Lost Trust


    Smoke dances and glasses clink. Standard sensory input. My eyes make out the hazy shapes of shadows bouncing lightly as I hear laughter. A joke has been made. I laugh a little out of habit, after all it's only polite.

    Slowly my hand reaches forward. I feel my back muscles contract and then expand as my chest pulls my shoulder forward. Carefully, cautiously, my hand turns over, exposing my finger tips to the cold hard glass. It's feeling is now very well known, just an extension of my body.

    My forearm works and my back tenses as I tighten my grip around the glass. Gently I raise the small shot glass, staring into it's shallow nectar.

    The golden poison stares back at me. Tempting me. Mocking me. It means nothing, and has no value, yet all consume it and many seem to enjoy it. What am I missing, I wonder.

    A soft yellow light catches the rim of the glass dancing a circle, as I rotate the glass in my hand. The object seems so distant, so separate from me, but its weight is all too familiar. I bring the glass slowly to my lips. A harsh aroma hits my nose just before the sting and strong flavor hammer my mouth. As I force myself to swallow, a warmth runs down my neck. The loving caress of death. Something that originally got to me, now something I simply accept.

    I contemplate life and death as I stare into the now empty, hollow glass. It calls to me no more. Simply a reminder of all I've had and lost. As I put it back on the table, with less care than when I raised it, the drone of conversation sinks back in. My mind snaps into small talk mode while thinking about six other more important things.

    Request. Response. Request. Response. Request. Response. The pattern is all too familiar. All outcomes of the conversation are easily thought of before they occur.

    Communication really is quite simple once you stop caring about it or analyzing it. Most of the words are processed and some are stored for later, all without breaking me from my other thoughts. Thoughts of movement and form, life and the decisions with in it, amongst other things.

    The repetitious pattern continues for minutes, hours, days. Time has no meaning. My mind is working, yet I am slowly drifting away.

    Suddenly I'm a child playing in a play ground, while the older me is fighting the outsiders, keeping my playground safe. Here in my play ground I run and jump, as free as I could ever dream of being. Meanwhile somewhat unbeknownst to me, the child, the battle rages on.

    I stare up into the bright blue sky with it's fluffy with clouds smiling down upon me. Cold, moist dew plays across my ankles and feet, as blades of grass tickle my toes. I am happy, content in my world.

    I start to spin, simply for the joy of motion. The clouds swirl round and round. Giggling, my world blurs and I begin to grow dizzy. Reluctantly I slow and stop.

    My heart is pounding. As I take a deep breath, I let my head relax and my view drops out and down, like a cast fishing line. Eventually my head becomes parallel with the ground. I fall on my ass. In front of me there is a wall of grey, a wall of destruction. It's then that it sinks in. I'm in the middle of a battle field.

    My focus jumps, and I'm the soldier, fighting the good fight. They lob a grenade, and I lob one back. Dirt flies everywhere hitting my face and my arms. Small cuts sting my body, but still I stay focused.

    Another volley is lobbed. I watch for it's origin as I dive for cover. A loud boom hits my ears, followed by a painful silence. A cloud of smoke and dirt fills the air.

    I cough. The smoke is slowly strangling me. Ripping at my nose and lungs. Again, I cough, and the familiar inputs return. The low light, the smoke, the murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses. My mind has returned to the conversation.

    They are asking for input not readily available. I think. Processing.. processing, subject found. I run through the subject and search for the relevant material, disseminating information that's not pertinent or information I can't put into words, from the coherent thoughts they're searching for, longing for. Once the answer is found, my mouth moves on instinct, relaying the required data in bursts of sound.

    I wait for acknowledgement, or a request for more information. It feels like an eternity goes by as they think, process, and store the response. Then they acknowledge. Consciously I decide to stay in the conversation for a little while longer, letting the freedom float away. I know it'll be there for me when I want it.

    I listen to the voices, they talk and they laugh, Their inflections are interesting. Low, high, louder, louder, laughter. The voices blur together and become a chaotic symphony. It reminds me of the tuning of instruments at an orchestra, completely chaotic, yet oddly beautiful and compelling.

    As I listen, my eyes roam freely, enjoying the muted colors and shadows. Abstract shapes telling me worlds about the environment. Happily they roam, trying to find something to examine, until they lock with another's eyes.

    They lock of only an instant, but my heart jumps. Thoughts of feelings, past encounters and conversations flow in, almost knocking me off my seat. I quickly look away, not wanting to peer into their soul, or worse, into my own. My heart stops as I notice the distance I've suddenly created. Floating in the void, safe and dead, I hear a voice.

    Trying to pull me back, they speak, I answer, lobbing a joke in their general direction. People laugh and attentions drift. Each looks around a little before returning to the conversation.

    This time I focus on the words and let the visuals drop. I look at the person speaking, but I try not to really look at them. I know them, yet they are all strangers, and I find myself reluctant to learn more about them. As they talk I look through them, instead of peering into them. Still my heart jumps whenever one of the voices rings through the murmur of the others. Consciously I try and force that reaction out of me.

    As the conversation continues, I hear a softer more directed tone. Someone is talking directly to me. I look at them and they register as a trusted confidant, so I listen.

    It starts out as a normal conversation. Useless information and sounds fired in my direction. It kills time and gets my attention. Quickly the sounds die down and become conspiratorial in volume and higher in tone. A question fired at me, one that takes my attention. I respond. It's not the desired answer. I can see it in the eyes. For me this is fine. My response was built to be true, not to be what they wanted to hear.

    They think about the response. For a while, our conversation dies down a bit. Slowly it picks back up as they try and convince me to change the answer. I see no point in a change of my stance, no pros, no benefits in what they say, but still I listen. They offer no facts, no reasons, and then the a strange statement is made.

    "If only you knew."

    I pause, uncertain how to proceed. So I ask them to tell me, so I know, but they can't. Confusion sets in. I examine their face, and eventually their very soul. Time passes. Finally I understand. This lack of information is coming from comments made about my present or future. Comments made by another. I understand why they can't tell me, but now thoughts form and questions arise.

    I begin to drown in my own confusion. My mind spins, trying to figure out what's implied by the conversation, but instead it is only filled with my hopes and delusions.

    I tilt my head, as if that could help the processing. I ask a few more times, but no answer is given, and I understand that it must have been told in confidence, so I stop trying to figure it out, or so I think. In the back of my mind, the question still spins.

    Anger and annoyance pound me into my seat. Such a statement does me no good. I look into the eyes, peer into the soul and begin to argue, but the conversation is abruptly cut off, as we're called back into the general conversation.

    Again cruise control kicks in, but this time my mind obsesses about the non-information. Over and over again I look at the conversation and the statement. Each time I replay it, I get more annoyed.

    I want to scream, but I don't.

    Up to this point I have considered this person, this object, this thing, a friend, a confidant, but doesn't a friend look out for their friends? At the same time I know his position, his telling me would be like betraying the trust of a Father. Yet this was a choice made, and this forces me to make a choice. I realize just how much I despise reality sometimes.

    Again time flows on, minutes, hours, days, months. They mean nothing to me as I ponder my situation. How does one trust a person that withholds information that directly impacts your life, even if it's for the noblest of reasons?

    Thoughts haunt me. For a long time this person has been a friend, not something I have a lot of. It hurts to lose them as such, yet I see no other path. Questions are posed to me from the outside, and I respond, not caring about the conversation.

    I order another shot, and yet another still.

    The drinks do nothing to help or hinder my process. They are simply something to occupy the time as I try and figure out my world. Lost in my thoughts, I fail to notice the time. I want to drink more. I want to lose myself, but the others wish to leave.

    Lost and numb, I get up and leave, starting the journey home.

    My feet, legs, and body know what to do. They carry me along my path, leaving my mind free to think.

    I keep trying to get away from the conversation in my mind, but it sticks like a scratched record.

    "if only... if only... if only"

    If only the world was a happy place. If only I did what I wanted to do. If only I had love. If only I never had to work. If only I knew where that conversation led, but I don't.

    As I walk, I realize that the conversation really means nothing to me. It's the lost trust that eats at me.

    There are very few people I confide in, and losing one is like lopping off a limb. Sure I'll get used to it in time, but until then I flop around, lost and trying to figure out how to cope.

    I stop to stare at the water. It flows across my path home. It's a small river nothing more, yet there is something strangely hypnotic about its waves. They dance from side to side forming complex patterns of colors. Oddly they call to my heart, to my troubled mind.

    I stare at the water for what seems like an eternity.

    My heart sinks and I let reality slowly drift back in. Weight shifts and I turn from the water and continue on towards home.

    Step. Step. Step. Step. Stop. Then it sinks in. I've made the decision. I know the path I'm on. No longer do I have a confidant. As I accept this, the familiar feeling of loneliness returns. My heart drops and I feel like puking, but I don't. Instead I take a step, and I once again walk alone.