I’ve been on a fiction kick lately. Well, at least about how life sometimes parallels fiction or vice versa. We eventually even reach “The End” in our life, when we turn the last page and close the book.
The End has always been a bit tricky for me. In most cases in our life, The End is pretty finite. You know you’ve reached it. You accept it as a finality. For instance, in the working world, you know when a job has come to an end. Either you walk into your boss’ office and tell him or her to stick it, or they stick it to you by firing or laying you off.
The End is definitive. They collect your keycard and other icons of your position and usher you out the door with your single box of personal items. It’s over. You definitely know it, especially after you do the walk of shame with all your coworkers watching. You know that you can’t go back. They won’t even let you in the door.
Well, in most cases, at least. When I worked at Associated Grocers I was given the old heave-ho. But it wasn’t that finite. Even though we went our separate ways, I stayed there another three weeks and then became a consultant to them for the next four years. It was like having an abusive relationship with an ex and you just don’t quite know when it’s done.
That’s the problem with relationships. There isn’t always a clear ending point. As we all know, I’ve been on the receiving end of some very memorable The Ends. I know exactly when the relationship came to an end. Another word was never spoken between us, and just like a job, I left unexpectedly with my box of possessions, leaving the keys behind.
At other times, it’s been very confusing. Things haven’t exactly been going well for a while, but like a pilot whose plane is out of control, you think you’ll be able to pull it out of the dive and land the old girl safely. Sometimes it’s a very long nose dive. Still, you think you can do it. You may even be able to gain some altitude now and again, coming scary close to plowing right into the ground.
Eventually though, someone bails out. You may still be at the stick, trying to gain control in the cockpit, but your significant other, unknown to you, has already jumped. You didn’t even know they had a parachute. And sometimes they don’t.
These are the times I hate. I have flown the relationship plane solo several times. I fly bravely on, sometimes not even aware that an engine or two has given out, there’s a huge crack in the wing and the landing gear has fallen off. The ship is doomed, The End is near, but I’m either too stubborn or too blind to know it’s going to crash.
I guess I’ve never learned to see the signs. Even when I do, I really don’t seem to get the gravity of what’s happening. I really am a bit of an optimist in life. While I can deal with doom and gloom in everyone else’s life as well as manage a crisis at work with aplomb, I seem to be one of those test pilots who just doesn’t know when the damned thing won’t fly any longer.
That’s not to say I haven’t jumped from a plane or two as it is going down in flames. I have left others to bravely pilot on as I jumped… sometimes way too early. Later, I come to find that they didn’t know The End was near either. They were doing just what I did, oblivious to the situation, unwilling to accept the inevitable, unable to fix the problem while it could be still fixed.
I suppose we’ve all been in this position a time or two. Just like with a book of fiction, two people can rarely move at the same speed, reaching The End at the same instant. One person inevitably knows how the whole thing turns out while the other is still trying to find their way through the final pages, hoping that the author was still writing more.
They weren’t. It’s The End. All done. No one wrote more, even though you desperately hoped they would. In fact, you may be so much in denial that you try to write and read at the same time. We all know how that turns out. You get crap.
It’s hard to deal with The End. Rarely is it a joyous moment, even when you do know it’s coming. Your whole being is so into the story you’ve both been creating that your heart aches, you soul feels empty, you hurt all over. You don’t want it to be over, but one of you has already reached The End. In fact, they may already have picked up another book.
Even when you know it’s coming, you can be in denial about it. The signs are all there, even some of the acts of finality are playing out right before your very eyes and you just won’t believe it’s really The End. And if it is, you hope to God there will be a sequel.
There rarely is. Sure, you may go through the motions, trying to recapture the magic that once was. But just like almost any sequel, it’s never as good as the first time around. Like a hack, you just end up going through the motions, experiencing the same, sad storyline, only to reach The End again.
As a writer, I always wished I could do some rewrites. But you can’t. Especially when the person you are writing with suddenly decides to scribble The End mid sentence and call it good. Your only choice is to start a new chapter in your life and live with the trauma of the drama that unfolded just pages before.
In the Emerald City, wondering if it’s too late for an Epilogue,
– Robb
* And no, the Janmeister and I are just fine.