Searching for the Fountain of Youth

by Curtis Picketts

  Chapter 8 – The Road to Ridiculousness

  “Life’s a trip, you’re born with a ticket.”

  I wonder if it is possible for a person to live completely free from society, to be absolutely free to be an individual? But how can they? Can you be completely free of something when you yourself have helped shape it and create it? Is a painter not a part of their painting, a baker not a part of their pastry, or Tom not a part of the deaths of fifty-three Filipino refuges? How could someone argue that rich, fertile soil is not a part of a beautiful oak cabinet, even if that soil can no longer be immediately realized as creating the cabinet? Would the soil not be a more critical component than the corduroy slacks that dwell within them? If this is true, then how can anyone ever be totally free, no matter how displaced from society they have become?

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  “What’s all the stir today Jackie? Any new friends? Any intriguing new developments on the inside?” Dr. Stone inquired as he took a seat inside the dark prison cell of Jackie Bergeron. It was a very small, clean, private cell in a very private part of the prison. Jackie was still on suicide watch and was held in a very secure section of the Halifax jail. His only contact with the other inmates was during meal times, exercise periods, and shower sessions. The rest of the time, he was alone. He laid motionless in his bed, the norm., for his appointment with Dr. Stone.

  “Are you trying to make me kill myself Dr. Stone?” he asked as he rolled over to face his psychiatrist.

  “I just think that you need to keep your mind busy with other things, that’s all. Don’t let your thoughts wander too much. If we can get you focused on something, we can get you better.”

  “Hah,” Jackie scoffed. “Get me better. You know why I trust you as my psychiatrist Dr. Stone? It’s because I know that you’re crazy too. Get me better. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I’m too far gone now. If your ego wasn’t the size of Tiny in cell block four, you’d realize it too!” Jackie rolled over and faced the wall. “No, the only thing left for me now is to become free. Not free from prison, but free from the world. Last night I had a dream. I dreamed that I was a badger, living in a beautiful, dark forest. Everything was green and glistening from the dew. As I roamed about, I remember feeling this sense of total freedom and peace. It was as if there were no rules governing me; as if no one was watching me; as if no one cared about what I was doing. It was magical. But then I noticed three smaller badgers scurrying behind me, following my every move. They were my young and we were free in the wild together. Life made complete sense in that moment. The key to being free from society is to remove one’s self from it completely; to live in the world from a distance.”

  “Kind of like you are now in prison?” Dr. Stone inquired.

  “Exactly. As I was walking with my young, I felt the wind shift directions and I detected a stale smell riding along the breeze. I looked back and saw a shadow. The shadow looked as if it was following us, and I immediately became panicked. I thought that this creature was surely trying to kill my young. Without hesitation, I darted towards the shadow and lunged at the furry creature that appeared to be the source of the stagnant stench. Now you see, the shadow must have been eight feet tall or more, so I naturally assumed that it belonged to a coyote or a fox. Without even thinking about my own safety, I leaped onto the creature and attacked to kill. When the threat finally stopped writhing between my sharp teeth, I released it from my mouth.”

  “And what was the creature Jackie?”

  “It was another badger. I guess it had got separated from its family and was merely trying to see if we were them. And then I woke up.”

  “You know Jackie, dreams don’t always have meanings. Just because you killed a badger in your dream, doesn’t mean that you’ll kill more people. It was just a dream.”

  “Well, that’s what I thought at first too, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day. The reason I killed the other badger was because I thought that my young were in danger. But not only that, it was that I cared for my young. It wasn’t having my young that prevented me from having control; it was the fact that I cared. Being alone in the wild will never make you free Doctor. Being free of care is the only way. And that’s why I can’t agree with your advice to keep my mind busy. If I think about anything for too long, I may start to care about it. And if I start to care about something, I will never be free. The only way to be totally free from the world is to not care about anything in it, and I’m getting awfully close to achieving that. Please let me be free Doctor.”

  “As you wish Jackie,” Dr. Stone said as he exited the cell. “I’ll let you be free.” Dr. Stone walked out of the prison that day in turmoil. Was Jackie right, was emotion all that stood in the way of liberation? Or was he himself crazy for believing in a word Jackie said? How could you go an entire lifetime without ever caring about anything or anybody?

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  How do you transport a fox, a chicken, and a bag of grain from one side of a river to the other? Simple. You first take the chicken over and then the fox. When you get the fox over, take the chicken back. Then take the grain over. Lastly, take the chicken over again and ‘voalah’, nothing gets eaten. It’s funny, we can answer a challenging problem like this, but simple, common problems stop us short in our tracks. For example, how do you mend a broken heart? Or better yet, how do you regain that piece of yourself that goes missing after something tragic happens to a loved one? I fail to believe that two lifetimes would be substantial enough periods of time for me to come up with answers to these questions. And yet, which problem am I more likely to encounter? The fox, chicken, and grain dilemma, or the loss of one’s spirit? God must have hated arithmetic; struggle contains far too much synergy.

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  “Od-de-do-dah-day!” Dr. Stone whistled as he walked out of the hospital. A night off; what a beautiful thing. And a night off with Kimberly, what an even more beautiful thing! As Dr. Stone whistled, his mind began to transform into Winston’s, but he couldn’t fully relinquish to the metamorphosis; there was still a tiny bit of caterpillar left in his mind and he badly wanted to rid himself of it before his date with the young butterfly whom awaited his attention. “Why can’t I get Jackie off my mind?” he thought as he started his Audi. “Am I a slave to society? Because I care about things? Jackie just made it sound like such a dreadful thing: to care. As if having a conscience will inevitably lead me to cause unplanned harm to others. That is just ridiculous,” he thought. “Just plain ridiculous.” Winston gave his head a shake, cranked up the radio, and began singing about being from a small town. Kimberly lived a little bit outside of the city center, in an area called Bedford. As Winston swerved around sperm turn after sperm turn, he began to day-dream about Kimberly. “I wonder what she’ll smell like tonight,” he thought. “Will it be like sliced apples, or like sugary cotton candy like she did last time.” My God Winston loved cotton candy.

  His thoughts were interrupted, however, as his pocket began to vibrate. “Damn cell phone. Hello,” he answered with resentment in his voice.

  “Dr. Stone?”

  “Yes, this is him. What’s going on?”

  “Dr. Stone, this is Steve Chambers. I’m really sorry to tell you this, but I really thought that sooner would be better than later. I’m Tom’s brother, and, well, …….. Tom is dead!” Weeping protruded from the end of Winston’s phone just like water from a leaky faucet: both noises can seem distant, but both noises can still make you wet your pants. The weeping turned into howling. Winston began to cry. Two seconds later, his Audi was in the ditch and he was unconscious.

  Chapter 9 – A Ghost’s Whisper

  “There’s no downstairs when you’re in the basement.” – Andrew Bonnell (A Friend)

  “Winston! Winston! Winston, it’s your dad! Oh lord, w
ake my boy up so that I can tell him I’m sorry! I love you!” The cries of a stubborn man often go unheard for eons just like remorseless apologies that lie unaccepted, six feet underground for eternity. Even if God could hear Samuel, why would he help? His apology wasn’t real; the tone in his voice sounded like it was covering up a jewellery heist; it didn’t sound like that of a deep regret. No, Samuel’s cries were more comparable to a ghost’s whisper, but maybe that’s why Winston woke up. Yes, anger was the emotion that awoke his frontal lobe from its infinite darkness.

  “Dad?” he whispered as his eyelids twitched violently. “Dad, am I dead?”

  “No son, we’re both still alive. I was so scared son. The doctors told me that you’d be okay, but what the hell do doctors know?” Winston chuckled.

  “And my body still works?” he asked.

  “Yes son, your body will be fine. Your mind is unchanged as well, you’re just shook up from what they tell me.”

  “Ha, ha. Well maybe I’ll be the judge of that.” He paused to catch his breath. “Dad, Tom’s dead. I loved him.”

  “Yes, I know. I’ve been talking to Mr Chambers, Tom’s brother, quite extensively. Apparently Tom killed himself son. From what Mr. Chambers tells me, it was quite unexpected. He tells me, and you already know this of course, but he tells me that Tom was a very happy person. He tells me that Tom battled his bipolarism very intensely and rarely became depressed. When he was depressed, he would come see you, and you would make him better. Does all that sound about right?”

  “Yeah Dad, that’s exact. He was a very happy person and he rarely would have to come see me. I loved it when he did though; he made me feel as if I was touching people thousands of miles away. He was my friend Dad, not just my patient.” Winston began to weep again, the tears turning his hospital dress into a tie-dye hippie gown. He wiped his tears with the gown and sniffed violently twice. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “I’m truly sorry for your loss son. I wish your friend could still be with you, just like I wish mine was still with me.” Samuel’s eyes too sprang a leak.

  “I know Dad. Dad?” he asked in a weak, preadolescent manner. “Dad, do you know if Mom’s still alive? I mean, we’ve never been told that she isn’t. Could she still be alive?”

  “She was terribly sick when she left son. I don’t know where the realm of possibility ends and the world of imagination begins though, the borders are always too hard to recognize. I don’t know if it’s possible, or if the idea itself is purely fantasy. I hope she’s not suffering.”

  “That’s always been your problem! You’ve always had this phobia of suffering, as if pain is man’s kryptonite. Well, let me tell you something Dad. Pain isn’t kryptonite! I welcome suffering as openly as I open my heart to a patient. Your brain and your heart are no different from your arms or legs Dad; without pain, they don’t grow!” Winston pounded his fists on his bed and wept again.

  “Maybe you’re right son, but I think if you look deeper within yourself, you’ll see that you have the same fear that I do. You may be able to withstand pain, but you can’t stand by and watch someone else suffer, can you? In fact, I know you can’t. I think that if you look deep enough, you know that you think that the alleviation of suffering is the greatest purpose to anyone’s life. That’s why you’re a doctor, isn’t it?”

  “Fuck you!” was all Winston would ever say to his father again.

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  “Good morning boss,” Nancy said as she entered the room. She was a drop-dead gorgeous nurse with whom Winston frequently enjoyed the pleasure of five-minute lunches. “How are we feeling today dare-devil?”

  “I’m okay Nancy. I might be better if I had a hug though,” he said, the sides of his mouth running away from each other like identically charged magnets.

  “Oh you,” she said. She gave him a warm squeeze. “There’s someone here to see you. A Mr. Chambers he said. Should I send him in?”

  “Yes. I think it’s time to turn to the orchestra.”

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  “Mr. Chambers, I don’t know quite what to say. I’m terribly sorry for your loss, I loved Tom like a brother too.”

  “Yeah, I know that, you fucking prick! He’s dead because of that. If you could have just done your fucking job like you were supposed to, my brother would still be alive. Do you recommend suicide to all of your bi-polar patients Doctor?” Winston was flabbergasted. How could Tom’s death be his fault? He cared for him more than he cared for anyone in his life. Pure shock bewildered him and understanding left the premises. Tear ducts opened as he sat up and looked around the room, searching for any indication that this might all just be a terrible nightmare. But alas, the room was too still and the air was too silent for a nightmare.

  “Mr. Chambers, I didn’t kill Tom. I saved Tom several times and I loved him. I would only do what was best for him.” He was crying heavily now, but the walls echoed nothing. Mr. Chambers broke the silence.

  “There was a note Dr. Stone. It was for you.” Winston grabbed it and his heart read intently.

  Winston old boy, this is it. My life’s struggles are over because we’ve finally found it, the way to beat the pain we feel in our heads when something isn’t right. All of my life I’ve wondered how to help others, how to end their suffering. But it occurred to me: some people aren’t made to end suffering unless they can withstand tremendous pain. I’ve tried to endure that pain, but my body, my mind, and my heart just weren’t created strong enough; I wasn’t given the strength that the people I have killed were born with. No, old friend, for people like us there’s only one way to help anybody: to forget. We have to forget about what causes us pain and live out our dreams. Mine was to see Mt. Rushmore from the very top and now I’ve done it. The sculpting is truly remarkable, much nicer than my village. It is my intent to die here Winston; I have nothing left in this cruel world to see or do. All I want is to rest. I hope you listen to my advice. If life’s too tough to be a do-gooder, then quit my old friend. Just live for you and see everything that you’ve imagined in your dreams. I love you.

  Your true friend,

  Tom

  Deja-vu overwhelmed Winston until finally understanding made its grand entrance. He had been too distracted to see that Tom hadn't been ready to be released from the hospital. He had been too concerned with being friends than with being responsible. And then understanding thoroughly smacked him. All of these years, he had made it his utmost essential agenda to free Tom’s mind from the intoxication of his medication. For years, he had sent Tom off with little to no medicinal relief for his problems, just with what he had thought was better: wisdom. He had always thought that Tom would enjoy his life more if he battled, rather than treated, his illness. You see, psychiatric medications have this phenomenal ability to make everything feel the same. They can make everything pleasant. Winston had always thought that Tom wanted to feel real emotions, not just pleasant ones. He had thought that real, intense emotions were what had been keeping Tom alive. By feeling sadness and sympathy for those who were suffering, Tom would find purpose. He would strive to help others and would then be happy, just like the people he would help. But now, after all that was presented to him, Winston understood. The real emotions killed Tom. He had killed Tom.

  “I’m sorry for what I’ve done Mr. Chambers.”

  Chapter 10 – The Statute of Liberty

  “When hope is lost, assumptions are made. Never lose hope.” – Jenny

  “Wasted away! Yes, I’m so wasted away, because today is the day, that the children of the garden run free! There’s no one governing me, I’m finally free, because I’m so wasted away!” There was more to the song, but that’s as far as Winston got. He had just puked on his bare feet, and he casually wiped the freedom goo from the sides of his psychotic grin. In one hand, he held a glass of tequila and coconut milk. In the other, a small uku
lele that had been his best friend in the hot Mexican sun for the past two months. He had seldomly seen a sober ray of sunlight during those four fort nights.

  His career and his spirit had been destroyed by Tom's death. The Canadian Medical Association suspended his license pending further investigation and his professional reputation could have easily walked away with first prize in a limbo contest. No one trusted his judgment anymore and that was all that he felt he had in life; he had dedicated himself for over a decade, trying to be closer to God by healing sick men and women, but he had failed. He felt as if he had just made mankind worse off. So he fled.

  When he first arrived in Mexico, he had no intentions of staying long. The idea was to get as far away from home as possible and to stop and smell every flower along the way. By doing this, he thought he may truly be able to discover the essence of his life. Perhaps he hadn’t found it earlier because he had never taken the time to sniff for it. He wasn’t exactly sure what it would smell like, but he hoped it would smell new. If it smelled too familiar, it might mean that he had ruined his life. But, instead of searching upon arrival, he poisoned his body for sixty-one days straight.

  The day after his arrival in Mexico, he went to a night-club called “The Donkey”. There was a Mexican string band playing enlightening melodies about faded memories and distant dreams, and people lubricated the dance-floor with joyful sweat. Winston joined them. His body spent most of the night pressed intently against a smooth-skinned stranger with gypsy eyes as dark as the hole in his soul. They spoke no words and immersed themselves in the rhythm. When the music finally stopped and the lights were turned on, she simply looked at him and said, “I want to get lost tonight.” And that’s just what they did. They stayed up all night speaking about the insignificance of individuals and about how life truly belonged to the beholder. He fell in love immediately. The next morning, she put her wedding ring back on and left.