The other one, the one they call Erckle, is the one things happen to. I wait for the bus in the cold night air for what seems like an hour, but is only a moment and go straight home from school; I know of Erckle from the ridiculous late night text messages and drunken “graffiti”. I like art, snowboarding, red wine, and interesting sounds; he shares these preferences, but in a vain way that turns them into the precursor of chaos. It would be an exaggeration to say that ours is a hostile relationship; I live. I live through Erckle’s failure. Erckle lives through my success. The things Erckle remembers are at least somewhat impressive, and those memories save me, perhaps because for every person in the world exists an opposite mind to balance the order and chaos throughout the universe. I believe we exist to protect the sanity of the other, and as a combined force are more powerful than either could be alone. Besides, we both know Erckle will slowly begin to disappear, never entirely, but the distance will increase over time. Increased distance, rather than ceased existence.
As I see Erckle appear less even now, I am learning to treasure his existence and draw energy and inspiration from the stories he shares. He will continue to brag about art works and big air competitions he had nothing to do with, I will continue to hold his hair back as he throws up in the early hours of the morning. I have known people that have tried to live like Erckle wants and have never found success. And vice versa. Thus I know I must welcome Erckle into my life and hope that he does the same. Even now the suds remaining in the empty bottle on my desk allude to Erckle’s presence in my life.
I do not know which of us has written this page.
"Besides, we both know Erckle will slowly begin to disappear, never entirely, but the distance will increase over time. Increased distance, rather than ceased existence."
ReplyDeleteI like the way you phrased these lines and how the words flowed together, it is rhythmic.