By Taro Williams
It’s the middle of the night and I cannot sleep. I can’t stop thinking about my plans
with Grandma tomorrow. My head is tired and my body aches, but I still can’t seem to
rest. It’s like an awful highway full of thoughts going through my head. There’s so
much noise in this city.
I think it’s this apartment that’s keeping me up. Too many memories have been held here. Those fleeting thoughts floated up beyond the ceiling trim. Too many bodies have walked through that front door. All those hookups, now ghostly regrets that haunt me. As if the past decade of bar hopping won’t stop haunting me. Faded bold memories that I’ve been desperately trying to forget.
How many lovers have I had in this bed?
How many regrets can I remember?
How many times have I given in to impulses?
***
“Another little blue pill. Sertraline 100mg. Take with food and water before going to
bed.”
Last year, I got a bad case of fatigue after catching the flu, which triggered a spout of
chronic pain. I had also injured my left leg slightly and my knees would swell every time
it got hot outside. Because of all these handicaps, I’ve gotten quite intimate with my
bed.
I didn’t dream of anything that night. When morning came, I had to rush to make
myself presentable for Grandma. A little make-up, something decent to wear. I put on a
thick pair of sunglasses too. Anything to look like a good granddaughter. I had plans to start going to church every weekend with Grandma because it gave me something to do on Sundays, and because I enjoy her company.
After her last stroke, Grandma hasn’t been quite the same. Maybe she has the same
brain fog condition I have. Maybe she has the same thoughts I have.
“It’s a United-Church.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, it’s less serious than a Southern-Baptist Church.”
“Do you worship God there?”
“Kind of? In our own special way.”
***
Grandma is never late. She always has her act together and shows up on time for
everything. In this way, we are opposites. I’m always late for everything. There she was,
waiting outside of the Edwardian-style building with her church friends.
“There you are.” She said with a kind smile.
“Hello grandma.” I replied, “It’s good to see you.”
My grandmother and her friends are all so nicely dressed, as if they step right off
set of a Broadway theatre production. One’s wearing a white jacket with a formal black
dress, a little lavender handbag, and star-like gold earrings. Standing next to them, I
look like a hot mess. I didn’t have time to brush my hair, so my head looks all grungy. It’s
obvious that I’m the only person in our group who didn’t fall asleep last night with curl
pins in their hair. I feel like a mucky Marlon Brandon playing Stanley next to the
glamorous Vivien Leigh playing Blanche from A Streetcar Named Desire. I’m just not
good at dressing glamorously. And of course, my insecurity makes me sweat.
I’ve been told that the service will be interesting. I’ve been told that refreshments in
the form of black tea and cookies will be served afterward. I’ve been told that religion
may give me answers to help smooth my rapid anxieties over the economy and climate
change. I’ve been told that I may even meet someone around my age, a millennial in his
early 30s, here - hopefully someone who has his act together.
***
“What purpose does spirituality even serve in our present age?”
Inside the church, everyone is singing hymns. The acoustics are great in this
wooden hall. I don’t remember any of the words, but I try and hymn along to the gospel
tune. When the music stops and the man whom I think is the pastor starts speaking up
front, I get overwhelmed.
Suddenly, I don’t want to be here.
Suddenly, I start to cry.
Suddenly, it all becomes too much.
It was a full breakdown. With rapid tears and all.
I manage to sneak away from the church hall without drawing too much attention
to myself. Thankfully, today’s service isn’t super crowded. Nobody seems to judge, yet I
still feel so embarrassed. I excuse myself and head outside for a smoke.
I sit on the church steps and pull out a cigarette, but it’s all too much. The
tiny flame that’s burning the tip of my tobacco stick is doing nothing to help smooth my
nerves. Volcanic smoke fills up both of my lungs quickly. My voice feels heavy and my
legs are numb. My mind is in a thousand different places at once. The inside of my
brain feels like a Jackson Pollock painting, with so many different colors and shapes
violently bouncing around my skull. I’m shaking like a goddam lunatic. I even start to cry
a few pebble-sized tears. I just can’t seem to quiet down my thoughts.
This is all so embarrassing: the tears, the shakes, and all the rest. Everything about this place just feels so foreign to me. The church and religion - I don’t understand any of this stuff. I was raised by atheist Gen-X parents. I attended a secular school. The sound of a choir singing feels otherworldly to me. I don’t fit in at all with these people, and I’m incredibly insecure about that.I’m running on practically no sleep, and I’m expecting myself to perform like a mature functional adult. But I can’t play the role of a stoic right now. I can feel my shocked nerves breaking down and my headache growing louder like a prairie thunderstorm.
***
“How long has your left leg been feeling this way?”
“About two months.”
“Have you tried physiotherapy therapy?”
“I’m on the waitlist for one that my insurance will cover.”
“I can prescribe you some painkillers to help tie you over.”
Taro Williams (he/they) is a multidisciplinary artist and writer raised in the east end of Tkaronto/Toronto, the city he is now based in. His work explores themes of gentrification, queerness, and urban living. He is of Nikkei heritage(fourth-generation Japanese Canadian) and has attended Rosedale Heights School of the Arts and Concordia University. William’s work has previously been published in School Schmool (2022, 2023), Ex-Puritian (2024), Auvert Magazine (2024), Moss Puppy Magazine issue 7: “The Boneyard” (2024), 100 Stories: Echoes of Empathy with the Asian Arts and Cultural Trust (2024), Your Impossible Voice (2024), and Squid Magazine (2024). In his work, Williams aims to capture an honest expression of our current moment. He creates from the perspective of Gen Z, and aims to capture the emotional heaviness of the post-millennial generation, the most educated, diverse, and connected generation, yet, also a generation that is struggling within a culture of mass anxieties, economic insecurities, and an unstable future. Williams’ is currently split between both Tkaronto/Toronto and Tiohtià:ke/Montreal, two cities he calls home.
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