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Your Emergency Contact Has Experienced an Emergency

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Chen Chen

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“Every night I want to be Heathcliff with Cathy tapping at the window. I want to be Hamlet on the windy battlements. I want the Flying Dutchman to dock. I want what everyone who has lost someone wants: a visitation. Every second, someone dying is promising to come back from the dead. Every hour, waiting for it to happen, someone living notches up another hour lost. For the Dead, time stops. For the living, time slows. I am in slow-motion now. It takes me twice as long to clean my teeth, half the morning to make coffee and wash the cup. When I go shopping, I don't remember what I need. That's because it's you I need. I stare at the bag of potatoes, the packet of bacon. Absurd. Go home.”

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“How could I not go on talking to you? How could I not expect to see you when it's the end of the day? Our life together was many things, concrete, tangible things, that included bacon, potatoes, coffee and toothpaste, but it was also a pattern. We had flow, colour, texture. We were the originators and makers of the shared life that we worked on every day. Now, I have to work on it alone. What I have are memories. The past. The present is no longer a work in progress.”

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“It was easier to cry alone. No people or mirrors to bear witness. Ethan sobbed into his fist, the swell of pointlessness and frustration bursting a dam in his throat. The exhaust fan drowned out the sound. Ethan wanted to scream, to manifest some tangible evidence of the shredding hurt. He managed a few croaky gasps, the sound withering like rot. Even encased in solitude and steam, it felt performative.”

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