Beauty in a Can (2023)
Because of his perceived love for her, he spent every waking day and night lying in bed alone, looking out of his bedroom window and knowing that she was out there, loving someone else, and spending fruitful nights in this new lover’s arms; he, on the other hand, grieved the loss of her from his day-to-day life, wishing that her love for another were not true.
BY JACKSON HAY-INKOL
IMAGE BY EBRU KUR
He opened his eyes and blinked a few times, as they were coated with the remnants of a troubled sleep. He used to know what happiness was. It was her embrace; her soft lips on his neck; her whispers in his ear, telling him about the life they would one day share together. But her lips no longer craved his body, nor she, his company, and his bedroom no longer smelled of the scent of her bright red hair. His bedsheets had lost her unmistakable imprint and seemed formless, his clenched hands being the only form discernible on what was once her side of the bed.
The sun’s rays made their way through his bedroom window and danced in his eyes with a sort of resplendent quality that is unique to the early morning. If he were a religious man, he would have perceived the sun’s beams, its beauty, and belligerent presence, to be nothing short of a message from Him, telling him, or commanding him, or possibly even pleading with him to not waste away this brand new and gorgeous day, like he had done so carelessly the day before.
He has had days in his life where he felt a divine presence, a force of some sort in his company, like a tender ghost. But on this day, and at this very specific moment in time, given the unfortunate events which happened to him only two weeks prior, he no longer believed in the existence of God, despite how difficult this belief was for him to shake completely—the only alternative was that God exists, and he had been left forsaken. But he had not appreciated, since the breaking of his heart, that the passage of time never ceases, even when one refuses to accept the existence of existence’s most crucial rule: it is never justifiable to undervalue time.
Yet, after the passing of multiple hours, there he continued to lay, staring out of the bedroom window from his bed, which felt far too large for the company of one, while the sun’s radiance filled up the room. Finally, after hours of stillness, he spoke.
“I loved,” he said, “and now I no longer do.”
His eyes had begun to water and his limbs were still, as if he were physically incapacitated by a force capable of destroying his body by shattering all of his bones. He suddenly winced, after the beams of sunlight in his room began to feel unusually bright against his eyes.
“I was loved,” he said, “and now I am not. Why has this been done to me?”
The sun’s beams suddenly became even more blinding to him, and he couldn’t bear its light any longer. He closed his eyes, or rather, he shut them with furious command, despite it being mid-day and him being well rested. It was curious how the middle of this day had such a freshness to it, and it was reminiscent of the moments just after sunrise. It was as if time had truly stopped—not all the world’s clocks, but true and unalterable time. Time that, possibly up until this moment, never ceased and kept moving forward, or marching on; it is the drum which is always beaten, and its rhythm never changes, it is heard and acknowledged, usually fearfully, occasionally fearlessly, by those with beating hearts and active minds.
But had the rhythm stopped? And if so, why?
The moment he opened his eyes, they widened with an overwhelming jolt of dumbstruck awe. He was no longer in his room but was floating, his feet dangling, in the air above the city which he knew so well.
“What is this!” he said. “This must be a dream!”
But this didn’t feel like a dream to him. It was all too real and far too frightening for that to be true. Minutes passed, seven minutes of pure, debilitating peril. He was sweating profusely and screaming, demanding to be brought back to the comfort of his home. He couldn’t answer the question of whom he was speaking to, but if this wasn’t a dream, someone or something had done this to him. And finally, a voice that wasn’t his followed his screams.
“I shall never cause pain for no good cause.”
He who spoke was a blinding light in human form. It was a voice unlike any he had ever heard before. There was a denseness to it which he immediately respected, it was deeper than the center of the Earth, but regardless, it was the clearest voice he had ever heard. And he somehow knew that it was a voice with the ability to overmatch the voices of eight billion human beings speaking in unison.
“Who are you?”
“You know who I am.”
“I want to go home.”
There was a pause. He looked, not into his eyes, but through them and into something else, a thing that wasn’t a part of his body, but a part of him completely. Then He spoke once more.
“You will love again.”
“I know that you know that I will. But, please, tell me, how do you know these things?”
“I know that you will love again because it is what I have decided for you. I give what I take away, but what I take away, I also give. But you need to remember this, not in your brain, but in your heart—you are not deserving of love; you are not deserving of anything. Instead of laying pathetically in your inner sanctum, you could have won love back again without my help. But you did not, and here I am, providing you this final chance, because I know that you believe in me. I know you have always believed in me, even though you never wished to admit it. You’re a good man, but I want to see if you’re capable of being a great one. You will love again.”
The words He said were so simple, but right when he heard them said, he knew them to be true, and not just true, he knew the words, you will love again, to be a prophecy. He, then, knew what was true: the girl who put him in this place, this place where time had no meaning, never should have been given, by him, such power. Because of his perceived love for her, he spent every waking day and night lying in bed alone, looking out of his bedroom window and knowing that she was out there, loving someone else, and spending fruitful nights in this new lover’s arms; he, on the other hand, grieved the loss of her from his day-to-day life, wishing that her love for another were not true. But time didn’t wait for him while he spent it nurturing fresh wounds. A period of grief is not immortality, and unless he learned to live again, to feel the Earth under his body, or the cool air on his limbs, his life would continue to be haunted by the absence of this lost love. He, then, knew the truth: his lost love, one which he had given so much merit, was not true or even love at all, but rather, an act of desperation, an intense infatuation which seemed to him so convincing. But love, in its truest form, slowly builds, over the passing of months, starting with a friendship, and ending with a union, which, alas, is the beginning of a new state of being—true love, real love, a sort of love that makes the heart ache and the eyes melt with grief for the long ago feeling of independence. He, soon, will know this love, and in a few years’ time, he will utter his holy vows to a beautiful young woman he has not yet met, but he will soon forget all that is not tied to her; his first love affair and the ensuing heartbreak will be dust, ashes in his mind, while he enjoys the embrace and body of a woman who loves him truly. He will not think of God in these moments, of this strange encounter with Him, but he will always, in his soul, remember the words, you will love again, and whenever he reflects upon them, they will transform him and create him again, fresh, anew, and ready to feel love once more.
He closed his eyes, but on this occasion, gently. He was finally ready to live.
“Oh my God!” he said, as he opened his eyes and sprung up and out of his bed like he had been shot through the heart with a bolt of lightning. He ran downstairs and picked up his journal off the dining room table. He reached for the nearest pen while finding a blank page in the book and he scribbled, clumsily, words that would change him forever onto the page.
I see the love and I feel the love! I see everything but these are things that I’ve seen before but this time I’m seeing everything for the first time! I see the past and present, space and time. It’s all happening right now. It’s all happening now and it’s love. It’s all love! It’s beautiful and it’s wonderful! I see the love and I feel the love! All is good now.
Without even changing out of his pajamas, he bolted out his front door without locking it behind him, and he soon found himself in the park near his home. He walked into the forest, moaning in ecstasy as he passed the trees, and he looked at the world, his surroundings, in a way he hadn’t and wasn’t capable of before. It was all so beautiful, and his new state of mind was too, because it was filled with so much hope; this world, his surroundings, and his life, they were all his oyster, and he could do and overcome anything, as long as he always, no matter what, continued to live and appreciate the gift that he could never squander again. As he walked, and observed all that is true, he felt, encompassing him, the essence of God. He was forever changed, forever wiser, and forever willing to suck the marrow out of the Earth’s bones; he was given by God the gift of a second chance.
“I will love again,” he said, “I will love again!”
The End.
Jackson Hay-Inkol (he/him) is a writer of fiction and poetry based in Toronto. After a stint in theatre and performance, he has committed himself to Humber College’s Bachelor of Creative and Professional Writing program. He is working on his debut novel and enjoys attending readings. He can be reached at: jacksonbarrett2455@gmail.com
Image: Beauty in a Can (Ebru Kur, 2023)
Edited for publication by Patricia Arhinson, as part of the Bachelor of Creative and Professional Writing program.
HLR Spotlight is a collaboration between the Faculty of Media & Creative Arts and the Faculty of Liberal Arts & Sciences and Innovative Learning at Humber College in Toronto, Ontario. This project is funded by Humber’s Office of Research & Innovation.