Mental Purgatory

Overview
This piece is my first attempt at something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I’ve had trouble lately with continuous narrative and instead, have found myself captured by brief scenes. Things like a solitary shoe lying abandoned on the corner of a road, or walking alone outside in the middle of the night when all is silent. It’s amazing the way these different things, while truly insignificant, can seem so powerful.

Following that idea, the major inspiration for this piece comes from the movie Prison Song. I’m sure none of you have seen it but in the movie, Q-Tip is walking about the prison yard. He’s singing as he moves and says “Picture this. Click. Click” as he forms “photographs” in his hands of the different scenes of the prison yard. That idea stuck with me and I tried to use it here. Note: None of these scenes are related to the others. I might try changing that in a later draft, as I’ve considered making the story instead about photographs that reveal details of a story.

It’s very rough and doesn’t actually have an ending but I hope you enjoy it!

Photographs in the Crevices of My Mind
By Matthew Fyffe

Standing in the middle of the road late in the night. One leg placed on each of the yellow stripes dividing the street in half. Complete silence as the apartments lining the street have their lights turned off, the city dwellers have all entered their quiet slumber. Lifeless, the road is dead. Cars parallel parked on both sides, ghostly metallic shells that seem out of place. Looking out in either direction, nothing moves. I am alone.

Click. Click.

Working in my room in the residence hall, the clock reads 12:30. Ready for bed, I’ve brushed my teeth and all that remains is for me to close the door and turn off the lights. Yet a girl appears in the doorway. Long black hair running down her back, a Rutgers sweatshirt and a coy smile, I’ve never seen her before. She offers me one of the chocolate balls on the tray she holds. “I was just baking and saw your door was open,” she cautiously suggests. I frown. I would love one but the minty taste of toothpaste is fresh in my mouth. “Take one for tomorrow,” she resolves. I do. It was delicious. I am content.

Click. Click.

“You’re gonna love this movie, I promise,” I tell my friend as I stand at her TV. She sits on the couch, a look of doubt on her face. I’d been hyping up the movie, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, for weeks and we were finally going to watch it. I popped open the DVD case to reveal an empty holder. The disk was at my house, in my DVD player, where I had watched it weeks earlier. “Well, we can just watch something else, I guess,” she sighs. I am embarrassed.

Click. Click.

I walk up the approach, the long stone staircase connecting the town and my college campus. It’s 11 o’clock at night and the town is silent. I remember the police report of muggings in the area as I find myself alone. I look to the top of the stairs where I see two figures. Wearing heavy parkas, the two figures are illuminated by the street lights as they look down upon the approach. I suspect I am about to become the next crime report, the next mugging victim. I approach my fate with heavy steps, seeing my supposed future but knowing no way to stop it. I am scared.

Click. Click.

I stand in the doorway to her room. She’s lying in her pajamas, a magazine in her hands as she looks at me expectantly. I’d spent the last hour lying on the couch outside her room, staring t he sliver of light under her door. I’d rehearsed what I’d wanted to say: I love you, I want to date, I drove four hours to come visit you because there’s nothing I’d rather do than spend time with you. “I like you. I was thinking maybe if you were cool with it that the two of us might be able to date,” is the best I could muster, cursing my lack of eloquence in my head. “I was afraid of that,” she frowns sympathetically. “It’s not that I don’t like you, we just can’t date.” I stand in the doorway, uncertain what to say, uncertain how to rewind the clock and avoid this conversation. I am rejected.

Click. Click.

I enter her room to see her still in her pajamas. Her eyes are red and her voice is weak as I greet her. Her arms are wrapped around her pillow and I feel like I’ve encountered a classic “girl who’s upset about something” situation. I sit down on her bed, knowing full well that something’s wrong but having no idea how to breach it. She rests her head on my lap and I caress the back of her neck with my fingertips. “Nothing’s wrong,” she responds when I ask her if everything’s okay. We sit silent, me in jeans and a t-shirt, ready for the day, her in pajamas and a tank top, ready for the day to leave her alone. We sit in silence, her unwilling to tell me her troubles, me unable to get her to talk about them. I am helpless.

Click. Click.

I lie in bed, stripped down to just a pair of underwear staring up at the ceiling. My blue comforter is pulled to my chest and a fan sits close by blasting cool air into my face. I want to sleep, I need to sleep, but am unable to. I’d lied that way for the past hour but I’d had no luck getting any closer to rest. I run through all the techniques I’ve known. Stare in the distance at a fixed point, count in your head, meditate your body into relaxation. Nothing works and my mind begins to wonder what sleep is, how we’re even able to fall asleep. How does your body just slip into the state of unconsciousness? Is this what dying is like? I know I should get up, do something else, but instead, I’ll just keep trying to sleep. I am exhausted.

Click. Click.

Snapshots of life, a collection of isolated scenes in our lives. These brief moments affect nothing in the grand scheme of things. Despite their insignificance, these events stay with you forever, buried in the corners of your mind in boxes covered by dust, hidden by cobwebs.