Chasing Waterfalls (Sample)

Chasing Waterfalls




         Life is funny. It’s the one thing we all need, but it’s the one thing none of us really want. It’s that thing that can make you lift your hands to the sky, and it’s the thing that can bring you crashing to your knees. Life is the thing that’s there for you at all times but also never around. It’s bliss, and it’s agony. It’s laughter and tears. Smiles and frowns. Life, basically, is a bitch.

         This unholy balance of existence, for me, comes from entering into adulthood and having my life turned on its head in the matter of a year. Throughout high school I was the kid just breezing by. I didn’t have many cares, and I didn’t need any. My future? Unknown. I had no clue what I was going to do with my life, and in that moment it didn’t matter. I had a few good friends, enough allowance to survive on McDonald’s burgers after school, and parents who would support me through whatever crazy career choice I decided on (or so they said). Everything was going smoothly, but obviously something would have to go wrong. If there isn’t conflict there isn’t life, and if there isn’t life there isn’t us. We strive to defeat these conflicts, but the depressing reality is we need the troubles, for without them we would have no measurement of what “good times” were.

         No one ever realizes this in the bad times, however. The universe grants us these insights at literally the worst times possible, generally when we don’t need to know them so we discard them at 2:38 AM as we drift off to an faraway sleep. Upon waking we have no recollection of the thoughts, and it’s okay, because we’re in the good times. To me, the good times are a blindfold to what is really happening, a way we can search for good while we’re at our worst, and succeed. We continue, drunk on good thoughts and happiness, being tugged along by the small flicker of a candle as we stumble through the ebony black of an abyss. Optimists recognize the light but fail to realize that the candle can be extinguished by the slightest of breezes, leaving us alone, afraid, and blind. Realists, however, live in the constant fear of a hurricane lurking nearby.

         Upon graduation I noticed an almost instantaneous decline in friends. The ones I had become closest to had already drifted away from me. Five years after graduating and I still haven’t contacted those I once loved. Maybe that’s how humans are programmed. I mean, we can’t just all stay in the same valley until we die, can we? There comes a point where we pack our things and go. None of us know where, but we either start blazing our own trail or follow the one everyone else is on. God knows the latter is easier, but the first is more worth it in the long run, at least I keep telling myself. Who knows, I could meet an old friend at any time, and we could connect just as we did in the cafeteria at 8:20 before 1st block US History. Back when troubles were being late for class instead of losing friends.

         My first friend to go was one I never expected. Her name was—well, let’s just call her Meg. Meg was your everyday Christian woman. She loved Jesus, nursing, and Jesus. I became close to Meg in my darker days of my Junior year of high school. Depression has always been a weight I carry, and on most days I had enough muscle to lift it off my shoulder, but Junior year I was weak and unable to keep it up, so it rested on my shoulder, a constant reminder of how pathetic I was. Meg was my emotional gym spotter, and she lifted the weights from my frail body, saving me in more ways than one. We became close, attending a concert together and spending a lot of time together every day. Looking back, I’m not sure if we were close because of her bubbly personality and its life-raft effect on me or because we were truly friends. Our time together certainly felt like true friendship, but part of me says she was just the candle in my abyss, guiding me out of the darkness for some time while I used her for her light. Regardless of the minor details, we were close, very close, and we loved each other--in a platonic way, of course, but it was still love. Our trust had become so tangible that I revealed to her a piece of my life that no one had ever known, and no one else will ever know. She kept my secret, and told no one, but it placed a wedge between our relationship that was imperceptible at first, but it slowly grew like a crack does in a boulder during the freezing and thawing months of early spring.

         The most memorable moment with Meg I can remember was one day in late August. I was living in an apartment complex near my college with my roommate Jeremy, and Meg and I decided to come back to my place for a while. Upon arriving, the first thing I noticed was there were three people in the living room. Jeremy was there, a large, smiling guy who was fairly close to me. Thomas, another close friend of mine, was there. He wasn’t a happy person, more of a neutral-faced douche-bag. Ron was also there. Ron was king douche. Regardless of what you said to him, he had a snarky remark to one-up you. They were all sitting around the table laughing about something. Meg and I approached them and saw what they were looking at. On the table was a small baggie of weed, and a colorful glass pipe.

         My heart froze. I had never smoked before, but could tell what the rest of the night would be spent doing.

         “Hey, Jason,” Jeremy called, “’bout time you got here.”

         “Yeah, man,” Thomas laughed, “got a surprise for you.” I nodded to Ron, who stared back at me and jabbed his hands into his pockets. Meg burst out laughing.

         “Is that…pot?” she giggled. Everyone in the room laughed. Next thing I knew we were all sitting around the table passing the lit pipe around. I pulled smoke into my lungs, tainting them for the first time with a mind-altering substance. Fear flooded my brain as uncertainty rushed through me. Was I going to overdose on marijuana and die? I started having a dreadful feeling of regret as I puffed on the second pass, tasting the strange odor as it surrounded me.

         Then it kicked in.

         The first thing I felt was a weird, lightweight feeling, like floating in an ocean. The fear was replaced with curiosity to understand more about this sensation. I leaned back on the couch, and people joked that I was “feeling it.” After a minute or two, I noticed that my consciousness was coming and going in waves. One minute I would be present and fine, listening to my friends talk and laughing with what they said. Then I would slowly dip out of the room, drawing out into some unknown area of nothingness. I don’t know how long I would stay there, but eventually I would come back to the room and catch the tail end of a joke, and laugh as if I had heard it. Then I would disappear again.

         It’s strange stuff, marijuana. After about two hours, Meg decided she needed to go to Walmart at 2 AM for some odd reason. That was when I panicked. We couldn’t go outside while high! That was scary, and we could get busted. Meg persisted, and although I wasn’t super high, I was still feeling it a bit. We got in her car and drove to Walmart, me staring out the window imagining cops chasing us down. Walmart was a trip. Stepping inside and being blinded by the ridiculously white lights on the ceiling was the first scary thing. We walked by people, and I avoided looking at them for fear they would know. Meg went back and got a prepaid phone for her boyfriend, and we went to the checkout lane.

         As Meg paid, the woman ringing her up casually glanced at me as anyone would. Of course, to me this was confirmation that the woman knew I was high and had pressed a button behind the counter that was going to call every police officer in the local area to arrest me and end my future. I nervously fumbled to take my phone out of my pocket and distract myself from her pot-detecting gaze. In doing this, I undoubtedly looked like some paranoid freak obviously high on something. We left Walmart and returned to my apartment, and Meg left, feeling confident enough to drive all the way to her house. That night was amazing, and I will never forget getting introduced to that strange but wonderful pipe of green. I knew then that smoking with Meg, as doing any illegal activity with a friend, sealed our friendship for all of eternity.

         And then she got pregnant.

         Don’t worry, it wasn’t mine, but that also drove her away. She was a soon to be mother, and I was still coasting through my early college years, no responsibilities, no cares, and no worries. Meg had to be serious about her baby, and I understood, even though it ripped pieces from within me and scattered them in a fire. It was then I realized that our friendship would never be the same, and once her healthy baby girl was born I couldn’t help leave the hospital with a smile over the sadness, knowing that her path had been blazed by her alone, and her life was starting. My own was still in its prenatal stage, just waiting to develop. I’m still doubtful if it ever will develop into a thing of life, one capable of bringing happiness and joy to this otherwise dark existence.

         A friend I had known even longer than Meg was also taken from me. I’m going to call her Brianne. Brianne was a girl that I met in 5th grade at an otherwise boring football game one fall. She was with her cousin and we instantly hit it off, chattering away and making jokes about things that, looking back, were completely immature and unadult like. This behavior lasted until our second year in college.
Brianne became my friend that night at a game I didn’t even want to go to. If my parents hadn’t forced me to attend it, I never would have met her and my life would be vastly different. I can clearly remember playing underneath a large oak tree near the football field while the crowds cheered on for a sport I still am unable to find enjoyment in. Utterly bored and tired, I peeled bark off of the tree in an attempt to satisfy some mix of curiosity and agonizing boredom. Suddenly one of my friends from school appeared with this girl with a toothy grin and straight brown hair.

         “Hey, Jason,” my friend called, “this is my cousin, Brianne! She’s staying with my family for a few days.”

         “Hi Brianne,” I said to her, “I’m Jason.” That was my introduction joke I invented, where I redundantly introduced my name to someone who had already been told my name. Classic.

         “Hi! I’m Brianne!” she answered, stealing my line. I could tell we would be friends. We walked around, bought some nachos, walked some more, returned to my parents to bum more money for nachos, and as quickly as I met her, the game was ending. A look of fear covered her face, but I didn’t know why. I asked what was wrong and she looked away, either embarrassed or afraid.

         “M-my dad,” she stammered, “he’s a bad person.” Confused, I inquired further.

         “Whaddya mean?”

         “He’s looking for me now. If he finds me he’ll hurt me. I don’t want him to find me.” I could tell she was genuinely afraid for her safety, but I didn’t know what to do for her. I wanted to help her, but I had just met her. She told me her cousin would keep her safe, but saying goodbye to her was painful and scary. I knew she was only in town for that weekend, so the chance of meeting her again was slim. If her dad got to her, she would be in serious trouble, and I may never see her at all. We hugged that night, total strangers thrust together by sheer coincidence and fate, and when we let go of each other and went our separate ways, it really was goodbye. Until three years later.

         I was in my 7th grade classroom, and out of nowhere the door swings open and in walks this girl. She was the new girl, and I had no idea who she was, but by the strange, toothy smile she was aiming at me, it was obvious she knew me.

         “Jason!” She screamed. Everyone in the room looked at me and then back to her.

         “Uh…hey, there!” I went along with it because I didn’t want to hurt whoever she was.

         “Don’t give me that,” she frowned, “It’s me, Brianne!” Brianne…And then it clicked. I remembered her and the football game and nachos and her evil father. It all surged back into my memory like a dam that had burst, gushing memories and experiences that I had previously forgotten back into my brain.

         “Oh my God it’s you!” I yelled. We hugged again, reunited for the first time in three years, and she sat down beside me. From then on we were the best of friends, spending most of our time together (Meg came in during our Junior year, where Brianne became a bit of an absent student (a good 1/3 of her attendance was tardy)). After a highschool career of tag-team fights, trips to the theater stage, rounds of Academic team debate, and the enjoyable trips to anywhere we could go, graduation came, and we entered the same university together. I roomed with her then-boyfriend (Thomas, from the marijuana fiasco) and we hung out every other day. Just as we did in high school, we had deep philosophical debates about life, existence, and the universe while sitting in my parked car 2AM on Friday nights. We would just sit there, for hours, and talk about anything that came to mind. Many times we would just sit in silence, appreciating each other’s company and gazing at the stars until a thought-provoking idea entered one of our heads, leading us down a rabbit hole that was difficult to climb out of.

         There was one night where the two of us were at a town park late one night swinging on the swingset like we had done in 7th grade. We watched as a dense fog rolled in from a nearby river, the only sounds being the eerie creak of the rusty swing chains and our feet scraping the mulch.

         “Ya’ know,” she said, staring up at the sky, “I’m gonna get out of here one day.” I nodded, agreeing with her but not wanting to disrupt the gravity of her statement. “And you are, too.”

         “One day,” I shivered, “hopefully sooner than later.” I didn’t hate my town, nor did she. We just needed a change of scenery, one with people and buildings and excitement instead of trees and cows. All we had to do now was figure out what we would do with our lives, and we would be set. Though we had always been together, it wasn’t a romantic relationship in the slightest, but I still wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. Brianne was the girl that made me laugh at the things no one else found funny. She was the one person who could somehow read my thoughts exactly, and at times relay them to me as I said them, getting strange reactions from anyone listening (it was a great party trick).

         “If we don’t finish college,” Brianne said after a pause, “we should just go. Just get in your car, hit the road, and go wherever we want. We won’t even look at the road signs or a map; we’ll just take whatever exits we feel like taking until we arrive at some awesome place.” I smiled, wishing so badly for a taste of that much freedom.

         “I’m in. If we both fail or drop out of college, we’ll do it. Granted, my car very well may break down on the highway, but if it does, we’ll hitchhike the rest of the way.”

         “Good. Why should we grow old and die here when there’s so much of the world out there? All we have to do is drive and we’re free. We just have to find the road and the destination will be right ahead of us.”

         “Chasing waterfalls.” I said with a grin. Confused, Brianne started humming that song “Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls.” “I’m serious. The road is the river, and our destination is the waterfall. Once we get on the river, we’re set. We’ll be on the expressway to some beautiful cascades in South America, where we won’t worry about where to go, the road will take us there.”

         Brianne laughed at my dumb analogy, but it got the message across. After a few more hours of talking about finding the river and other hopeful impossibilities, we got in the car and returned to our homes, happy of our newfound revelations in life.

         Junior year of college rolled by and the unthinkable happened. Brianne had stopped going to college, uncertain of her academic future, just like me. I had jumped around from doctor to lawyer to computer programmer to astronomer, but nothing clicked. She had essentially done the same, but never had a clear career in mind. One Friday after classes I drove back home to spend the weekend with my parents. We were all sitting in the living room watching TV when my cell phone rang (which was quite unusual for me. I was more of a texter if anything).

         “Whaddup,” I answered jokingly, recognizing Brianne’s number.

         “Hey, Jason.” She responded. I could instantly tell something was bothering her, so I stood up and went into another room for some privacy.

         “What’s the matter?” I asked, feeling a sudden rush of fear or excitement, or whatever you feel when someone calls with news but you aren’t sure if it’s good or bad. After a few seconds of silence, she started speaking.

         “I’ve been thinking about my future,” she said quietly, her words laced with some sense of poisonous uncertainty, “and I’ve made a decision.”

         “That’s great!” I encouraged, glad to see my best friend discover her own way in life. I sensed, however, that she wasn’t done with her statement. I was right.

         “I talked with my brother-in-law, and you see, he’s in the Navy. We talked about what he does and how he travels the world on his ship, and I’ve really been thinking about it.” I fell silent, either too unsure or simply unable to say anything at all.

         “Really? That sounds like an adventure and a half.” That was my response after another awkward pause. Being socially gifted with speech was never one of my skills.

         “I know! I’m really excited about it. You’re the second person I’ve told, after my parents and stuff. I signed the papers today.” This time the silence was very long and very awkward. It couldn’t be true. There was no way this girl, my best friend in the entire universe, had signed a contract that would force her to be a part of a military group that would thrust her into God knows how many dangerous situations across the entire globe. In an almost selfish way, it wasn’t even the danger that got to me, it was thinking about her being gone from my life for a long time. We had been together for nearly 9 years, seeing each other almost every day and calling on the days we missed. You can’t just lose a person like that so suddenly. And what about everything we had talked about? All our plans to take my car to some unknown place and just travel the world together? In a mere 45 second conversation my entire life crumbled to a messy heap of confused wires and smoldering concrete. Emotions I had never even experienced before flooded my brain, making strange concoctions of sadness mixed with fear, and nervousness mixed with nausea.

         “Jason?” Brianne asked, probably hoping I hadn’t fainted or something. I cleared my throat and tripped over my words as I tried to get them out of my mouth.

         “So, how—when do you…leave, or whatever?” I managed to ask. She sighed on the other end.

         “I don’t know yet. It’ll probably be a few months from now.” So that was all the time I would have with her. Only a few months, one season of a year, one fraction of our friendship, and she would be gone.

         “Wow. That’s soon.”

         “Yeah.”

         Silence.

         “Well, I gotta go, my brother-in-law is meeting me in a few to talk more about his Navy stories. I’ll call you sometime tomorrow, okay?”

         “Yeah, that sounds good.” I said weakly.

         “Bye, Jason.” And she hung up. Click. Just like that, and every plan we had ever made fell through, revealing a soon to be gaping hole in the foundation of our friendship that would be nearly impossible to repair. As I walked out of the room and back to where my family was, I fixed my face in a pose that was as natural as possible, not wanting to appear distressed or upset.

         “Was that Brianne?” Mom asked, knowing she would be the only person to call me.

         “Yup.” I said casually, looking at the TV screen. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me so I feigned interest in some commercial about a cat scratching post. $29.95 for a cylinder of wood with carpet glued around it. Ridiculous.

         “What’d she say?” Oh, there was a spring with a toy attached to the top of it for the cat to play with. Maybe that’s what drove the price up so much.

         “Nothing,” I answered, perplexed by the fact that catnip was embedded within the carpet of the post. That device may very well be worth the money. A number flashed and then the TV went dark. The 3 second long pause of darkness suddenly became unbearable, and I could still feel everyone watching my every move, aware of every single face twitch, eye blink, and facial expression I was making. “She joined the Navy.” I said it so casually you would think I was telling Mom she bought a new pair of shoes.

         “What?” Mom and Dad both asked at the same time. I looked back to the TV, thankful that Wheel of Fortune had returned. I tried to stay focused on it, afraid to let the thought of Brianne bubble up to the surface, bringing with it fumes of sorrow that I knew I would never be able to fight. I simply nodded my head, trying my best to appear calm and unemotional. I instead appeared wounded and cornered. Everyone was perfectly silent as I absorbed their thoughts of pity or sympathy. They didn’t know what to say to me, and I didn’t want them to say anything. I just wanted to be alone, without any disturbances or pats on the back. That was the second most painful day of my entire life. When she flew to the west coast and boarded her ship was the most painful.

         The day before she flew to LA, we were driving in my car just as we had done for the past 5 years. There was a silence that persisted on forcing itself between our conversations, reminding us that there would be no more face-to-face chats for years, and in doing so making us scrape our brains for topics to discuss, all the while causing us to overlook small talk. After a few minutes of listening to the radio, Brianne broke the silence.

         “So, do you think you’ll ever find a girlfriend?” Oh God. We had made it 9 years without discussing relationships and I didn’t want our last one to be about it.

         “I don’t know,” I answered, avoiding it at all costs.

         “Why not?” Her sudden peak of interest in the matter told me one of two things: she was interested in me romantically, or she was worried. Worried about me ending up completely alone while she was gone.

         “Eh I don’t know. I need to focus on my future more than a girlfriend that wouldn’t last. Once I find my career I’ll think about it.” She didn’t say anything to that, choosing to leave it there for whatever reason. Every ounce of my being wanted to tell her my secret. I needed for her to know, so she would understand why we would never work out. I would have done anything to fall in love with her then and there, beg her not to go, and the two of us spend the rest of our days together until we grew old and got put in the same nursing home together as we had joked in high school. But it couldn’t happen. I had prayed for it to happen for my whole life, but either the phone line upstairs was disconnected or the Big Man ignored my calls. I had come to a unique part in my life where I accepted the facts, but at the same time rejected them.

         I say these things not as an attempt to attract sympathy, but instead to say those things that are locked inside me. As someone who’s never been big on expressing my feelings, I reached a point recently where there’s no more room to store my bottled emotions. The maximum amount of pressure had been reached, but there were still issues within myself, and there still are. As I sit here typing, it feels good, almost like I’m getting some form of therapy. The people reading this are not my attention givers, they are my priests. Each time a person reads these words, it is as if I step into the confession booth and spill my secrets to someone who can offer me some estranged form of redemption and acceptance. Regardless of the mental effect writing this has on me, I believe someone in my position will learn from my mistakes, or seek comfort in knowing that they aren’t alone. A sense of isolation from everyone you’ve ever met is a difficult one to overcome, so I think you will be glad to know you aren’t alone. I’m with you, even if only through typed words on a page, I am here.