his maelstrom of emotion.

“I know, baby…I mean.. I.. I know. Just.. can we talk? Please?”

He glanced at the desk, at the cold steel, beckoning a possible escape from the turmoil inside.

“Marcus? Marcus! PLEASE!”

Sheer exhaustion, physical and emotion; the curse refusing to relinquish it’s hold.

He sat down on the bed.

“Alright.”

(“I’m glad that you called when you called me.. cuz you stopped me from doin something awful...”)

....The End...

('Our House' - King Crooked, via Slaughterhouse)

('Glad You Called' - Anthony Hamilton)

To everyone going through something… hold on.

To everyone who went through something… we made it.