Blue Anesthesia Read online

  3

  Suppressed orange juice sat steady in the middle of a half-drunken glass. Axel tilted the glass to the side, watching the liquid react to the movement. He took interest in the individual bubbles, which surfaced at the top, transparent against the orange. Some of them remained with the tilt; others gave a pop without sound. Axel had eaten the last of his bread for lunch. The memorial of the once existing bread spread against a paper in crumbs. He had written down some jokes, only reaching three quarters of the page. Scribbles of frustration were inscribed at the top of the paper. One of them read: I SUCK. Axel looked at this as he took another sip of orange juice. With his attention on personal frustration, he could no longer detect the sweetness of orange juice on his tongue. The next sip was bitter, and it almost stung. He finished the rest of the juice in a grimace drawn back from his face. His stomach almost rejected the last gulp; no longer smooth liquid, but thick like mud.

  Axel walked back to his room, where he grabbed the nearest set of clothes. He made sure that his scent of depression had not infected them. It hadn’t. He felt satisfied as he glanced at the ticking clock. He wouldn’t be late. He strapped on his shoes, feeling the rush of blood pour down his face as he bent to tie them. He sped down the building’s steps, not much caring for the dull color on the walls. Wind pressed against the front door. Axel had to push with his shoulder to open it. He was met by a cool breeze. Every strand of hair embraced it, pushing it down his scalp to cool his overheating brain. He smelled the engine of a distant car. Gravel along the walkway let out smells of freshly stricken matches. They surrendered beneath his feet with a loud crunch. Lingering taste of bitter orange juice turned foul with every inhale of fresh air. It brought the flavor out, spreading to his cheeks. He was no longer tasting orange juice, but breathing orange juice. The problem had to grab a ticket and stand in line. First in line now was a thought expressing self-hatred.

  Hey, Axel, what if your family starts to dislike you? You’re not who you used to be, I think we can both agree on that. Also, you look ugly today.

  4

  In his depression, Axel had fallen out of contact with his family, as well as his friends. He didn’t mean for it to happen. He had never felt too good for them. He loved and cherished every single one of them. In his mental decline, he had withdrawn himself from anything considered to be social outside of work. He still spoke to his family once a week, keeping contact through emails, texts, and phone calls. He also attended the family dinners once a month. The family dinners had once been a high point, but that changed when depression cursed him. He fell under the pressure of his thoughts, turning silent at the family dinners. He poked his food and twisted his fork around. Axel was too busy digging his mental grave to take part in laughs around the table, spawning from conversation and memories.

  Now, as Axel drove on a road without traffic, memories crawled around the back of his skull. Streetlights flashed his vision, adding patterns of color to the dark night. In the steady silence of the night—without the distraction of neither sound nor sight—Axel remembered the first family dinner he attended not as himself, but as a stranger. Depression had been eating away at his persona for two weeks during this dinner.

  “Are you alright, dear?” His mother had asked as she placed her hand on his shoulder. Duncan and Susanne stopped chewing at her words and turned to look at Axel, who was spinning his fork in a mountain of mashed potatoes.

  “I’m fine,” Axel had lied. “It’s just work. I’m pretty tired.”

  “Do you have any exciting projects coming up?” Susanne had asked with the last traces of food sliding down her throat.

  “Not really.”

  Axel began to drink from a tall glass of water. He drank slowly, keeping his mouth busy for a minute. Susanne waited with patience for a more developed response, but when Axel finished his glass of water, his stare focused on the mashed potatoes, instead of her. She gave a confused nod. He felt ashamed, but the topic of work was no great loss. Every dinner they merely licked the lollipop of such conversation, never diving into depth or detail.

  “Axel,” Susanne said with her head downward in an intense stare. He didn’t dare to meet her eyes. He pretended to wipe dust off his shirt.

  “What?”

  “Are you sure that everything is okay?”

  All of them were looking at him now. He saw them in the corners of his eyes and returned to his food once more.

  “I’m sure. My head is just, you know, all over the place.”

  It had been easy to lie when he stared down into his food, mesmerized with the fork, glinting with every spin. They noticed Axel’s unusual silence, and he assumed they all speculated on his troubles. He could almost hear them think. He felt their eyes upon him, searching for signs. That’s why he didn’t want to look at them; something told him that if they saw his eyes, they would see his troubles. His family went on to talk about memories, and as time went on, he had less and less input to throw into those conversations, for he had not taken part in many of the recent memories. There was also, of course, the family talks about how love was treating all of them. Again, Axel had no input. He didn’t even ask casual questions on the topic of everyone’s love life. He shut off the sound of that topic on purpose, feeling ashamed that he had not yet found any love.

  Over the course of the last family dinners, Axel had no real input to brighten conversations, adding color to them. He became self-conscious about speaking to his family at all. Axel felt as if they had gotten used to this new quiet Axel, and every time he did decide to speak, they all looked surprised. That had made him uncomfortable, catching them off-guard like that. So he became even quieter.

  Axel became distant of their love. The joy that rode the air on laughs and smiles around the dinner table never reached Axel. His depression got worse. He hated to admit it, but eventually he stopped enjoying the family dinners. Axel felt as if they were a reminder of what life could be, and should be, but ultimately was not. To him, it felt like a big slap in the face. He never once blamed his family, though. He knew that this disease was exclusive to him only; that none of them shared any of Axel’s thoughts. He felt afraid to talk to them about these thoughts. The fear that they wouldn’t understand, and that he would not only become a black dot in the eyes of others but to the people who loved him, felt like too much of a risk. And so, during the last few family dinners he sat, just Axel, alone in emotion, surrounded by the company of physical relations.

  He recalled a memory from the last dinner he attended, when he had suffered through hours of distant conversation. When it had been time to leave, Axel offered to do the dishes and help to clean. I have to make myself somewhat useful at least, he had thought. His mother thanked him for the offer but politely declined. Axel had insisted.

  His brother and sister had hugged him farewell with tender smiles. Axel always appreciated those smiles. He had been alone with his mother at this point, washing the rest of the dishes. She poured herself a glass of wine. She started a more personal conversation, scratching the surface of what was going on with her son.

  Tap water ran down his arms and hands in a loud sound, making it easier for him to talk. He didn’t hear his own voice, which he had now grown to hate.

  “I’m okay, Ma,” Axel had said. “I’ve just been feeling a tad different lately because of work.”

  “What you need is a vacation,” his mother replied. “Clean that head of yours.”

  Mother always knows best.

  “I will go on a vacation eventually, Ma. You guys shouldn’t worry. I’ve only been feeling this way for a couple of months, and I always felt this way toward the end of the school years when the pressure was on. It’s not that big of a deal.”

  Dee walked toward to her son with a convinced smile. “Regardless, Axel, you are my son and I love you. I know that you can handle yourself, but if it ever becomes too much, you can always talk to me, okay?”

  He hugged her. “I know, Ma.”

  When
he had prepared to face the night and head home, she once again reminded him, as she always did. “You can always talk to me, Axel—about anything, no matter what it is.

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  On the walk down the driveway, Axel pondered over this in his head. He felt an urge to talk to her; to get down on his knees and beg for help. But as the night surrounded him, overwhelming him with cold darkness, the warmth of his mother’s words perished.

  5

  The lights beaming from the eyes of his mother’s house didn’t strike him as particularly inviting. Axel sat in the driveway with his door open to let in the cold air of the night. The cold air connected with the warm anxiety radiating off his body. Together, they blended into something neither good nor bad. In line, the problem of temperature disappeared, a most satisfied customer.

  Laughter vibrated from inside of the windows. Axel felt terrified now. The bright lights had been scary enough, for they reminded him that people were home. It felt like he was staring at unknown eyes when he looked at the windows. But with the sounds, he felt he could read the thoughts behind those unknown eyes. They had context.

  Axel stepped outside. Bubbles of anxiety made their way down his legs, corrupting the smooth movement of his walk. He didn’t suffer from butterflies in his stomach: more like bats. Other cars were parked in the driveway. He hoped he wasn’t the last to arrive. People would turn all their attention toward him. All those eyes would shoot toward him at once; scan him for flaws, pin the flaws, and store them in the back of their head where they would grow until they were large enough for everyone to change their opinion of Axel. They were laughing, having a grand time, submerging themselves with vast environment on the canvas that is Earth. Now, Axel would join them, a black dot, ruining the moment. The details of the rocky surface from the cement steps brushed the bottom of Axel’s feet. His walk turned loud against the cement steps, sending waves of echoes to the front of the house. Inside, people shut their mouths and opened their ears. Voices succumbed to silence. He heard the hollow thud of footsteps approach the front door from inside, faster than his own pace.

  The door opened. Warm air rushed into his nostrils. He was familiar with the scent. He had once called it home. Susanne stood at the door. Axel felt a vibrating sadness in his heart. He couldn’t tell if she was happy to see him or not. She was about to speak when Emma darted out from the living room. She wobbled in her sprint; her tiny feet not being able to keep up with the excitement of her heart.

  “Uncle Axel!”

  “Hey, you,” Axel said, squatting down. Her slim arms were now wide in her sprint, and she tried her best to reach around his mid-section.

  “I missed you, Uncle Axel! Can I show him my drawing, mom? Please, oh please?”

  “Go ahead, sweetheart,” Susanne replied.

  Emma cried a cheer in another language exclusive to children. She jumped up and down before she returned to the living room where she expressed Axel’s arrival with the purest joy. Artificial lights swarmed this house. However, there was one pure light—and that was Emma. She seemed to have her own light inside of her, not yet faded with adulthood. Her body radiated with it. When she smiled, it almost left her face, coloring her aura, filling the blanks of the air around her.

  “She was babbling about you for the entire ride here. You know, I think she looks forward to her birthday not because of all the presents, but because of your little shows.”

  Emma was now six-years-old. When she turned three, Susanne had the idea of Axel performing kid-friendly jokes at the birthday party in front of Emma and her friends. Axel accepted with heart. His regular audience ranged from teenagers to adults, but nothing beat the laugh of a child, especially his niece. The comedy from those shows had been almost purely physical with Axel pretending to fall and pulling funny faces. All of the children had sparked with laughter. In those moments, which felt so long ago, sadness had felt impossible.

  “She likes them that much, huh?”

  “You know she does.” Susanne hugged her brother, not knowing that this would be the last hug they shared before all the terror. Cold air still stuck to his coat, paling her hands. He smelled her perfume; strawberry-cream—the same one she had worn during her wedding.

  “I’m glad to have an impact on her.”

  “Axel,” said a deeper voice. A tall man in a sweater, wearing a baseball cap, appeared out of the living room’s frame. It was Duncan. “There you are. How have you been, pal?”

  His brother stuck his hand out, awaiting a handshake, but Axel pushed the hand away and went for a hug. Axel’s body had to make up for the damage in his mind. And, right now, his body craved hugs. Axel didn't feel connected with his family in the mental sense, but in a physical sense, all of them connected.

  “It’s nice to see you, too,” Duncan said. “I know you’re single, Axel, but goddamn. With a hug like that, how could any girl resist—“

  “Duncan, leave your brother alone,” said another voice coming from the door frame. His mother’s voice was hoarse, and after the sentence, she smacked her lips together as if to taste the words. She held a cane, wobbling with her struggling footsteps. She was wearing a white shirt with various colored flowers imprinted on it. She had sewed that shirt for herself, and she had said many times that is was her favorite.

  Susanne walked toward her mother; put both hands on her shoulder, steadying her to a stop. “Mom, you shouldn’t be walking around.”

  “Nonsense,” Dee replied. “The day I can’t walk a few puny steps to greet my son, is the day I no longer want to live.” Axel saw the way her arms shook with massive pressure on the cane. He walked to meet her, saving her the trouble of a lengthy walk. Her hair, which had once been thick, reaching down to her lower back, was now thin and curly. It resembled a cheap version of a white clown wig. She had grown shorter with age, and her hunched back made her even shorter.

  Axel kissed his mother’s cheeks. “How are you, Ma?”

  “Terrific, Axel, thank you very much. I’m very happy that you’re here. Did you spot the new bridge they’ve recently finished building on your way here? My caretaker drove past it a few days ago. It was absolutely marvelous. My brain is too old to phantom all those lights, but my eyes are still young enough to admire, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “I saw it, Ma. It’s beautiful at night.”

  Axel sat down on a bench. He removed his coat for a more flexible reach as he prepared to untie his shoes. Emma came running again, carrying a drawing, which covered her face and chest in size. Duncan and Susanne both helped their mother back into the living room, where the infamous dinner table was located. Dee’s living room had large windows, overlooking the street and a few houses. With age, she had started to appreciate views more, and so she had the dinner table relocated from the kitchen.

  Emma showed Axel the drawing. The drawing had a surprising amount of detail. Emma had drawn everyone in this house along with her father, Samuel. She had drawn enough facial detail for Axel to guess who was who without her telling him. They were all aligned on a grassy field, holding hands beneath a big, yellow sun. The sun sat at the top-right corner of the drawing. They were also joined by two-dimension horses.

  “Mom said that she’ll take me to a farm when I’m older. She also said that I could ride a horse. Have you ever ridden a horse, Uncle Axel?”

  “I have not. But from the looks of this great drawing, it sure looks fun.” Axel placed his shoes on a stand next to the front door. “Let’s go sit with your mother. Hop on, kiddo.” Emma hoped onto her uncle’s back, clasping her arms around his throat. She cheered as Axel spun in slow circles, before making his way into the living room, joining the others.

  6

  Dee had prepared chicken, baked in the oven and buttered with garlic. Various spices were visible in the moist flesh. Along with the chicken, there was rice and potatoes. A bowl of sauce was full to its brim. Duncan was not a fan of that sauce, and so Dee had to place it on the side. Everyone else lo
ved it, however, including Emma, who glazed her chicken until it swam in an ocean of sauce. There were also two bowls: salad and cabbage. Axel, who had swallowed too many heavy emotions, felt full. He grabbed enough food until his mother’s observing eye, which made sure that her son was properly fed, cast to someone else. When the sounds of people grabbing their food came to an end, it was replaced with conversation. Axel felt nervous; nauseous to the point where the food no longer smelled good. He began to pick through his food to appear busy.

  “Are you doing well in school, dear?” Dee asked Emma, who sat on cushions to reach the table.

  “I am!” Emma replied in a proud cheer, painting a grin of missing teeth. “Daddy helps me with my homework.”

  Dee turned her attention to Susanne. “How is Samuel?”

  “He’s great. We’re actually planning a trip to Australia soon. And Emma wants to see the kangaroos, isn’t that right?”

  “Kangaroos,” Emma repeated. She motioned the jump of one with her arms curled into her chest.

  “There’s more in Australia than kangaroos,” Duncan said with a trail of rice on his bottom lip. “You ought to be careful of the spiders.” He gave Emma a haunting look. Emma recoiled with a gasp. Under the table, Susanne gave Duncan the finger.

  “Yeah,” Axel breathed. Tears of sweat appeared on the sides of his head. The inside of his ears glistened. He was shaking his leg under the table, fearing that his input was lame; knowing that his input was lame. The sound of forks striking against plates all the sudden seemed loud enough to pierce the air. He breathed fumes. He felt their stare, judging him. Depression whispered hollow voices.