Burning Shade
by Joseph Couchet
You know it’s there even though you can’t see it. Behind you, in front of you, beside you, under you, it follows your every move. When you stay in one place, you know it lurks right there, the constant companion you never wanted. If it could just not be there, even just for a little while--is that too much to ask?
Each day begins with possibilities. Maybe you can start anew. Maybe it was never even there. But of course, it is. So much for thinking you can forget it and move on.
Everyone else seems to notice it, too. You can read it in their piercing stares as you pass by. Under their breath, they mutter ever so lightly. Sometimes it’s not so slightly. Nonetheless, you almost always swear that you hear something. and you want to turn and confront them. But you don’t. And you can’t confront it, so you just keep walking.
It walks away, too, although not from you. No, it follows your every move. Sometimes you give into the impulse to stop, turn, and face it.
“Leave me alone!” you demand.
It’s always gone before you even turn around, though. The last thing it wants is direct confrontation. That would be too much, though, perhaps enough to extinguish the flame altogether.
“I just want to move on,” you explain just as you have so many times before.
“No,” you can almost hear it whisper from its hiding place, “I’ll only leave on my terms, but I always move whenever you do.”
Sometimes this makes you just want to admit that it’s won. Why not just accept that and move on yourself? But you know the answer.
They also won’t let you step away from it. They seem to prop it up and keep it active with every look and whisper, even with every thought about it, almost like they breathe more life into it and charge its power. And they do it without realizing they are the ones truly in the dark. What a hollow ironic victory that is.
“It’s not my fault,” each one would claim. No one ever said it was their fault, but you know what they really mean. They don’t want to take any blame for not letting it go.
“Don’t worry about what other people think.” That’s a common response, too, like suddenly everyone is your mother.
“We are living in a society,” they need to be reminder, “and what other people do and say does matter. It can matter a great deal.”
“Shrug it off.” That is another great piece of advice. Over time, it has grown so large that a shrug would never do it anyway. It would just land right behind you with a thud and then roll behind you every step of the way. They even have you second-guessing yourself. Perhaps it really is all in your head. It can’t be that bad after all, at least that’s the impression they give. If they only knew. At times you want to do just that and tell them all about it. Get it off your chest, as they say. Unburdening yourself might be just the right thing to do. It would be such a relief.
But maybe it would just mean putting it out there for everyone to see. Once it is in the public domain, you can never take it back since you no longer own it. We all do. Then it becomes a commodity that keeps growing and increasing in value until someone decides to cash in, leaving you with nothing. It can become a trust fund that takes away your sense of trust. That would make it into an even bigger weapon. You have let it all well up inside you for so long, but you’ve only used it on yourself or when other people use it against you. Can you cut it off at the current source? That’s the nagging question you haven’t answered.
And look, I understand. This is not easy for me, either. Nor is this the first time I’ve brought it to your attention, tried to illuminate it for you, but you won’t see things my way. No, you just stay in the dark recesses of your own thoughts. Not that I blame you. Staying there can provide some comfort at times. Even though you know it never goes away, the ability to forget about it is something so ephemerally precious. Then it is right back where it was, and you and I both cannot change a thing about it.
Not that I haven’t tried. Being stuck in this predicament takes a toll on me, too. You’re definitely not alone there. I feel the isolation and foreboding almost every day, too. It comes from the same source, which creates empathy but not pity or sympathy. We are pretty much on our own for those. The latter two provide little more than false support, anyway. Once we have been there, nothing we can do can change it. You and I can only grin and bear it together, and we do every day.
So, I guess you think the two of us are going it alone, then. We are together in spirit yet always at a measured distance from one another. The measurements can be hard to calculate at times, though. I have to say that I don’t just walk a mile in your shoes, I wear those shoes. The same voices you think you here resonate with me, too. How do you think I got here in the first place?
I get it, that’s why, every day. Every time a shudder or murmur is made, I feel like they know all about it. I have no way of really knowing, but how can they not? I must be invisible, but they see right through me to it and to you, of course. It has not always been this way, though. I had to meet you first, or, to put it another way, I entered it. I wasn’t expecting this. It just happened, not my fault. But if you have to blame someone, blame me. Since I am the only other one who really knows, I do not know how beneficial that could be. Anything is better than how things are now with it, I suppose.
You are the only one who can make that determination. You always have been. That fact may make you feel even more isolated, but it is what passes for the truth. Others make it every day, but who are they anyway? They can never know what you do. It takes on to know one, to borrow an apt cliché. The thing is, do you really want them to know? Despite the desire not to be so alone about it, sharing might be even worse. Inclusion means the unknown. If you open the door, anyone might walk through it. You already feel like you have lost too much control. An open-door policy might be too much.
That leaves you with just having to deal with it. I could say on your own terms, but that would not entirely true, would it? It dictated the terms as soon as it happened and put you in adaption mode. I would have said “left,” but it never really does. No matter what kind of day you have, you can only compartmentalize it for so long. It is always waiting for you, and everyone else knows. They have to.
And of course, I never stray far. How can I? I have been with you from the start of it. You know I am not as involved as this every day, but I can be if we both want me to be. So, as you drift off tonight--or lie awake pondering it--just remember that you are never alone.
I’ll always be right here.
Each day begins with possibilities. Maybe you can start anew. Maybe it was never even there. But of course, it is. So much for thinking you can forget it and move on.
Everyone else seems to notice it, too. You can read it in their piercing stares as you pass by. Under their breath, they mutter ever so lightly. Sometimes it’s not so slightly. Nonetheless, you almost always swear that you hear something. and you want to turn and confront them. But you don’t. And you can’t confront it, so you just keep walking.
It walks away, too, although not from you. No, it follows your every move. Sometimes you give into the impulse to stop, turn, and face it.
“Leave me alone!” you demand.
It’s always gone before you even turn around, though. The last thing it wants is direct confrontation. That would be too much, though, perhaps enough to extinguish the flame altogether.
“I just want to move on,” you explain just as you have so many times before.
“No,” you can almost hear it whisper from its hiding place, “I’ll only leave on my terms, but I always move whenever you do.”
Sometimes this makes you just want to admit that it’s won. Why not just accept that and move on yourself? But you know the answer.
They also won’t let you step away from it. They seem to prop it up and keep it active with every look and whisper, even with every thought about it, almost like they breathe more life into it and charge its power. And they do it without realizing they are the ones truly in the dark. What a hollow ironic victory that is.
“It’s not my fault,” each one would claim. No one ever said it was their fault, but you know what they really mean. They don’t want to take any blame for not letting it go.
“Don’t worry about what other people think.” That’s a common response, too, like suddenly everyone is your mother.
“We are living in a society,” they need to be reminder, “and what other people do and say does matter. It can matter a great deal.”
“Shrug it off.” That is another great piece of advice. Over time, it has grown so large that a shrug would never do it anyway. It would just land right behind you with a thud and then roll behind you every step of the way. They even have you second-guessing yourself. Perhaps it really is all in your head. It can’t be that bad after all, at least that’s the impression they give. If they only knew. At times you want to do just that and tell them all about it. Get it off your chest, as they say. Unburdening yourself might be just the right thing to do. It would be such a relief.
But maybe it would just mean putting it out there for everyone to see. Once it is in the public domain, you can never take it back since you no longer own it. We all do. Then it becomes a commodity that keeps growing and increasing in value until someone decides to cash in, leaving you with nothing. It can become a trust fund that takes away your sense of trust. That would make it into an even bigger weapon. You have let it all well up inside you for so long, but you’ve only used it on yourself or when other people use it against you. Can you cut it off at the current source? That’s the nagging question you haven’t answered.
And look, I understand. This is not easy for me, either. Nor is this the first time I’ve brought it to your attention, tried to illuminate it for you, but you won’t see things my way. No, you just stay in the dark recesses of your own thoughts. Not that I blame you. Staying there can provide some comfort at times. Even though you know it never goes away, the ability to forget about it is something so ephemerally precious. Then it is right back where it was, and you and I both cannot change a thing about it.
Not that I haven’t tried. Being stuck in this predicament takes a toll on me, too. You’re definitely not alone there. I feel the isolation and foreboding almost every day, too. It comes from the same source, which creates empathy but not pity or sympathy. We are pretty much on our own for those. The latter two provide little more than false support, anyway. Once we have been there, nothing we can do can change it. You and I can only grin and bear it together, and we do every day.
So, I guess you think the two of us are going it alone, then. We are together in spirit yet always at a measured distance from one another. The measurements can be hard to calculate at times, though. I have to say that I don’t just walk a mile in your shoes, I wear those shoes. The same voices you think you here resonate with me, too. How do you think I got here in the first place?
I get it, that’s why, every day. Every time a shudder or murmur is made, I feel like they know all about it. I have no way of really knowing, but how can they not? I must be invisible, but they see right through me to it and to you, of course. It has not always been this way, though. I had to meet you first, or, to put it another way, I entered it. I wasn’t expecting this. It just happened, not my fault. But if you have to blame someone, blame me. Since I am the only other one who really knows, I do not know how beneficial that could be. Anything is better than how things are now with it, I suppose.
You are the only one who can make that determination. You always have been. That fact may make you feel even more isolated, but it is what passes for the truth. Others make it every day, but who are they anyway? They can never know what you do. It takes on to know one, to borrow an apt cliché. The thing is, do you really want them to know? Despite the desire not to be so alone about it, sharing might be even worse. Inclusion means the unknown. If you open the door, anyone might walk through it. You already feel like you have lost too much control. An open-door policy might be too much.
That leaves you with just having to deal with it. I could say on your own terms, but that would not entirely true, would it? It dictated the terms as soon as it happened and put you in adaption mode. I would have said “left,” but it never really does. No matter what kind of day you have, you can only compartmentalize it for so long. It is always waiting for you, and everyone else knows. They have to.
And of course, I never stray far. How can I? I have been with you from the start of it. You know I am not as involved as this every day, but I can be if we both want me to be. So, as you drift off tonight--or lie awake pondering it--just remember that you are never alone.
I’ll always be right here.
Joseph Couchet teaches English at Montgomery College just outside of D.C., and he wrote a dissertation on completeness and closure that almost led to his own mortal closure. He has previously placed fiction with Del Sol Review, Blue Lake Review, and Lynx Eye.