The Eternal Moment

The Eternal Moment



         by Chook

         Matthew approached the bridge, swamped with emotion, eyes full of tears, and his heart full of intent. This time there would be no going back. This time, he would do it right. There would be no reason for ridicule, sorrow, or confrontation. The only regret would be theirs, and they would deserve it.

         As Matt got closer to his destination, he slowed his walking speed in order to contemplate a few scant moments more. Things were going by very quickly, and it had taken him a lot less time to walk here than he first guessed. That feeling was coming back. It was that terrible feeling that heeded Matt's every turn. It inhibited all of his decisions, forced him to reevaluate things at the last moment. Matt would not let it interfere this time. He had made his decision, and damn it, he was going to stick with it.

         Matt had perfectly good reason to, after all. He had worked out all of the calculations in his head, and his decision looked to be the most efficient in improving the world. Strangely enough, the same such calculations were some of the few things that Matt felt he was appreciated for. All of the thoughts going through his enormous head, inside his thick skull. His peers tended to make fun of him for that huge noggin and the intelligence contained within. He wasn't exactly proud of his thinking abilities though, as they never yielded any results. No matter how many thoughts he could have, none of them changed the world one bit: he could never make an impact.

         Matt had made some efforts in creativity. Nobody appreciated them. He recalled a time, a few months back, when he'd made a sculpture out of clay. He had felt that it was the best work he had ever done, but all that his family could say was that it was "interesting" and they then went on to inquire as to its relevance. What's the point? That had caused Matt think for a moment. It was his art. It didn't have to mean anything. It was his creation, something that Matt himself had made. That was special to him. He, himself -with his hands and some gobs of clay- could create, add to the world. Make something real. Matt hoped that his sculptures would somehow make a difference, add some beauty or tragedy to it all. His family didn't seem to notice, though. They didn't notice him either. All he wanted to do was make an impact, but he was inadequate, it seemed.

         No more being shifty, Matt thought. He was going to succeed this time. The reason his previous attempt had failed was because he had cried for help at the last minute. They had come to his scream, and he was rushed to the hospital to extricate the copious amounts of barbiturates that he had ingested. After that, they worried. Then the confrontations and investigations began. That was truly hell for Matt. He was given to numerous therapists, and everyone had questions. They were all indirect, and they all tip-toed around questions they could have asked him outright. He could sense that they all felt that he was somewhat of a nuisance to their lives. Their worries caused Matt pain, pain he couldn't stand. And therein lay the reason for his excursion.

         He was sure now. And here he was, at the mid-section of the bridge. Below him raced the rush hour traffic of the freeway. This was a more gruesome, less elegant exit for Matt, but it would have to do.

         Matt forced himself to keep moving, and he began to climb the safety fence between him and his destination. Fortunately, the fence was missing a section, making it easy to get through.

         His feet slammed awkwardly on the ledge of the bridge, outside of the fencing, facing the traffic below him without obstacle. Rushing cars filled his senses. The freeway emerged from the horizon and disappeared below his feet. It was now or never, Matt thought.

         Matt angled his head down at the freeway below him. He leaned over to get a better view of the traffic zooming by, and his feet let go of the concrete. The freeway spun to the top of the universe, and soon after did the underside of the overpass, then the sun. Then the freeway appeared once again, overpass, sun. The road reemerged from the bottom of his field of vision, much closer this time, with a turquoise BMW on it, speeding towards him. Matt continued to fall, spinning towards the car. Momentarily, the windshield of the car and Matt's forehead were one, glass shattering.

         Time slowed down while Matt lay on the hood of the vehicle, his battered head inches from the driver's. Matt noticed the occupants were completely surprised. More specifically, they were horrified. The driver had looked mad to begin with, but the unexpected appearance of another passenger sent him flailing and recklessly swerving the car. The passenger of the car, a frail red-headed woman in her twenties, was equally shocked. Rather than panicking, however, she stared intently at Matt, her green eyes filled with as much horror as anger. Matt saw something there in the look she gave him, as if she was asking him: "How could you be such a bother?" Of all possible reactions to his suicide, Matt did not want this. It was embarrassing. His whole plan came somersaulting to oblivion.

         Already Matt's suicide equation came back to him. He thought he had figured it all out, that minimal people would be affected. He was wrong. Perhaps his family would be just as mad at him as these strangers. Even in death, Matt was a nuisance.

         As the bright turquoise car under him continued to accelerate into the unknown behind him, Matt knew it was too late. He regretted taking the fall. If only he had stalled a little more... if only he had rethought the equation... if only he had listened to his family... if only-

         Matt's stream of consciousness was interrupted by a sudden jolt, a smash, a screeching sound. Regret. That was where Matt's consciousness had cut short. All other thought processes vanished instantaneously. All that existed of Matt was that one feeling: regret.


         *****

         Melissa screamed again. It wasn't that Ryan was driving too fast or anything, it was the fact that he was paying more attention to the beer in his hand than the road. This was the deciding factor. She had had enough. Melissa was never going to let this happen again. And as soon as she got out of his car, she would call everything off with him. She was done.

         As Ryan laughed and drove down the freeway, Melissa started to seriously consider things. Why had she even liked him in the first place? He was a jerk. He never thought about her feelings. He was a drunk. He even hit her sometimes. He would always go around joking about her appearance. All of the time. And even though she knew he didn't mean it, it felt very real. He even had the nerve to call her ugly in front of her parents.

         They never liked Ryan. From the start they had been against him, and went to great lengths to reinforce their negative opinion to her... and Melissa had defended him. She spoke of him being sweet sometimes. He had been, in his own silly way. She smiled for a second, thinking of his determination to paint his car that awful turquoise color, and the time when he pretended to give her CPR as a joke. Both actions were pitiful, miserable, and made him up looking very stupid -but they were still fond memories for some reason.

         She opened her eyes to see Ryan giving her the finger, smiling. He was such a mean-spirited moron. They all had been.

         One after another, Melissa thought. They were all constructed right out of the same mold. The men in her life were like robots, golems, clay figures: all manufactured. They had really seemed different at the time, but now Melissa became disappointed, embarrassed with her own poor judgment. She thought back to their good qualities, but all that came to mind were those stupid, silly things that they did. Their only redeeming quality was their stupidity.

         Melissa noticed Ryan again, who was now making a face at her. Never again. He was only an inconvenience, and she would be rid of him shortly.

         Suddenly, the windshield smashed to pieces. A boy, roughly seventeen years of age, had landed on the car. His head had shattered the windshield, and was now hanging over the dashboard. He pulled his bloody head up momentarily. His dark hair draped over his eyes, and blood dribbled down his cheek.

         Ryan did not take the situation lightly. The shock was far too much for his inebriated state, and he began to freak out, turning the steering wheel drastically in an effort to avoid the boy on the hood. Ryan's foot went instinctively to the gas pedal.

         Time slowed to a crawl, while the car continued to speed up. They smashed through the concrete that divided the freeway, charging into the oncoming traffic.

         Melissa screamed. She glanced at Ryan, who was conducting the car right into a disaster. "Stop the car, Ryan!" she yelled. He didn't seem to react, his eyes full of fear. Giving up, Melissa shifted her green eyes' glance to the boy on the hood, who had lifted his head up far enough so that he could see her.

         Melissa tried not to think of how this boy had gotten himself onto the car. From the looks of it, she wouldn't have time. She focused on his eyes, which in turn looked back at hers. He was scared. He was scared and sad. He obviously had no idea what he was doing. The bastard. She scowled at him, another annoyance to her already tormented life. It became clear that Mellisa was a magnet for losers with no grasp of the real world. She was finally prepared to stop it though... and then this clueless boy had landed on the windshield, like a bug almost. Another annoying bug on the windshield of her life, just like Ryan, just like the others- just like the rest of the world it seemed.

         A horn honked loudly. Headlights from ahead illuminated the interior of the car. Ryan continued to drive straight into the black car ahead that had skidded sideways to a stop a distance in front of them. The driver of the black car coming their way had furiously veered his car away in the space available, and it was now angled with its side towards Ryan's BMW. His battered vehicle continued to speed forward.

         Time slowed down for Melissa. Within that moment, she realized that her desires to break free of nuisance had come only too late to be fulfilled. As the world around disappeared, growing more silent, she became isolated with her thoughts. One feeling prevailed above the others: frustration.


         *****

         "Why do you think that I came with you?" asked Jennifer, as she climbed into the passenger seat, smiling. Jared drew a blank.

         "I don't know," Jared responded, "I honestly have no idea why you would want to come to see my silly little show. You're going to find it painfully uninteresting. It's just a bunch of dancing pieces of cardboard, wood, and papier-mache."

         "Hey," retorted Jennifer, as Jared started the car, "You know I'll find it no less interesting than you will. I was right there when you created most of those little puppets and contraptions. I think that they're amazing, and I think that this show will be amazing. No matter how many people show up, you should take some pride in this. Don't be embarrassed."

         "You're right again, Jennifer. I was dangerously close to being modest there." Jared looked at her and grinned. He was reminded that he had worked very hard for this show. It was an experiment in moving art: marionettes, mechanical moving contraptions, hanging mobiles, all on stage at the same time. A living world. A world that Jared had created in his own basement- each practical, moving piece had been thought up in his own head and built from scratch. Though Jared had dreamt up the whole show, pulling off the choreography still required the help of four of his friends. They would all work pulling strings or turning dials, bringing Jared's brightly colored creations to life.

         Jared's friends had plenty of free time, having no real jobs. They didn't have much inclination to do anything. His friends sought entertainment and escape. They were avid movie-watchers, gamers, and substance abusers. Jared just didn't get it: the detachment, the escape from reality. Jared loved reality, and made his moving sculpture pieces to reflect just what was great about it. His inspiration was the world around him. With his work, he hoped to enhance the world, make it seem more real, somehow. Perhaps it could make an impact on people's appreciation of life. That was Jared's most hopeful goal.

         "You know, Jared," started Jennifer, "I'm still not extremely fond of the show's finale. It's so depressing."

         "Unh..." Jared grunted in response. Jenny was referring to the point at the end where the main marionette, Narcissus, catches fire, climbs to the top of the stage, and dives into a pile of other puppets and structures rotating in the center display. This climax of the show would essentially destroy all of Jared's creations in one grand finale. It would be beautiful.

         "Look, I'm videotaping the show. They'll be preserved in that way at least. If the show didn't end like it does, all of the emotion that I put into it would be for nothing." Jared paused for a moment, thinking of how exactly to word his thoughts. "I know killing off my own creations seems a bit drastic, but I need... closure. I guess. Besides, I'm making more of them all the time. If I left them intact, they would just be sitting around on a shelf, collecting dust. I think that would be wrong for them, going to waste like that. This way, they can all end on a high note."

         They'll accomplish whatever they will and then they'll move on.

         Jared stopped talking for a second. He also brought the black Trans Am to a stop, in line to get on the freeway. He looked to Jenny, who blinked at him.

         "I've just grown attached to those puppets, whatever they are," she said, eyes watering. "All of them crashing into each other is so sad. You can't save just one? You can't keep Narcissus alive?"

         The car accelerated to match speed with the rushing traffic. Jared thought for awhile, processing the request. After a brief time thinking, he looked once again at Jenny.

         "Here goes," he said, "After this show, I'll rebuild Narcissus. I'll make him a keeper, something that I will be proud to have around. That way I'll have at least one thing that'll last forever." He shifted his eyes back to traffic. After a moment, he turned his head once again toward Jennifer, "And I'm giving him to you."

         The car was silent for a few moments. The statement had meant far more to both of them than anything that had been said before. This was uncharacteristic, and it marked a vast step in their relationship.

         Jenny looked back to Jared, her eyes wide with surprise.

         "I love you," she said.

         Jared reacted instantly: "I love you too, Jenny." He looked acutely into her eyes for as long as he dared before turning his attention back to the freeway traffic.

         This was the first time he had ever said those words to anyone, and definitely the first time that he really meant it. He'd always been looking for the perfect woman to save those words for. Never had he expected Jennifer to turn out to be that very woman. He was even surprised now, having finally said it.

         The two had been good friends for years. Only recently had Jenny suggested pursuing a more intimate relationship. Jared had reluctantly accepted, if only to avoid breaking her heart, to tide both of them over until they found 'real' companions... And now he had completely fallen for her. Funny how that works. Jared smiled at his situation. It was exactly what he had dreamt, but in the same way, it was something he would never have imagined. The entire series of events leading up to this moment unfolded in Jared's mind as something wonderful and real.

         Several hundred meters ahead, a turquoise BMW unexpectedly crashed through the dividing median and into Jared's relatively empty lane, rushing closer at a tremendous speed. Jared immediately slammed the breaks at the disturbance, and turned his car in an attempt to move into the right lane. The lane was occupied, however, and Jared merely managed to scrape the neighboring car, sparks emitting. As Jared's car slowed to a halt, the lane next to him remained crowded with rushing cars, the drivers of each panicking at the strange BMW approaching. Behind him, cars were stopping, trying to avoid a collision with Jared's frozen Trans Am, angled diagonally to the right, completely stopped. Stuck.

         There was no escape. To the left, the cement median. To the right, the slowing stream of cars. And straight ahead, albeit at a distance, a rushing turquoise disaster, still continuing its speedy approach, heading towards Jared and Jennifer. Jared noticed something strange on the hood of the approaching vehicle: what looked like a dull, lifeless puppet, dressed in black. It looked much like Narcissus, hunched over, surrounded by fragments of the windshield. Behind the black form of the body, Jared saw the sad, angry, green eyes of a young girl in the passenger's seat, her red hair contrasting with her pale, devastated face. Jared's observation of the car and its contents was brief: he didn't care. Rather than watch the impending disaster, Jared turned to face Jennifer.

         They both reflected each other's stares, smiling at one another's faces, reassuring the conclusions that they had so recently arrived at. Knowing the imminence of the situation, they wasted no time in stretching to each other as far as they could, their faces meeting, lips gently coming together, their arms extending to a slight embrace, seatbelts tugging tightly.

         Time nearly stopped. The moment lasted. It was all the two needed. Jared wished that this feeling would last forever. Locked together, the two remained. They had exactly what they wanted, and the moment went on, time moving uncharacteristically slow for the young couple. For the first time in their lives, Jared and Jennifer felt complete. The eternal moment continued.





         *****




         Time started again later, after an eternity of emotion.

         The turquoise BMW had finally finished its journey. The body in the windshield slumped backwards with the momentum left from the recent screeching stop, rolling off of the front of the car. It did not land on the pavement below, however: the body impacted with the hood of another car. The black, lifeless figure wedged itself between the bumper of the BMW and the corner of the black Trans Am's hood, the two cars. After a brief painful moment, Matt made an effort to lift his bloodied head out from between the pair of vehicles.

         Matt looked forward, just in time to see the BMW's passenger side door opening up. Melissa emerged, smiling and angry, shouting all manner of curse words and random screams at the driver, who had exited the vehicle through the driver's side. The driver looked terrible: confused, inebriated, and lonely. Melissa continued to shout at the man, joyfully letting loose a lifetime of frustrations. Trying to ignore the shouting, the driver stumbled towards Matt, attempting to determine whether he had killed him or not.

         In the black car behind him, Matt turned to notice a couple curled up inside. Still holding each other, locked together -completely at peace- Jared and Jenny remained. Unbeknownst to them, they were still alive. They continued the embrace.

         Damaged and severely confused, Matt was amazed at the number of people that surrounded him. All of these people were here because of his actions. He looked to the smashed windshield of the turquoise vehicle, that his own head had smashed to pieces. One thing was for sure, Matt thought: he had made quite an impact.

         He put a hand to his head, trying to make sure whether or not he was in fact alive. As he applied pressure to his forehead, Matt felt extreme pain. Only now had it caught up with him. The pain was more extreme than anything that Matt had ever experienced. And it felt good. Lowering his hand in front of his face, he saw that it was covered in blood. He stared for a couple of moments at his bodily emission, and fainted backwards once again on the top of the dreamy blue vehicle, as sirens blared in the distance.







(spring, 2001)