Whenever, wherever, doubt will always seep through the thinly veiled fabric that was my mind. In a tidal wave of emotions, nothing was more difficult than staying in the lifeboat that would eventually bring me away from the raging storm of thoughts.
When I was young, my parents would always take me to a mountain in the countryside, it had no neighboring peaks, just one eminence in all its glory; I don’t think it had a name either, if it did, I don’t know what it is. The road that spiraled up the mountain was secluded, and trees towered over the path. Passing the inordinately long corridor of overgrowth was the cliff, and a waterfall that led downwards to a river, beyond that was the stunning bird’s-eye view that overlooked the distant city.
It was like only our family knew about this spot, and that was why I had this mountain engraved in the deepest part of my heart. I remember despising rainy days because that would mean we couldn’t go to our spot. When my parents were having a really bad argument, they would go there, talk things out, sometimes bring me along, have a nice little picnic, and listen to me talk about my elementary school stories. As they said, I was the ‘pride and joy’ of this family.
I knew that their relationship was becoming strained. They didn’t dare to talk about it when I was in their presence, but here and there, I could hear them arguing through the walls. We stopped going to the mountain years ago when mother jumped off that very cliff that withheld all my childhood memories.
Dad often blamed her for being selfish, his incessant ramblings echoed throughout the house and into my head. When the house got too quiet, he would interrupt the uncanny silence with maunder; nine-year-old me cowered in the corner of the living room with my 3DS, brushing off whatever came out of my father’s mouth as adult shenanigans.
As the years went by, we became more estranged. Mom’s death tore a hole in our family, and neither I nor dad bothered to cement it, or perhaps we were too afraid. Every day, we ate our meals with eyes locked on the food in front of us, the only sounds in the room being the scratching of cutlery on our plates, then we would make an exit as soon as we were done. Whenever he did rack up a conversation, every response I gave was no more than three words: “Yes”, “No”, “Maybe”, “I don’t know” — trying to avoid being drawn to any sort of interaction. I wanted to say more than a few syllables to him, but any more words seemed to die on my tongue no matter what.
I think dad understood, though, he didn’t try to pry. And even though it was what I wanted to achieve, it did sting knowing that our relationship would probably never go back to the way it was.
So it came as no surprise when he ended his life on that same mountain, too.
I was at fault for that, for not trying to reconcile at the darkest period of his life. Their deaths were like bricks stacked on both of my shoulders, but this was a burden that I deserved to carry, for the most part.
I remember a note he left me between my favorite books on my desk. Before I even unfolded it, my hands were trembling immensely. The edge of the paper was torn in an erratic, careless manner, as if he was in a rush to tear it from the notebook.
Joshua,
I know it has been rough ever since your mother’s passing. But believe me when I say I am really trying here, please bear with me as we go through this. Listen, there is something you should be aware of,
Remember, when something goes haywire, go back, always go backwards.
I love you the most.
Dad
I won’t pretend like I absolutely knew what he was going through. But after his untimely death, there was no way I could take what he said in that note to heart.
It had been five years since dad’s suicide. I honestly never gave the mountain another thought, I didn’t need the grief to weigh me down more than it already was. On this particular day, however, I had an inconspicuous urge to visit the mountain again. Outside was raining, and a thick layer of fog blanketed the sky. I grabbed my keys from the coffee table and headed out. I began my drive to the mountain.
The mist cloaked everything including my vision, only the headlights casting a glimmer of visibility. The moon gleamed whitely in the Stygian skies. I drove with inexplicable unease, bordering on anxiety; something in the atmosphere filled me with distress, like something terrible was about to happen. I made my way to the crest, the rain was pouring by then. I sat quietly for a lengthy amount of time, reminiscing whatever memories I had left of them that were afloat in my head.
They told me they couldn’t wait to see me grow up; they told me that when I become successful and start my own family, I must visit them on the weekends with my wife and kids, and we-
That’s enough mourning for today.
Wiping the tears that escaped my eyes, I glanced at my phone, 8:36, it was getting late, time to go home. On my way down, I drove with my eyes staring straight ahead, occasionally at some passing trees that towered over. At least twenty minutes went by and I realized the end of the road wasn’t getting any nearer, which was odd considering the usual ten-minute route. I kept driving as more time flew by, and the trees seemed to be repeating, though the rain stopped and the sky was getting brighter. I checked the time on my phone, 6:14. What?
Ignoring the blatant witchcraft, I tried driving down the road again. Maybe I am just really tired. After seemingly another ten minutes, 5:29 flashed when I picked up my phone again. Great, what kind of bullshit is this?
A few more minutes of driving brought me back to 3:03, the broad daylight now shone on the hood of my car. My desperation was becoming laughable at this point. I decided to get my ass out of the car since I had been sitting here for hours now, and made use of my feet to walk along the path. Surely enough, after a while, I circled back to my car.
Feeling the dread of no escape, I got back inside and began contemplating, which was never a good thing for me, one thought would branch into three, then ten, soon forming a tornado. I drove absent-mindedly, and one particular thought reared its head amongst a sea of others.
“Remember, when something goes haywire, go back, always move backwards.”
So I reversed the car, had my eyes on the road behind me. Nothing seemed to be changing, deja vu struck me for the thousandth time. That was until the sky darkened, and I drew closer to the edge of the cliff for the first time in hours. The clock on the bright phone screen told me it was 8:36, but it felt like time was a mere figment of my imagination after what I had been through.
And we were right back at where we started.
In a pique of frustration, I kept backing up the car, ready to send myself off the cliff behind me. I fell, and I kept falling, and falling… Oh no, this isn’t another loop, is it?
But before my demise, the car came to a halt when I was brought back onto the road.
Oh Hell.
I practically threw my head onto the steering wheel, at my wit’s end trying to figure out what went wrong. I didn’t even have to check the time, the position of the solar-blazing moon told me it was 8:36. A loud crash thundered below the mountain, and my head snapped toward the noise, the movement would have given me whiplash.
Trepidation piled inside my chest like the mountain beneath, my heart was trying to punch its way out of my rib cage. I slowly pushed the car door open to step out. I made my way to the very fringe of the cliff, all these years, I had never been this close to the edge, mom and dad always warned me about slipping off the waterfall if I didn’t tread carefully. The moment I peered over, my knees weakened and my heart was about to lunge out of my body. An assemblage of corpses dyed the river sanguine, mom and dad’s corpses. Their same bodies wearing the same clothes, down to the same expressions on their respective faces they died with. My head spun and haziness began clouding my vision.
At the very bottom was my car which had been devastated by the fall, it landed on its side, which gave me perfect access to see my own dead body inside the driver’s seat, unmoving, blood spilled all over.
They’re not here, but I still am.