Communion
It was a relief that we were all hurting together.
I lost my grandfather recently. He had been in hospice care for a while. I was slowly making peace with it. All my life he was there for me and now he was disconnected from this world, disconnected for good. I kept obsessing over this phrasing because to me dead people disconnecting meant that at least here we were all connected, which I thought was a nice message. I tried to talk to someone about it at the funeral. I'm afraid I was incomprehensible but my friends and family still embraced me. Maybe it was better that I wasn't making any sense that day. It was a relief that we were all hurting together.
A couple of months passed. The feeling had dulled itself and at times it even gave me some comfort. I could return to it to reassure myself that I was capable of genuine human emotion. Most of my adult life was spent in unasked for solitude working a shit corporate job updating spreadsheets to record overproduction of tuna. I was twenty-seven and I had only ever been a single woman. Still I was searching for someone who would share my passion. Someone to split the good and the bad. I had a date lined up for Friday and he seemed nice.
In the meantime I was due for a routine medical checkup. The healthcare center provided by my insurance was comfortingly modern and bright and empty. It gave me a certain sense of safety to be a part of an institution. To be taken care of by the system and its many workers. My doctor was a kind middle aged man handsome just enough to be a doctor, if that makes any sense to you. He spent most of the visit on the computer updating my chart using his almost-silent keyboard. Then he approached me.
"I'm just going to check your head for bumps," he said.
"Of course," I replied matter-of-factly.
"I think I noticed something back there, but it's probably nothing."
"Mhm."
He fondled my cranium with his gloved hands. This too was pleasing in its own cold and professional way. No move wasted yet care not missing. Maybe this is how a skilled lover felt. I blushed.
"Yeah, let me just run the scan." His tone was more serious as he sat behind his computer screen again. Between the two of us a comforting wall of objective biological data.
"Should I stay like this?"
"Yes, please. It'll only take a moment."
I sat still as he scanned my skull and its contents. A couple of times he looked like he was about to say something before stopping himself.
"What is it?"
He looked at me from above his thick frames. "I'm very sorry. There is a small tumor. I know that sounds scary, but it seems to be completely benign." He smiled in a gentle, reassuring way and I tried to smile back but I just looked like a sad dunce.
"It seems to have grown at the same pace as the rest of your brain. Its size is not increasing anymore. Nothing bad is going to happen with this. But it is abnormal."
"What is it, exactly?"
"There is a thin layer of tissue covering a small part of your gray matter. Normally there shouldn't be any."
"Does it... do anything?"
"It should not affect you negatively, but keep in mind this is all close to the spinal cord and the nervous system."
More light keyboard tapping.
"I'm going to need more time to look into this," he said. "I'll message you as soon as I make any progress. For now... you haven't felt any sort of unexpected pain lately, right?"
"Yes, I'm fine."
"See you soon then."
I wasn't much reassured. I tried to stop thinking about this whole thing. I went out on a date with a recently met guy who had a beard and tattoos, the cheesy millennial rocker type. We chatted about dating.
"Isn't it weird? It's like, everyone is trying to find someone who feels like a breath of fresh air but at the same time comforts you and reminds you of home. You try to find the old in the new."
"I don't think I'm like that," he replied. "I just want to be with someone to share my favorite things with. I'm looking for someone to just get me, you know?"
"Can they not 'get you' if they don't share your views?" I suddenly got defensive.
"Uhh, I don't know. Are you okay? I like you. I thought we're vibing just fine. Why this question?"
"What if it turned out we're nothing alike?"
"I really don't think that's the case."
A beat. He looked at his phone in search of new non-invasive topics.
"My younger cousin keeps saying 'rel' in the family group chat." He smiled. "What is that?"
"It means 'relatable.' Like when someone posts a meme image that feels too true."
"Oh. Thanks. Thanks for keeping your finger on the pulse." He laughed. I smiled.
Next week I went to see the doctor. He did not want to look at me. He was fiddling with a small bottle of antibacterial gel as he spoke.
"Let me be honest. I believe the brain condition you have prevents you from feeling pain."
"But I do feel pain."
"Of course. This is not about pain. It's about..." He was at a loss. "It's about the pain. Pain-pain. The pain of being. You know."
"What?"
"The pain that comes with being alive?" He looked at me as if I was stupid.
"I've heard the expression but I mean, it’s just a metaphorical concept? Weltschmerz?"
"Are you mocking me?" He was genuinely agitated. He grinded his teeth and tried again.
"Everyone feels a certain level of pain just from physically existing. It can be easily measured by medical devices. It's not something that's usually checked seeing as it's always there in the background. The only time it's not being registered is when the machine is broken or the person is dead. Same as pulse."
"What fucking pain? You're feeling it this entire time? Just being here? What?"
He thought it best not to reply to that.
"Look. I want to run more tests on you, but frankly I'm not sure how to feel about this. I think it's best if you go home now."
"I will. I have no clue what you're talking about."
"Why do you think babies- " He locked his jaw and started rubbing the gel into his hands with intense force. "Stop bringing this up. Don't make me think about this again. Don't tell anyone."
"Why not?"
"No one knows there is another way to be. For that matter, I didn't know either. That made it bearable."
"What, mass delusion?"
"Don't tell anyone."
On Monday I got a message from him. "Can we meet? Cafe preferably." He was already there when I arrived, tapping his leg impatiently. He cut straight to the chase before I had a chance to order.
"I have an idea I want to share with you. I implore you to hear me out before you say anything."
"Okay?"
"The small bit of your brain that causes everyone but you to feel the pain is called vir dolorum. In your case it is wrapped in a paper-thin layer of tissue which effectively separates it from contact with the rest of your gray matter, blocking its impact.
"What."
He held up one finger like a guy about to get pedantic with you.
"This tissue seems rather frail. Judging by its makeup, a loud enough blast of sound could perhaps damage it, to what extent I'm not sure. But it would require something above 160 decibels in your vicinity. A jet engine or a gun. So I think you're safe."
"Safe?"
"Wait for it." He put his palms up in an apologetic gesture. There was tension on his face. "I think I would be able to extract a small bit of this tissue and replicate it. You realize what this means."
"You'd be able to apply it to others?"
"This is all highly speculative, but I believe so. I think I, that is we, could stop others from feeling the pain. All doctors dream of something like this. I mean, god." He looked cautiously excited. A little bit proud of himself, maybe. He couldn't help but smile as he gauged my reaction.
"I... This would be... invasive? A surgery?"
"Shit. I'm sorry, I mean, yes, it would be. It would be a serious medical procedure involving cutting into a part of your brain. The good thing is, vir dolorum is located close to the neck. This operation would not require opening your skull." He was very happy to tell me that. I couldn't share his enthusiasm.
"If you've analyzed this tissue, couldn't you simply replicate it?"
"It's made up of a type of brain secretion we can't create from scratch. In order to do anything we need this one sample."
"Is there really a chance this could work? And it would help people?"
"Yes. Yes, I believe so."
"I need some time to think. I'm scared."
"I understand."
"I'll see you in a week."
"I understand."
I met up with my rocker date at a cafe. I honestly liked him just fine and I wanted to tell him about my situation, no matter how bizarre it seemed. He got weirded out and then he got agitated. The more I explained, the more miserable he looked. I won't recount the whole conversation here.
"If this is a joke, then whatever. You need Jesus."
"The name does ring a bell," I joked.
"You're like the anti-him."
This turned out to be the last time we would ever see each other.
The entire next week I was going to crowded areas just to be surrounded by other people. I decided to go out clubbing, which was new to me. The place looked half decent. It was Saturday night and it was full. I got a few drinks in me and got on the dancefloor. Sooner or later a man joined me. I thought he was quite handsome. I don't know. Learning the news about myself seemed to warp my entire perception of others. Looking at their faces all I saw were fools or martyrs or both and I thought Is this why I couldn't get into The Myth of Sisyphus no it's probably still the writing.
I had that one picture of Camus in my mind as the guy got closer and replaced it with his own face. He looked eager and not very drunk. So was I. We held each other and he leaned closer to kiss me. Time started to pass very quickly and I had more shots poured into myself and we got a cab and we were back at my place and I was on my back. Sweet night. Even so, it seemed that there was nothing that could stop me from thinking. I kept looking back at him and wondering how he coped with it all. I didn't want to ruin the moment, though.
I opened my eyes. He was already dressed looking for his phone and wallet.
"Hey," I mumbled, a taste of cherry still on my tongue.
"Hey."
"Did you know that I don't feel what you all feel?"
"Oh yeah?" He was looking at the door.
"I don't have the pain that you all have."
"Very poetic. I'll see you around." He kissed me on the forehead and left.
A week later I met my doctor for coffee again.
"I can't stop thinking about it," he confessed to me. He looked like he had been up all night. "I mean, if that wasn't me that handled your visit, I would have been fine now. I would have been alright if only I hadn't found out."
"Are you blaming me for this?"
"No. Maybe. I know I can't be mad at you. No one should. But I just can't control it. I don't know what to think of you. You're like a miracle that I wish I hadn't witnessed."
For a second I let myself admit that this was, in a way, flattering.
"In retrospect, it's impossible for me to unsee it now. When I look into your eyes, I see a light that scares me. I can see that you're not one of us."
"What am I supposed to do about it? Really? Do you want me to feel guilty?"
"Do you?" He couldn't hide his excitement.
I rolled my eyes.
The operation failed. I knew right away. The doctor had told his two assistants that this was a routine biopsy, so they did not become alarmed. I just saw him shaking his head at me. He did not come to see me during the next few days when I recovered at the hospital. We met shortly after, at a cafe as usual.
"It's hopeless," he greeted me.
"Nice to see you too."
"Yes. Hello. The protective tissue dissolves when exposed to any external stimuli. I couldn't successfully extract any of it. This could never be done. I see that now."
"Did you damage it?"
"As long as it stays in your brain it regenerates almost instantly. I'm not sure if anything could be done to change that."
I sipped my coffee, feeling some sort of heartbreak. I think for a while I really let myself believe that I could have helped others. I had hoped that this would be my redemption. I wanted to apologize to everyone for just existing. For not being how they are.
"I'm sorry," I finally replied.
He looked at me like a madman. Maybe he never saw me as fully human, not after the discovery. He certainly didn't think of me as someone he could have a regular conversation with and it started to disgust me. I desperately needed someone to talk to me like a normal person. Continuing to look at this poor fuck made me angry. I got up and walked away from him and his vain hope.
Next weekend I accepted my friend's invitation to a family barbecue. The afternoon was pleasant enough that I managed to distract myself for a couple of hours as I ate sausage and garlic bread and had casual conversations with people.
While returning from the bathroom I heard one of the girls shouting. It was coming from upstairs. I walked up and approached her room. She was sitting on the carpet crying.
"Why does it keep hurting?" She screamed into the empty air. A woman appeared behind me and gave me a polite smile as she closed the door.
I left without saying goodbye.
Once again I tried to occupy myself with other things, but it became impossible. I was curious if I was truly the only person with this condition. History books and encyclopedias were of no help. At best they described a general impulse, a life energy usually put at the level of heartbeat, without which life was impossible. This was of no use to me. It made me feel worse, actually.
I started looking for it in art. I was reading as much as I could, watching movies, listening to music. I looked for any signs of understanding. Anything I could relate to. The more I searched, the more everything seemed to revolve around this pain. I started to notice it everywhere, places where it wasn't meant to be seen. I found a deep sorrow in every song about happiness and love and joy. After some time art stopped being something I found interesting or worth exploring. It was clear that none of it was meant for me.
Deep inside I had always felt like some sort of interloper. The feeling had haunted me at various points of my life yet it always hurt the same. It seemed that this was the deepest pain that was still available to me. I was tired of pretending I did not wish to be like all the others. I craved their approval and acceptance and at the same time resented myself for it.
I couldn't stop looking at people on the street. Feeling pity for them. Wanting to share the good news with them, if it was ever that. Good thing! Not everyone feels what you feel. There's someone out there who doesn't hurt, you miserable fuck. I wanted to find a single person who would be happy to hear that. Maybe my dying grandfather would have been. I didn't really know him that well.
About a year had passed since the funeral. One of my cousins was about to celebrate her First Holy Communion. I couldn't bear seeing my family at that point. I found some flimsy sickness-related excuse, which, come to think of it, was not entirely false. That same day I went out and purchased a handgun and took it into the woods.
I found an isolated place, a wide depression in the ground which would mute some of the noise. I went down into it, stumbling a few times. A squirrel watched this from afar. Once I found the right spot, I couldn't get myself to move anymore. It felt as if all the forces in the world converged here. They put me there and even now they wouldn't or couldn't stop pushing.
I made sure to get as much noise isolation as possible. Ear plugs and ear muffs. As I stood there with the gun in my hand all I could hear was my breath. I thought about everything that used to give me comfort, the feeling of belonging, community, shared struggle, the hardships of life and grief. I used to think I was one of them. I used to think that at the very least I was a human being. What else could I have called myself?
I put the gun behind my head so that it was facing away. In just a moment I would join them. I had wanted this kind of assurance my whole life and now I could finally receive it. No one else had it. You can't unknowingly unite in something. I was the only one granted this chance. I would have brothers in hurt and sisters in ache. I just had to do this one thing and then I would be with them forever.
yooooo....so good.