The speedometer struggles to reach top speed as I hold the throttle wide open. She is doing her best being
forty-one years past her prime. I am ready to die. False truths. It is late March 2021 now. The air is cold in
the heart of Southern Ontario farmland. She sprints. It is hard to avoid feelings of apathy as the needle
climbs. I am not standing on the shoulders of giants. I am amongst them.
Crossing the yellow line while passing the bike wobbles. That is my only true fear at times like these.
The truth is the world has changed and I know it is irreversible. Fatal, possibly. I do not know anymore. I do
not think I have ever really known anything at all.
I think about crashing while not wearing any protective clothing as I weave in and out of traffic. A wax
crayon smearing across rough asphalt on a hot summer's day. A severed abdomen skidding along like a curling
stone on a fresh sheet of ice. Once you have these thoughts it is all you think about. Apparitions on the
horizon. Memories for you to return to on nights like this one. Red hair. Blue eyes. Staring at me from across
the bar. December 2021. I am nervous but I do not want to look away as my mind wanders. I do. It is almost
summer now. It has been over a year. I wonder what lies ahead.
Some flowers are nearing full bloom. The scent of lilacs carried on a light wind. The air grows cool as a storm
is approaching. The clear blue skies dampened by darkened cumulus. I grow in the earth what I cannot in myself.
I wonder why we import toxic vegetables and invasive species instead of eating locally and respecting God's
Earth. A flood is coming. I am negative to be around. I find solace in the visiting bees amongst my lavender and
queen lime zinnias. Colonies are collapsing and nobody seems to be panicking. I doubt myself a lot. That is why
I am so negative. The longhorn continue to graze as if nothing is happening at all.
The pumpkins have been carved and set. Illuminated by candles that flicker in the breeze. October 2020.
Halloween. I am drawing straight lines learning how to draw. I feel as if I have been splintered from some
spatial body and have been cast into the infinite cosmic abyss spinning in eternity throwing fits of rage in all
directions. Amongst the sowers of discord bent and broken. Skin torn from flesh as it expands to the end of
natural elasticity before snapping. I am there with them dragging myself around the floors of hell slowly
regenerating in screaming agony. I am Saturn cast into the light clutching my dead child. A profound sadness
haunts me. I am not standing on the shoulders of giants. I am amongst them.
I try to comfort her. I feel her growing away from me as the leaves continue to fall off the trees outside
unnoticed in the dark. The lanterns are moved from the doorstep to the backyard where they stay until finally
losing their shape weeks later. Grief is the strangest deliverance I have ever known. There is nothing more to
talk about before we go to sleep on separate sides of the bed. People understand what I am telling them.
Sometimes I think they are just waiting for me to realize that they do. She was there too.
November 2019. I do not feel very smart. It is three in the morning and I am using a university proxy to scavenge
through NCBI for articles to bring to our next appointment with the veterinarian instead of studying the
principles of cell biology. She is having seizures multiple times a week now. Uncontrolled by medication and
worsening. I am looking for answers. We have spent a lot of time at the vet since she broke her leg. I am
failing. I need to fix this. It is only a dog. They listen to my desperate theories to be polite I know
in retrospect. I was crawling around on my hands and knees in the dark and I found answers to questions I did
not understand. Blackness without amnesty. Wading through sadness is hard after a while.
I was so proud to get into online school for some reason. A fucking genius in my school hoodie having
never stepped foot on campus. No one is impressed no matter how badly you wanted them to be. Fix it, Colby.
If you are so smart now is the time to prove it you fucking moron. Sapientia et doctrina stabilitas. I
can't. I am very sorry. I cannot.
One day at an appointment I tell the veterinarian in private that I know there is nothing more that can be
done and I understand how this will end. I ask her to not discuss it with my girlfriend. She smiles sadly. I do
not return to school.
I just got off tour. July 2017. The truth is I am incredibly disappointed with the reception to the record. I
think Country music is sexist towards women. I have a moustache. I am wearing blue short shorts and an ugly
Christmas sweater. I think I may have fallen in love while wearing the stupidest outfit I have ever wore but it
was laundry day. I regret it all night.
It is April 2021 and I have moved home. The clock is dead on the wall at quarter to nine. My belongings
collected dust as the battery lived out its life. Most of it for show. Books with unbroken spines and wasted
time. I spent many hours in this room but I feel like my work here is not yet done. It is a different vocation
now. One to redeem the soul. When will the last thing I wrote be the final thing I have written? What time will
read on the clock when it is all said and done? I have too many regrets against an unknown hourglass. Maybe my
time is running out. My mind is filled with flagrancy and I am not sober as I lay in bed staring at the fan on
the ceiling. Death is my only motivator and I feel it deeply now.
How do you tell someone you are interested in them beyond interacting with their photos online late at
night? I am bad at self expression. The room is spinning. It does not feel like falling in love. It feels like I
am setting traps. I am dealing with the breakup as best as I can. I am making another album. I am writing
another book. I am finishing the first one I started.
I lie in bed fully clothed as a space heater runs. January. I read about The Revelation of Saint John The Divine almost every night before I go to sleep now. I have found God. He is not as merciful as you may think. I have been punished. My nights are restless and I fear sober sleep only more than being alone. It is only a dog.
I awake to the sounds of screaming. September 28, 2020. The covers come off as fast as I can manage. I remember
what she is yelling well because I try to forget it often. I already know she is dead.
I am on my knees beside the couch. I breathe in her mouth. I begin compressing her chest. I do not want to
break her ribs. I need to push harder. I am afraid. My entire universe is shattering around me. I have no idea
what else to do in this situation beyond what I am doing right now. Frantic screams plead for me to call
someone. To do something. There is no one to call in this kind of emergency. It is only a dog. I
have all the attention I have ever wanted and I am a failure. It is all my fault. I am trying to pump her heart
as her lips turn blue. She is already gone. My baby. I beg her to not leave as I begin to cry. Today is
my birthday.
Things change as you get older. You find strength where you were once fearful. There are moments you want
to forget in life. I have a few. I am standing in a shallow grave looking up at my mother and sister as they
stand socially distant during the worst pandemic in over one hundred years as I prepare to bury my dog on my
birthday. I ask them if they think it is deep enough through my tears realizing how small it is.
I need a second chance. Just one more opportunity to do better. They were only on the couch because she
wanted to let me sleep in for my birthday after seizures through the night. I wish I could have been there with
them. I wonder if it would have made a difference. It is hard knowing the answer to a question like that. I am
an idealist masquerading as a realist. Premonition during a tragedy is the worst feeling to have. I have had a
few.
My hands are soft. The skin quickly wore away from the shovel replaced by oozing blisters. There is blood
on my hands. I am sitting on a chair watching prerecorded birthday messages from my friends an hour later beside
the couch where she died. I cry the entire time. I am not confident that I am not still dreaming. None of this
feels real.
The Christmas lights sparkle in the thick July air. I never really believed people had parties like this until I
was at one. Nat King Cole plays between party guests reacquainting themselves after a partial summer. I am
amongst friends and family. Lights are strung up by the pool between the banisters. We talked alone for hours.
It is hard knowing how you will remember someone. I still am not entirely sure. I do not want to know how people
will remember me. I think about it a lot.
The summer has finally come and I am alone in my new apartment. Things have changed. They always do. I am
for the first time on my feet. I am Perseus hacking at the neck of Medusa as the snakes on her head run through
my fingers. Blood pools in her mouth as I pull her head from her torso. I am not standing on the shoulders of
giants. I am amongst them.
A lot of time has passed. We are at my mother's house cutting the last of the years flowers. It has been a while
since I have seen her. We make small conversation about our lives and what has happened over the past several
months. She places the cut flowers in a bucket filled halfway with water. I tell her there may still be more
flowers. She says she thinks this is all. The sun is setting as the blue sky turns to shades of red, yellow and
violet. I help her place the flowers in her passenger seat as she puts a seat belt around them. I wave to her as
she says goodbye and drives away alone. I turn around and walk down the gravel drive towards the house. Life
does not happen the way you hope despite your best intentions. Things were good once and I am left knowing that
they will be good again.◆