Normal 0 false false false EN-US ZH-CN X-NONE MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 Riding Shotgun

A bright light slides through the blinds of my room, an anxious hum radiates from outside my window; Jake must be here. I grab my white hoody on the way out, throwing the hood over my head. I get into his car, and shut the door firmly; we have a long road to travel and the night is still young for a troubled soul.

 Jake is the sort of character that is always a little bit on edge, but in the past this had never fazed me. He had always possessed that overriding charisma, a kind of gravity halo; one minute you we’re marching to your own beat, and suddenly through a seamless transition you are marching to his. But something is wrong, the halcyon days are gone. He looks at me with his wry expression; something I have grown to expect of him. But this time his eyes are glazed, and I almost expect their contents to hollow out. The car starts moving, we slowly work our way out of the street, and down the winding hills of Brooklyn. They spiral down relentlessly, hypnotically. I sense a bit of tension in the air, my tongue reacts,

“Hey Jake bro, so what’s up?”
I receive a sympathetic snicker, he is aware of my good intentions, but as per usual, there won’t be a simple to remedy as I had hoped.

“You see bro, you know how I’ve been quite sick recently, we’ll, it isn’t a virus or disease… I just feel like I’m losing control”
He accelerates, the car swoops round each bend, we pass only trees on along this mountainous road, and they flicker past without any foreseeable exit.

 “I was at work the other day, and I’m typing this fucken reply to a customer’s complaint”
He pauses momentarily, apprehensive of how I will judge what he says next,
“We’ll, I get this feeling, in my head, like a pulse, or something… And from that point on I become more of a passenger than a pilot. I zone out completely, like I’m watching myself on autopilot, through a lens”
He is looking a bit concerned by this point, but I encourage him to continue.
He takes in a breath, and as the car flies out of the last bend, we hit a straight. In its last stand, an old pine tree has wrestled a streetlight to the ground. It lays pacified, pine-needles suffocating its bulb.

 “I somehow manage to snap back into consciousness, and in front of me I’m still typing, but it is completely fucked. I’ve been transcribing the events in my surroundings. The reply says things like ‘Charlie goes to the toilet, Anna opens the window and sits back down’, it’s like I’ve lost my self, and my mind is just a filter for all the shit around me”

I see the expression on his face contort with terror, but I find this strangely comforting. That which makes him human has been rekindled through expression; his wishing well eyes start filling up again. He faces me, and says
“It’s good having you round bro”

“I’ve actually kind of been in hiding recently, this sickness, whatever it is, has made me so ashamed of myself. I can’t even face Jackson anymore. He wanted me in his dance crew, and I can’t even fucken train without losing control, or fucking up in some way. I lie to him when he confronts me, I tell him I’m training hard, but I’m just too busy with work. And even worse, when I see him before he sees me, I scuttle into the shadows”
The relatively flat road we had been cruising along suddenly drops, we plummet further down, only this time there isn’t the luxury of the previous bends and twists to delay our descent.

By this point my tongue is swelling with anticipation; it pains me to see a friend has fallen so heavily on his knees.

“That’s fucked Jake, you can’t just alienate yourself because you can’t perform as we’ll as you did, those guys are your friends, they wouldn’t want that.”

Once again I am met with a sympathetic snicker
“Fucked you say? Do you want to hear what is really fucked?”

Invoking the spirit of the provocateur, I respond

“Sure, we’ve come this far already, there is no disputing that you are indeed ‘Fucked’, so let’s hear the rest”

We hit the flat road at the bottom of the hill, he slams on the breaks, and looks me in the eye, almost aggressively, but the real Jake is starting to shine through for maybe the first time in eons. He lets out a chuckle and we are now heading back up the hill, so I suggest that we head back to mine. It is already 4 in the morning, and the blue sky seems intent veiling the abyss.

 “We’ll bro, this is what’s fucked. I don’t speak of this much, but the men in my family don’t speak about this internal shit, we are expected to just deal with it. Heh, and they say my home, the Netherlands, is the free speaking capital of the world.” He is salivating sarcasm by the time he finishes.
“I don’t talk to people about this, not even Lana, me and her have enough communication problems as it is. I visited my family GP, I’ve known her my whole life. I explained to her what has been happening, and she goes all silent on me. She tells me I’m clinically depressed. No fucken way in hell, am ‘I’ clinically depressed. So I go home, and she calls my parents, sends me letters, but I refuse to believe it.”

He floors the gas pedal; we rocket back, up and around the hilltops. At this point, I’m feeling a bit uneasy about the situation I’m in, the words keep flowing out of his mouth, there is to be no interruption from this point.
“It isn’t in my character to rely on some pill to make me feel normal, I know I’m above that, and that is why I need to persevere”
I acknowledge his attitude, knowing Jake, there is nothing I can do to change this, sadly it’s like trying to uproot a tree. Nevertheless, I make an obligatory plea;

“Jake, you need to acknowledge the concerns your friends have for your well being. You have shone brighter than most for your entire life, there is no shame in you stepping out of the spotlight for awhile, and there is no better time to start than now. Please go see a counsellor, or take some sick leave while you can”
He laughs, more vibrantly this time. We pull into my driveway, and with much amusement he says “Now why would I get a counsellor, when I have you to unload my troubles onto”
I release an awkward laugh, a laugh of submission, submission to the fact that all I can do for my friend is come along for the ride, and be an outlet for his mental anguish. He unlocks the door and I step outside. I lean in through the passenger’s window to have the last word.
“Hey bro, maybe take the road round the bays on the way home, I find it quite meditative, and the sun will be rising soon”

He nods slowly as to acknowledge what I have said, I hope.

“I’ll think about it bro”