Immortal

Catherine Semerjian


It's cold outside, the leaves have just started to turn, but none of
us really notice the beauty of nature surrounding us. Without really
thinking about it, I pull my thin jacket a little closer to my body,
trying to conserve a little heat.

This is quite clichéd, but the silence is deafening. Silence
between the five of us isn't unusual--we hardly speak to each other anymore.
We've all moved on with our lives and our careers. Even during this yearly
get together, our lives outside of this cemetery seem to fall mute into
the background, like the cars on the faraway road. Considering how close
we used to be, it is something of a tragedy, but not the biggest
tragedy to befall this group. Not by far.

We stare down in silence at the gravestone. He died years ago, but
sometimes it still hurts like yesterday.

Sometimes, this ritual of ours is akin to ripping the skin off an old
wound, but in a way, it's good for us.

It reminds us that we're not immortal.

* *

Don't get me wrong, we used to think that. As foolish as that seems
now, we didn't think anything could hurt us. We were young, out of
school, successful and unstoppable. The six of us were such
hotshots, I don't understand how the elders around us tolerated our antics. Maybe
because they were there before, I don't know.

Our little clique was inseparable. We celebrated birthdays,
anniversaries, victories, even losses. Any reason to go out and
party, we embraced wholeheartedly. These guys were my family, because
my real one was so far away. I knew that they felt the same. We
were at the age when 'hangover' was still just a filthy myth and not
an impending reality check. Going out to party until the break of dawn,
then being in time for work, looking fresh as a daisy was the norm.
Of course, we did take some nights off our crazy schedules to be with
our girlfriends, or fiancée in my case. It was the good life and
nobody was going to tell us otherwise.

It was bound to happen. The stress of my job combined with my
relationship, add to that a non-stop party schedule, and I was a
prime candidate for a burnout. People tried to warn me to slow down, but I
couldn't hear a word they said. This was my life and I was going to
live it up. And I would keep up this schedule any way I knew how.

For something with such an innocuous start, it had a real effect on
my life. With my insomnia, I would just take something to get me to
sleep. If I was tired in the morning, just grab a quick pick me up and the
day flew by. I've been told I don't have an addictive personality, which
basically means that what I did to myself, I did with complete
control.

The others did it too and even those who didn't never ratted. We
were just too damned successful to lose. As far was we were concerned, we
had the whole situation under control.

Ha, control. None of us were ever really in control. We got caught
up in this lifestyle. The streets were paved with gold and the money
would keep rolling in. All of us were so happy with our lives that
we didn't realize we were all heading directly for rock bottom.

* *

One thing or another brought each of us down. Whether it was our
careers, there was always some back stabber in the wings, waiting to
capitalise on a scandal. Like I said, we were flying so high, that
it was only a matter of time before we were shot down. None of us saw it
coming and it all seemed to happen in unison.

Once we did see it coming, we fell into the abyss of excess.
Everything had to be done to the extreme.

* *

I really thought I was being a good friend, the responsible one.
Doing my best friends a favour by making sure they didn't get into a car
when they were drunk. Driving them home and letting their significant
others take care of them.

If I'd just forced myself to realize that drinking wasn't the only
thing that was wrong, maybe things would have turned out different.
We might have been able to see some of the signs. Of course, back in
the day, things like this were generally kept quiet. It was taboo to
even mention drug use. It would have meant instant expulsion. After all,
who could trust a junkie?

Somehow, some way, we managed to pull our lives out of the tailspin.
We grew up a little bit. Personally, I think our girlfriends were
responsible for that. Moderation became our motto. And life became
even better. The obsession with doing everything life had to offer
faded and we learned to appreciate what we did have. It sure beat trying
to have everything.

Funny how we always seemed to do everything together. We wasted
our lives, we were successful, we matured ... we were completely
blindsided.

In a way, we were still the same selfish, spoiled hotshots. We
didn't notice that one of our members hadn't grown up. He was still living
crazy and it cost him.

He was found in his apartment with his face covered in white powder.

* *

The headline might as well have said 'Welcome to Hell, Boys!' because
that's what it was. The ultimate proof that we could, in fact, be
hurt, we weren't immortal. I couldn't focus, couldn't sleep, it was bad.
It was so bad that I had to start taking those pills again just to function.
We smoked like chimneys, but our hands always shook. My loving, loyal
fiancée didn't want to be associated with me, so she left. My
baby brother wound up in the hospital because he couldn't breathe again
and I swear to God, I almost jumped off a building because I was too
young and too stupid and I didn't know how to handle it.

I couldn't stay where I was. There were just too many memories.
Besides, I couldn't stand the thought of going back to the lifestyle
that had taken away my best friend. So I left and started something
completely different. Then I met a man named Josh Lyman and things
started to change, but you can never really get away from your past.
That's why this yearly mental flagellation takes place.

* *

I look around at the others. In different ways, they show the wear
and tear of the life we used to lead. Whether it's external or something
on the inside, that's hard to say. Hell, maybe they don't even show any
signs of it. Maybe I think I can see flaws because I know they
should be there. Weird.

Michael, lead prosecutor. Dennis, head of his own firm. Shawn,
teacher (I always knew he'd be a teacher.) Me, Deputy Communications
Director for the White House. It doesn't matter in here. Only one
thing matters:

Ryan, dead at twenty five.

* *

Shawn looks down at his watch and, without saying a word, turns his
back to us and walks out of the cemetery. Dennis follows suit.
Michael puts a hand on my shoulder and mumbles something that I can't
make out before he leaves me alone as well.

Out of habit, I reach into the pocket of my jacket for the box of
cigarettes that was there when I was a kid. Toby wonders why I'm so
fanatical about dental hygeine, it's because I'm trying to make it up
to my mouth.

There's a single cancer stick in the pocket, partnered with a
solitary match. I light up, bring it to my lips and exhale. The
smoke looks identical to the last clean breath of air I breathed. I run my
hand along the tombstone, sending tendrils of cold all the way up to my
wrist.

See you next year, pal.

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