Mirthy Bird - Bird of Mirth

There was this unshakeable sadness that had him in its grip.  Some times, many times, it would disappear for weeks, for months and even years to the point where he began to believe it would never come back.  On those rare occasions when happiness paid him a visit, he would do his best to enjoy being in the present. 

In those happy times, his energy would exponentially double - filling him with unfathomable confidence.  His true talent was his ability to transfer this energy to others around him.  When he was happy, everyone was happy.

It was during these pinnacles of bliss, when the sadness, hiding in its secret corner in his subconscious, would decide to seep out and reveal itself.  Often, he would not notice until well past the tipping point, when his soul was too bruised with melacholy to heal quickly.

These were the bottoms.  When everything simple became complex.  Routine tasks were insurmountable.  Life seemed to stop and congeal around him.

He had learned over the years that even the sadness was transitory.  Knowing that it was just a phase provided some comfort, but, more difficult, was the believing that it would pass.

Certain things helped him get through these depressions - loud music, good books, long walks alone - but their effects were temporary.  At best, they would lift his spirits slightly before inexplicably dropping them haphazardly back down below the surface.

He was in one of those moments now as he drove West down I-10 towards Pensacola. 

——

The Tornado Rider lyrics blasted from my car stereo:  ”I dance the dance called the Golden Apple Dance and I dance all day and night.  I dance the dance called the Golden Apple Dance and I dance til it feels all right.”

With one hand on the wheel, I looked over at Carla.  The music was loud, but not loud enough to rouse her from her wine cooler enhanced nap.  Three empty bottles labeled “Strawberry Banana Sunrise” rolled around the floorboard near her feet.  I watched the wind play with her hair as we passed under the pale white sunshine of the highway lights.

Even while darkened by sadness, this was a good moment.  I always enjoyed watching Carla sleep.  Her guard was down and I could really study her face.  The cute little wrinkles that would so often dominate her expressions when awake, were now relaxed and hidden.  Her full lips, tired of the pouting and constant lip gloss and Chapstick applications, even seemed at ease.

I still couldn’t imagine what she was doing with me.  My gifts, as they were, were modest, and, all in all, I was, by all accounts, lucky to be average.  “Plainer than plain” was how she would playfully describe me to her friends I hadn’t yet met.  If I had friends, I would have described her to them as “the best thing to ever happen to me” or “the one” or some other such average thing to say.  Of my aforementioned gifts, poetry and romance were not on my short list of talents.

I could, however, do incredible impersonations of people.   After 30 seconds with anyone new, I was able to pick up on two or three defining mannerisms and magically reenact them.  I’m not even sure how I learned to do it or why.  It sounds useless I know, but it is my one true talent and more importantly it is what drew Carla to me.  

Sitting on the steps of the library after class one day, I was doing an impression of my biology professor, Dr. Marks for some of my study group.  Dr. Marks was a tall, gaunt man who had just the slightest speech impediment which caused him to trip over his “t’s” and “s’s”.  He also had this unnerving way of staring you down if he thought you were BSing him. 

“Tho you thee clath, the invertebrateth thection will be on see tesss.”  I said while mimicking his stare. 

Carla happened to be coming down the steps at the time and stopped and shook her head.  “Dr. Marks right?” she asked with a big grin.

I turned to her, still in character, “Yeth ma’am.  Are you ready to thudy the thea cucumber?”

After that, things just got better.  We were together all the time.  She thought I was funny and I thought she was everything.

Of course, that is when the first bouts of depression hit.  It was so confusing to me to be so happy and so sad simultaneously.  The question “Why?” floated endlessly through my thoughts.  Was I not allowed to be happy?  Did the Universe like torturing me? 

I tried to share my confusion with Carla but I just couldn’t get her to understand.  She seemed to think I was one of those people that aren’t happy unless they are sad and I gave up trying to explain.  I decided I would just try to focus on the happy and ignore the sad.

Sadness doesn’t like to be ignored.  It cannot be ignored.  It is a thief that robs you of your energy, steals your optimism and vandalizes your ambition.  It is a 600 pound anvil on your chest that pins you to the ground.

I checked the web, read books and did everything except call my mother to try to get out from under the crushing weight.  It started to affect my relationship with Carla.  She didn’t want to hang out as much.  I could tell that even when we were together she was “making an effort.”

The trip to Pensacola was my idea.  A weekend alone, just the two of us, where we could reconnect.  I was hoping that time away, would be time away from the sadness.  Maybe I could outrun it, leave it behind, and rediscover the happy that had disappeared.

As I exited the highway and pulled up to the hotel, I felt the first pangs of despair.  I knew, at that moment, I could never escape.