Euphony and the edge of despair

Euphony and the Edge of Despair

By Jenica Amalita

The leaves softly danced as the wind gently coerced them to leave behind their home and set out to distances untraversed. They slowly let the wind pull at them, knowing it wasn’t yet time to let go. In a week or two, without the prompting of that invisible hand, they would break free and fall away, but not yet. After its incessant tugging that bore no fruits, the wind gave up for the day. The yellow sun glowered over the rest of the road, but filtered through the green lens, with only a pleasant shadow cast over the ground, the proof of obstruction against light.

If you cared to travel along this road, you would find this occurrence in every place that a tree planted itself, except, of course, in the now-absent wind. Despite the many openings that popped up every now and then, tempting the wanderer to stray, the road was a well-traveled one. At this hour, it was untouched by swift wheels and impatient honks, but as the evening drew nearer, it was sure to echo the absurdity of man-made sound even after the sun had disappeared. 

But, let us retrace our steps and go in the other direction, for that is where the story awaits our arrival. 

The direction we are now traveling takes us away from the deaf city full of noise and the blind people full of sight and brings us through the suburbs. Yes, it is quite a long way we are going, but travel we must, for the story asks this of us. After the feet become heavy, and shuffle along, we happen upon the small trail along which the story is standing, somewhere, waiting for us to pick it up and carry it further.

Long, straight hair, limp due to the lack of wind, flowed without constraint onto her coffee-colored shirt, matched with beige slacks. The story, Catherine, stood under one of those lonesome trees, waiting. I suppose that in taking in the landscape, you might have missed out on the presence of To—a tall lad, with a sharp jawline and a slightly protruding chin—who we’re walking beside. His nose was broken and his eyes were a light hazel brown, with flecks of light scattered across them. 

When Catherine saw Tom appear, the tenseness on her face slacked, and her creased forehead straightened itself as the grooves migrated to the corners of her mouth. At first glance, it seemed as though the green in her eyes was simply the reflection of that cascading green river of leaves singing away to themselves. Tom walked on till he stood in front of Catherine. "Hi," he said, lazily. 

"Are you ready?" she asked him.

“I never did fully understand what I’m here for. When I usually dream, my dreams take me wherever they see fit. I’m not sure what to do with the choice I’m being given now,” Tom confessed.

“But this isn’t a dream,” Catherine replied.

“It seems like one.”

As Catherine began walking she asked, “How so?”

“Well, I suppose it’s the scenery and the quietness of sound.”

“What about it?”

“When people talk in your dreams, you hear what they have to say, but in the moment of waking, you realize that it was just your voice being lent to them. As I traveled here—thanks for the arduously long walk by the way—I felt as though this journey into the quiet was telling me something. But, it was using my own voice to speak to me.”

“Contemplative, are we?” she smiled and walked on. Tom picked up his pace to match her confident stride.

“You might slow down, you know. I have, after all, walked from the city center.” 

Catherine slowed down, and they continued on at a sedate pace, taking in the sounds and the sights.

“So, why are we here? Why stop life and come out in the middle of nowhere? For all I know, we’ll soon be in the wilderness,” Tom interjected after what seemed like forever.

“Do you know why I stopped you that day?”

“No, but I’m glad you did. You really helped me…” Tom looked at her shoulders, unsure of what else to say.

“I stopped you because I’ve been there myself. In that place. Not the edge of the bridge, of course. But, there. The edge of despair. When you can go on, but no longer want to. When I stopped you, I was saving myself. Saving a part of me that died in the past. You don’t have to thank me. Just walk along,” Catherine solemnly stated. Her dimples hid themselves in plain sight as her face assumed the rigidity of a rock in the heat.

Tom walked on, wondering what to think of her confession. Catherine looked and acted like someone who had everything together, someone who could never go wrong. The chirp of a bird somewhere nearby soon went from being an afterthought his brain registered to a song he tried deciphering. 

Catherine stopped under a tree, where the bird’s chirping was the loudest, and sat down under it, “We’re here.” 

There was a momentary silence followed by a quick flutter. The little red thing flew off to conquer another lonely island, that hopefully wouldn’t be taken over by man.

“Here? Here where? What’s so special about this place?” Tom asked, confused.

“Would you believe me if I told you we’re in the middle of nowhere?” Catherine asked him back, her green eyes piercing his brown ones. Her sharp nose flared for a second, before assuming its consistent immobility. “I’m ready to believe anything after that walk…” Tom slumped on the ground next to her, resting his back on the tree’s trunk.

“I’m being serious. We aren’t going to meet again after today, and I want to be sure, absolutely sure, that you don’t end up in that place again,” Catherine frowned and crossed her legs.

Tom dutifully nodded.

“What did you notice on your way here?” Catherine asked. “Think about it carefully, and only once you’re convinced you’ve hit the right answer, then tell me.”

After a few deafening moments filled with hearts being pressed in by ribs that suddenly shrank, Tom lifted his eyes to meet Catherine’s. “The center was buzzing with so much noise – people talking, vehicles honking, so much noise that you just had to close yourself off from the rest of them to make sense of yourself. But once I came out here, it was quiet. Yes, there are some sounds, but they’re not sounds that drain you. Instead, I find my mind thinking, thinking all the more because I don’t want it to be this quiet.”

“Hmm, and which of the two places do you prefer?”

“Hum, neither. The city’s too loud, and this, uhh, place, is too quiet.”

“And you finally see what your problem was?”

“I’m too critical?” Tom joked.

“No, when you were surrounded by the chaos of the world, you left everything. You didn’t try to hold onto what’s important, precious, or necessary even. And you came out here. Today you have me, so you aren’t feeling the loneliness, and you still can’t enjoy it. It’s one thing to withdraw into nature to ruminate…I’m not talking about that.” Catherine paused and looked at Tom, his head bending down to the ground, his hands furiously playing with a clump of grass. Knowing he was listening, she continued.

“Your ‘zoning out’ is the same as coming to this empty place all alone. And not just coming, but staying here. Without shelter, food, or affection of any kind. And you couldn’t stand it. How quiet, how lonely, how frustrating it was. And that’s why you decided to end your life. Yes, it’s important to pay no mind to things that aren’t worth it, but don’t ever give up on the people who matter, the things that matter, the dreams that help you wake up in the morning, the desires that force you to live your life, don’t give up on them. Because it doesn’t matter whether you’re in a bustling city or an abandoned nothingness if you have love, and joy, and peace.”

And saying so, Catherine stood up, dusted her slacks, pushed her hair behind her ears, and began walking away, knowing that Tom would, after that day, never find himself on the edge of despair.