night blindness
Russell Robinson, 1369, Massachusetts Avenue:
He would say, I’ve been to Hell, and I, or anyone else for that matter, couldn’t tell him otherwise. I’d ask him, Where’s your proof? To which he would respond in slight disbelief, What do you mean? I’ve been there, I’ve seen it. Of course conversations like this get no one anywhere fast so I would usually drop it at that point. At first I pushed him for details which he provided in great detail. Like, for example, Hell consists of only two rooms, a kitchen and a living room but, so he said, the living room is not much for space because 9 day lockers sit in the middle and piles of bag hug the wall waiting to be stolen. He always said, Be careful because you’re bag is going to get stolen in Hell. To which I would respond, Well what does it matter if I’m dead, what will I need a bag for? I guess this was actually a relatively stupid question, or so he said. I mean, it seemed pretty astute to me but he wouldn’t even consider it. He would just say, Be careful with your personal belonging, a good pack is hard to come by. Now I realize this sounds like the talk of a madman who has been fast tracked for psychiatric care or hospitalization but he didn’t dwell on the subject and generally seemed subdued about the whole experience. I guess it was what it was and that was it. If he wasn’t going to give it much extra thought than why should I? And if that was the case, that it wasn’t that big of a deal to him, then why would I press on him seeing a therapist, or shrink, or whatever.
Lauren Jenkins, Trident Cafe, Newbury Street:
I poured a glass of red wine into a tumbler for him. (He always took it with ice.) He accepted it graciously and sipped at it as I made small talk. I probably mentioned a guy I was interested in, or something about my job, or whatever I did the previous night – small talk. I remember being pretty beat so I was not prepared to delve into “important” issues and such. So he listened patiently, respectfully (showing real interest) to me speak of things that always are spoken of between friends. Then he began recounting the life of an author he was reading at the time. He said he did this and that – I can’t remember the finer details – but I do remember he said the author was probably a heavier drinker and that some thought he was a heroin addict at one point. I remember those details because he told me the writer had died of liver failure of a questionable etiology – cirrhosis, hepatitis: who knows? After telling me all about this author (and suggesting I read some of his work – of course) he asked me quite seriously, he had on a real straight face on with maybe even a hint of panic or worry in his eyes, Do you think it’s miserable to die like that, or, someway similar? And I said, I can’t imagine that it wouldn’t be. Then he said, he had a heard a song that had a lyric that asked, Is it dying that terrifies you?/ Or just being dead? I told him it was probably death that really shook me. He said it was probably dying that he was most of afraid of. I said, That makes sense considering you have no reason to fear death since you know what it will be like. (He had told me about his “Trip to Hell” previously. Ps. Total crock of shit, right?) He said, that was irrelevant and actually had nothing to do with death. I said, How can that be irrelevant? And he said, It’s irrelevant because Hell has nothing to do with death – we can’t even speak of death – it’s the elephant in the room that no one can ever find the words to describe. I said, and at this point I was bordering on especially tired and had enough of his waxing, Okay fine. Whatever suits you. He said, This wine suits me okay. I then got ready for bed and he sat quietly drinking and at first I thought he was waiting for an invitation to sleep over (for old time’s sake, right?) but then I realized even if I had offered a place in my bed he probably would have declined. Sometimes when I think back I think I should have asked him to stay the night, but I know it’s not my fault what happened.
Russell Robinson, 1369, Massachusetts Avenue:
These things can catch up to anyone really. Some are especially unlucky. But now if someone asked, I would say, It’s best to go into the night blind.
* * *
Cass McCombs – I Went To The Hospital
