The Angry Demon

It’s May 29th. Our producer hangs up. The meeting lasted 3 hours. The boys and I sit in silence for a bit. How does one cope with such a thing? We are now on our own. Still friends with him but he just won’t be involved. The silence hangs a little more. “Now what?”

It’s August 3rd. I sit on the porch of the backyard. Money’s been tight. The previously gorgeous scenery became dull. I yearn for change once more. My roommate sits next to me. She puts her hand on my shoulder. No words needed. Tears. 

It’s October 19th. The producer calls. I barely catch all the details. One of his schemes. Sounds promising. He tells me he needs me in Montreal again, not just for fun this time. I ask him why he decided to still fight for us - he says something about potential. He asks if I’ll fly in next month, one way. The call ends and I sit on my bed in silence. I expect my heart to pound with anticipation, yet it does not. I’m focused. I try to pretend like I haven’t decided. I get up from my bed and take a set of pictures of it. To Craigslist.

Shivering cause I didn’t dress for the weather. Matching nails with my producer. Couch surfing for a few weeks to reset my focus. Old Toyota dashing through traffic, they let me drive for some reason. 

Skyscrapers, the skyline reminds me of home. In someone’s bed, just because. Faded off god knows what with aspirations larger than life. Planning for the future hoping we make it past the bill-to-bill. He got a pretty sunroom so we tan on the floor for hours. 

New clothes. We spent like 200$ at the thrift store. Flip phone just to be off the grid at will. I shook hands with the next Frank Ocean. We have to succeed, too many people are counting on us. Chess. I hope to make the right moves. Rain gently kissed me on cheek. I’m healing, very slowly. Tears in my eyes but the vision’s is clearing up. 

2 a.m. I’m lying in bed, eyes wide open. I just heard it. Can’t be my imagination. The air is stale and not because I forgot to shower before bed. My fist is clutched. Breath is steady. It’s quiet. Yet…

One scratch inside the drywall. Got him. I slam the wall, palm open, with all my force. Scratching turns into scuffling. “He is on the move!” I yell out. My roommate bangs on our shared wall. The scuffling moves down the hall. We ran out of our rooms, her in a bathrobe and me in pajama pants. We keep banging on walls, forcing downstairs the scuffling nightmare that kept us up all week long. The noise tries to go to the basement. My other roommate was ready. Broom in hand, making the most noise, she forces the noise towards the wall near the backyard. The scuffle dies down. He’s outside.

We shine the light onto the wall of the house. He’s there. I recognize the pattern on the raccoon’s face. The same one who shit on our porch last week. We lock eyes. I reach out for the roommate’s broom. The raccoon jumps down. Eyes locked. We start circling the patio. The animal is now fully facing the house as I face the backyard. “Come on” I whisper. The cold Wyoming air of the night doesn’t affect me. My vision is clear. It’s quiet. I don’t think either of us 4 is breathing. 

To make more beautiful things…

To be more persistent! 

To cut off the dead weight?

To wash the mask :)

To catch up?

To flourish on my own…

To make you proud.

To make me proud.  

My arms wrap around your waist. We lay in bed as the sounds of nature pierce through the window. We don’t have to rush anywhere today. We both face the window where the mountains stand quiet, just as the room today. Every breath I take feels fresher than the last. Perhaps I’m hungover from the drinks or perhaps from you.

The sun gently caresses your face. I dare to kiss your shoulder. Away from people’s eyes our passion can’t be touched or judged today. You shrug from the breeze and move closer to me. I hold you tighter. Exhausted, but never of you. The weekend is ending and we should get up. Your dark hair tickles my face and I fully wake up. Perhaps we can make it work.

The eggs are sizzling on the pan. I open the patio door and let your dog out. Your smirk at my music choice. I switch it to Blonde. I offer you to dance with me in the sunlight. You accept. It’s corny but not when it’s with you. Your face stubble pricks my cheek. I kiss you and you kiss me back. The dog hits the glass door with its paw. After breakfast, we will pack our bags and return to our ordinary lives. I’m wide awake but moving like in a dream. I know I will wake up once you pull away, leaving me standing in front of my house…

I raise a toast. We’re celebrating again. 1000 subscribers. In a record time for us. Incredible times. The boys smile at me from the screen. “To ten thousand by 2022!” - I exclaim.

We have decided to start a tradition of having a dinner night at every important milestone of our careers. We order in and enjoy each other’s company. Spicy chicken sandwich in hand, I’m waving my hands around, drunkenly describing how we are destined to replace Joe Rogan in the podcast game. 

I save a screenshot of the subcount to the “The Cosmics Journey” folder. As I clean up my desk after the dinner and turn off my PC, doubt slowly creeps in. “What if this is the peak?”, “How can’t we keep the momentum?”, “What if this is a one time thing?”. I ground myself. We’ve been through worse. Hell, I almost quit last year! The best is to focus and to persevere. After all, this is the only part that we can control. 

The clock strikes midnight. It’s the New Year, Mountain Time. I take a sip straight from the champagne bottle. It’s 2021. The guys and I are running the livestream. We’re celebrating. The sudden surge in fans. The podcast finally taking off. The people saying we are up next. The people are finally seeing the potential. 

We laugh and reminisce about how long it took us to get even this far. The award show is a success. Somehow I won the member of the year. The community cannot be nicer. The chat doesn’t stop celebrating with us. I smile. Seeing my boys happy has to be one of the most satisfying feelings I’ve felt during this year (or should I say the last year, AHAAA).

I didn’t unpack the small bag with all my equipment. All my clothes fit inside a wardrobe and the shitty IKEA bed is across the room. The girls are making dinner upstairs. I picked up a chauffeur gig. Birds are chirping outside. I shove the small bag to the corner of the room. 

The girls are park rangers in Yellowstone. They rotate every other week so I often have the house to myself. We have a small backyard with flowers. I have the whole basement to myself. I consciously kick in the bag further into the corner.

We quietly eat dinner. One of the girls asks me what did I forget in Wyoming? I explain my strong passion for avoidance of responsibility through escapism. The other girl snickers. I drink tea on my bed, alone. Last thing I see before dozing off is the bag in the corner.

I bought a whiteboard. The girls help drill my basement wall and hang up the board. I write my schedule on it. I smirk because out of habit I freed up my Sunday evening. For the podcast. I grab my phone and open the group chat with the boys. Not yet.

I sit in the backyard and marvel at the accessibility of real estate in the state of Wyoming. I’m sipping on a cocktail while the birds chirp outside. Maybe it’s okay to not have a purpose for now… I found a place to stay, a job, and I’m not on the road for once. I have a routine. I won’t stay here for long but I surely will take my time to soak it all in. 

The waffles that are probably from a leftover WWII ration meal flop on my plate. The diner has been only open for 20 minutes, how are they already cold? Post Malone’s Circles plays faintly through the speakers. Worst song on the album if you ask me.

The sky is boringly grey. 2 choices lay before me: 736 miles through Nebraska or 759 miles through Nebraska. I choose the latter. Another choice arises. Should I stop somewhere in Nebraska overnight or power through? I glance at the map for a split second. God forbid. 12 hours. I rub my wet eyes. Am I crying from being overwhelmed with emotions or because I haven’t had a good sleep in the last 2 months? 10 hours.

My Corolla’s engine quietly hums in the background. The still grey sky reflects on the hood. The A/C has a slight ring to it. The music queue ended an hour ago. I need to stretch my legs. 7 hours.

I finish the gas station coffee and zone back into reality. Candy wrappers are on the passenger seat. Somehow I’m still alive AND closer to my destination. Nebraska is incredibly boring. 4 hours.

“Casper, WY   157” the sign reads. There is no “Welcome to Wyoming” in sight, instead, I pass a firework store. Seems about right. Somehow the sky is still the same colour as 10 hours ago. 2 hours.

The sun wakes me up in a Cleveland motel. It’s nice to finally get up without an alarm or the big city breaking my sleep patterns. I take a shower, put on lotion, and brush my teeth. I look at myself in the mirror and ask: “Could a depressed person do this?”. 

I always wanted to go on a roadtrip, where I would stop at every town I pass. However, this does not seem like the one. When you are trying to run away from the past you don’t have time for sightseeing. 

Click. I’m pumping gas in the middle of nowhere. I honestly can’t believe I’m alone. I haven’t even texted the boys about it. I don’t think I ever will. I mean, I will tell them about living in Wyoming, because there is, like, at least 10 000 jokes in there… But I won’t tell them why. The pump jumps up slightly. Back on the road. 

I knew I was gonna stop in Chicago. At least for the hotdogs. As I aimlessly wander through downtown, the feeling starts to settle in. I’m not home anymore. There is nowhere to come back to. I look at the Chicago River. I think to myself: “Do they really dye this mf green?”. I finish the hot dog and decide to accept the thought that has been eating me away ever since I left. I probably will never call another place “home”. And the worst part? I knew that as soon as I called the landlord 2 weeks ago. At least now I accepted it… It’s honestly hard to believe how deep into self pondering one can go after driving for only 5 hours.

Three duffle bags, two suitcases and one 30-hour drive. I close my Corolla’s trunk. Running away always seemed like the right idea but I always had too many ties. Now I have nothing important to leave behind. Google Maps warns me that my destination is in a different timezone. Good.

“Coping is different for everybody” I think to myself, as the city disappears in the rearview mirror. I’ll definitely miss it. But I need some time off. Some time for myself. Some time to heal. Busy streets’ noise still echoes in my ears. Maybe I just have tinnitus. 

I think of a red mask lying at the bottom of one of the suitcases. I think about the boys. We’ve been on break since September. Maybe I shouldn’t have joined at all back then… I also think that maybe we could be more. It doesn’t matter for now.

I think about the road ahead. Definitely should’ve packed some warm food. I planned the rest stops pretty well. I have no idea what’s waiting for me.

I think of the two girls who were looking for a housemate in Wyoming. They are not anymore.