Waiting For The Creeper: Part Five
If You Are Waiting To Die, How Long Do You Wait?
Content warning — This story contains content about suicide and suicidal ideation.
THE NIGHT APPROACHES
It did not seem that late, yet dusk was fast approaching because of the high mountain tops. His mobile phone rang several times in the last hour, but he did not answer or even look at it. Eventually, Gareth walked over to the large rocks and placed his phone and wallet in the unlocked van. Now at least, the police could identify him. He did not wish to cause anyone more trouble than was necessary. Even with madness in his head, the English concern for appropriateness was still at the forefront of his mind.
That is the problem with illogical thinking; it does not make sense. It did not seem he grasped the inappropriateness of his choice at all. Had the intention been about Gareth making the only option available? Or was the choice already made for him? Were the bewildering ideas inside his brain an illness? A disease? Or was he utterly aware of his actions and making a false choice? To him, it had always been a war within. Now it was about to be a war without. A fight he would surely lose.
Gareth was becoming angry. Not at the world or anyone in it. But at himself. He could have avoided all this. If only. I never wanted to hurt anyone, he thought to himself. If only. He recalled vividly being a naïve young sixteen-year-old. Even so, he had recently started to work as a civil servant in the Ministry of Agriculture. He had even purchased his first motorcycle, a Yamaha. His father made fun of the bike because it was Japanese. His father thought he was funny and intelligent. He was neither — he was a monster of a man who created a monster of a boy.
Gareth was a man now. He worked and had his own transportation. An air of self-confidence was starting to show. His self-esteem had been non-existent as a boy. Of course, terrified children do not develop the appropriate self-esteem. But now, it was different. If only. Even wearing a three-piece suit with a conservative tie, as rules required, did not make him a man. A sixteen-year-old man is still a boy, no matter what he says. During his first month at work, Gareth attended a senior management party, and when there, he was going to be introduced to the manager's beautiful daughter, Maxine. Only sixteen and receiving invites and introductions. He was proud that the manager had so much confidence in his work. And perhaps even more excited to see Maxine. He had seen her pictures; she was tall and blond, aged sixteen. Yet, this thirty-year memory was not a good one. Upon arriving at the ancient and expensive-looking manor near Chester, his manager directed him to an upstairs bedroom where Maxine would be waiting to meet him. He thought it strange, yet he was excited. If only. He opened the double doors. There was no Maxine. No teenage beauty. Only his manager is behind the doors. His manager punched and strangled Gareth, held him down, and viciously raped him. The truth was that there was never a Maxine. If only Gareth had died by suicide, hanging in his closet when he got home that night as planned. If he had done so, he could not have hurt anyone in the future. If only.
THE END IS NIGH
It seemed apparent in the darkness that the Creeper was not coming back tonight. There had been no movement on the rail track since this morning; Gareth did not understand. What happened? It should have been a good thing. Why? Why? Oh, why? Do I have to go back to the Fatherland, Provo? It was dark, but it was not dark. The moon was shining brightly over the mountains. The vast mass of water sparkled as in a Disney movie, except without the inanimate objects talking to each other. No teapots are dancing here. No bears singing in grass skirts. Maybe Aladdin could come by and take me away, he thought. He could live in a cartoon. After all, he always wanted to be Tigger as a child; he loved listening to Tigger speak. But now, he would be Eeyore, the miserable freakin' donkey. He was tired and had not thought straight all day long and longer. Gareth tormented himself. He felt paralyzed by hopelessness, guilt, and dread. His specialty was what he called his disaster theory or worst-case scenario — never moving on and constantly experiencing eternal pain.
His thoughts rapidly jerked from one side of his brain to the other. "Typical," he said to himself. "I can't die without it being a freakin' failure." Gareth never considered all the successes he had encountered over his lifetime. Under the shiny chrome exterior of positivism and Tony Robbins-like language lay a void or space. It had been empty since childhood. Very empty. It had been stolen from him and never given back. What does a child do when his innocence is gone at such a young age? Imagine being eight years old and knowing what only adults know. It is too shocking to imagine. His family accused him of dreaming it; not so. He lived it. It was all too real and had been for a very long time.
The previous day Gareth met with his local church leaders to ask for help and confess his sins. The response was not what he expected. Their focus had been on avoiding any bad press for the church and not spiritual aid for a sinner. The truth was his ex-communication would take place because of "bringing the name of the church into disrepute." He had hoped that with nowhere to lay his head, as the scripture reads, Jesus and his only true church would help him atone and live. Not so with this Jesus. Not so with this church, the Mormon church. Even the Mormon God does not forgive the deplorable. Men, I expect. God, I do not. Gareth thought maybe he did not need the Creeper to certify his time of death. Making choices today was becoming ever more like Eeyore; oh no. Not again, Stupid ass donkey!
Waiting for the Creeper changed his life. At least that day. The waiting had been excruciating to an extreme. The reliving of past traumas should have pushed Gareth closer to his death. At least, he was hoping so. That day they did not. The song from MASH says, "suicide is painless." It may be so but waiting to die is categorically not so — a voodoo doll covered in large razor-sharp pins would be the only one who knew how he felt. Yet, ironically, Waiting for the Creeper had saved his life. The torturous day scarred him forever. But he deserved that, didn't he? He kept thinking back several weeks when he talked with his wife at the water's edge of Vivian Park. He had begged and pleaded. He pleaded with her and swore he would change. He was sorry and sorry again. He certainly understood her reluctance. As she walked away, she told him that she hoped he would die. She almost got her desire that day.
Gareth never did find out why the train had never reappeared. He drove home slowly. He made it back to Provo. It would be wonderful to announce the Creeper was the pivotal moment in his life, eventually leading to happiness, fairies, and being Tigger. Sadly it was not the case. The Creeper was the first in many moments over the next decade of similar ilk: homelessness, hunger, five years of therapy, and at least three more attempts at death by suicide. Through carbon monoxide poisoning in the van, a Glock revolver in his mouth, and suffocation from plastic oven bags. All failed. In ongoing trials of various brutal medications, most were worse than the sickness they were supposed to improve.
You all know what they say, right? Fake it until you make it. Gareth did just that for years, to no avail. It never worked out. So why tell me what hurts? Because if you remain silent forever, you and your life will eventually disappear. Are you prepared to do just that? Or are you willing to share? Are you ready to offer yourself up to benefit others and, by doing so, help yourself too? After all, the pains you share ultimately become the love you share. It is difficult to grasp what love means until you have lost it entirely.
If you are waiting to die, how long do you wait was the question. Only when one stops asking that question of themselves does life begin. You can not live in the past, just as you are not able to live in the future. Your life is right here, right now. Live it. Love it. And don't wait for The Creeper!
In 1948 Nat King Cole had his first solo number-one hit entitled Nature Boy, written by eden ahbez. One line of this song changed Gareth's life forever, "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return." Most people learn this as children. Some don't. That's the difference.
(NB: “This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.”)
© Stephen G. Arrowsmith 2022
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