Bird's Skeleton (Sketch Three)

A couple of nights ago, the perception I thought I had of the world changed dramatically.

There’s a story a lot of you don’t know, and most of you won’t care to. But for the few that do, I’m going to tell it anyway. It needs to be told; I can’t live in the shadow of the past. What once was cannot define me now.

Back when I was in high school I dated this guy. And long story short, he was abusive – most of what I wrote for a long time afterwards was about him. A lot of what I don’t respect about him any more was the way he ended it. I won’t go into detail but suffice it to say it was bad, and due partially to adolescent angst and partially to the Romeo-and-Juliet-esque ideals pushed upon me by the literature I read and the society in which I live (I’m looking at you, Stephenie Meyer) I attempted suicide. Obviously, it didn’t work and I found something worth living for.

But it still took a long time – what felt like forever – to get over what he said, how he acted, how badly my self-esteem was hospitalized because of the agony of that relationship. However, he lived in San Antonio so I graduated high school without a second thought as to him, or if anything could possibly change. I knew he was happy there, and I was happy going to Fort Worth, so I was perfectly fine with my life as it was.

Freshman year came and went and I focused my efforts more on ending my guilty conscience and renewing my self-esteem. It worked, for the most part. Sophomore year brought back Luke Miller as a positive, energetic, uniquely confident individual – in short, happier than I’ve ever been. My high academic performance, vibrant social life, and incredibly supportive family only compounded this idyll.

Then came two nights ago. For those of you not in the know, there’s an application on the iPhone called Grindr, which lets people who buy the app find and talk to users without giving them phone numbers or really much information at all. It’s used primarily by gay men; in fact, that’s who it’s marketed towards. And the app uses your GPS to firstly locate you and secondly order the other users by their proximity to you (i.e., people who are farther away take longer to view because they’re further down the page). I use it mostly for just chat when I’m bored, and every now and again I make a new friend or go on a date with someone.

Wednesday I was browsing the profiles of the guys near me. I was just absentmindedly flicking through people, not really paying attention, more involved in the music I was listening to than any real investment in my actions.

And then I stopped. And I had to force myself to breathe. And I gazed in mute unbelieving horror upon a face I thought I’d pushed from my memory. Labeled with a name I once couldn’t say without vomiting. The height and weight matched my recollection of what he’d told me.

I’d been visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past.

After making sure I wasn’t having a nightmare, I took several minutes to compose myself. It wasn’t what I’d pictured but I could deal with it. It’s a big city, there’s no way we’ll run into each other –

I stopped my panicked justification and checked the location.

He lives less than four miles from campus.

My heart started pounding. The chance we’d see each other just increased exponentially. What if we went to the same restaurant? Or worse, what if he came to campus? My terror increased to a fever pitch.

What if he came here because I came here? What if he tries to get back together with me? What if he sees my profile and puts it all together OH GOD WHAT IF HE KNOWS

I was involuntarily in the fetal position, shaking like a chain-link fence in a hurricane. I had to turn off the app and just lay in bed, controlling my emotions, my panic, my shattering of security. I’d imagine the feeling was similar to being robbed; your last safe haven was gone, collapsed by the intrusion of a singular entity that altogether embodied something so terrifying that it encompassed, if only briefly, your entire soul.

I couldn’t help but cry myself to sleep. I got the feeling that it shouldn’t matter, that I had spent three full years out of his psychological clutches, that it was over, that I was better, that I was stronger, that I was more than this. But it didn’t stop me from that associative regression, that primal fear of the possible.

The morning came slowly, like a snowfall. I roused myself from my uneasy slumber and looked at my phone, still in my hand from the night before. All the fear kept rushing back, and I would have spent the rest of the day looking over my shoulder and keeping away from windows. But it was then that I remembered something a very dear friend of mine once told me:

“The only power he has over you is the power you let him have.”

I knew that everything would be all right then. I had a strong group of friends who would stick up for me if anything went south; if I did run into him I would be the bigger man. I would rise with a vengeance and stay above the waves of my former iniquity; I would conquer the ghosts that had formerly haunted the walls of my head.

I now know: I am ankh personified; I am the scarab beetle after the sandstorm. I am the minstrel singing as Atlantis sinks under the waves. The city isn’t the focal point as much as the song is.

As Plato feverishly wrote, the minstrel sang. And all who witnessed it had a sliver of glass jutting from their memory. Those unwitting bearers of history, I’d imagine, lay awake at night until the day they died, replaying that song in their heads, wondering what secrets the bard had to tell, even as his voice was overcome by water and his harp broken by current.

Even as he drowned, the minstrel sang. And even though I might drown, even though what I fervently wish would not come to pass might end up happening, I will continue my life-song.

No one will have power over me but myself, and I will continue my life until its end with the knowledge conveyed in Henley’s “Invictus”:

I AM THE MASTER OF MY FATE
            I AM THE CAPTAIN OF MY SOUL