Episode 74 - Inconsistent

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Welcome back to the podcast. An abrupt podcast. A podcast that isn’t entirely reliable, I admit. You never quite know what you are going to get with me. Or even when… 

And I am sorry about that. Inconsistency is never ideal, but then again, inconsistent is not the worst thing someone could be. I’ve been a worse thing. In my life, I’ve consistently done the wrong thing. I’ve consistently been silent. I’ve consistently failed via the absence of effort. 

Failure in and of itself isn’t something to dread so much. There’s comfort in the effort even if the rest of the universe or all of existence was actively working against you. You can say that you put up a fight, even if it wasn’t a gallant one or whatever descriptor we use to describe the sorts of things knights used to do in old fairy tales. The type of effort we ascribe to heroes of all sorts.

The age of knights was not without its problems. So were the stories. And so many of the stories aren’t based in reality. But even still, I do have a soft spot for them. I understand them better than I should. 

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Wyatt reached for the door. And with that action, the silence seemed to build. No, it wasn’t the silence, the complete absence of sound known by its own name or an emptiness in the air. There was something. Something ominous and threatening lurking beneath the surface. It did not make a sound that could be heard, but it was felt. It was there, rumbling through the scene. And the screen. 

And yet, Jade was the only person to react to it. She was the only one who felt the concern. Her expression did not change, and yet, I could feel it all the same. Her apprehension. Her fear. Her dread. It transcended time and distance. It was the sort of thing one did not or really could not see. But it was felt. And that was really what mattered. 

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Part of the delays have been this… hesitation to tell this part of the story. I’ve done it before, so I know it’s not impossible. And yet, it’s not something I’m inclined to do. It’s not something I want to do. So now, it’s reason versus impulse. Logic versus the most human desire to avoid discomfort or distress. And there’s also this part of me that knows I’m not fit to tell this story. I mean, think of how many other people were involved. People who have the right and better perspective on it. And then there’s just me. And my half baked memories. 

It doesn’t seem right. However, the absence of this story seems even less right. 

So what should I do? Sometimes the answer feels obvious, and sometimes it doesn’t. Usually when I’m right about to speak, that's the moment when certainty crescendoes to its peak, and when the words start to come out, it breaks completely open. It shatters into dust and is blown away in the next breeze. And then suddenly. I am left with nothing. Completely and totally nothing. 

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If there was a time to speak, it was likely right then. It was the moment right before everything shifted. The energy has built up. And now something has to happen. But the future isn’t settled yet. There is no frame for all that energy to go to. There is no shape to assume, for the next thing to happen. There is no structure binding everything in place. Only an inclination that can be nudged in one direction or another. It’s all up to the actors in the situation, the people involved. 

So if Jade had said something, maybe the situation could be different. Maybe the end of the story could be rewritten and a better one put in its place. 

Or maybe she would have just made everything worse by creating a conflict that hadn’t already been there.

Or maybe nothing would have happened because the end was written more binding than I had first thought. Wyatt was going to do whatever he felt so compelled to do, and a child was not going to be able to convince him otherwise. 

It’s the doubt, really. That moment was a fork in the road that could have gone either way. Or so it appears. But I’ll never know for sure. And I think that’s what bothers me the most.

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I’ve made some assertions about why lost media matters to us, that it’s about finding a piece of ourselves or regaining some sense of control from forces that we already have some grievance with. But really, at the heart of it, is being in this limbo state where we have that faint memory of something that’s being slowly pulled away from us. We almost have it. We almost don't, but we could re-anchor it if we can find that media property again. If we can watch the show or movie or reach, we can have it fully back. But for now, it’s just a ghost in the periphery of our vision. And no one particularly enjoys being haunted.

It’s just sometimes unavoidable, unfortunately.

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Wyatt stepped towards the door with a steady, confident step. That was the way he walked. Always like he knew exactly where he was going despite the creeping dread in the world around him. It was as if he believed himself to be the master of his own life. Which wasn’t true, per se. No one is ever completely the master of themselves. The universe is far too unkind for that. But Wyatt believed it. Honestly and truly believed it. Which is almost commendable. 

But that belief led him out the door, which was the problem. Or it was the beginning of the problem. The final domino knocking over the row.

There was no storm outside. There had been, at some point. It had passed over the town and the small house, dropping water as a farewell gift. The wood of the porch was satiated quickly as was the path from said porch. And so there were so many puddles, so many droplets of water that could carry away a foot before the rest of the body was ready to move. So there were any number of possible culprits. All of them were objects, nearly identical objects, and not people. 

But what difference did that make, really?

Wyatt did not make a noise when he fell. He was too surprised to yell or call out. There was just the step, the moment in the air, and the rough impact of his head against the ground. 

That was all. A death that likely changed the course of so many lives happened just like that. 

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I’ve heard some people say that creatives tend to be unreliable or bad in relationships or bad with people. Just something like that. The point is always that we’re bad with the people around us, that we don’t always answer messages or stay on top of our lives. We fail the subjects that make up and influence our understanding of the world which we then create with, those who inspire us and support us. We let down the people who are our lifelines through the worst of our storms. We fall short in reaching out to those we need the most for so many reasons. 

I have always suspected I am that way. I’ve had plenty of evidence, though I don’t look at it as much. I tucked it away, out of sight and out of mind, but it is there, somewhere. And with each day, there is more of it.

This podcast and you–its listeners–are in that group. I owe you consistency, but I constantly fail in that. And you could take it as a compliment, I think. I usually only fail the people I care about the most. 

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“What happened?” a man’s voice said. 

Jade did not react to it. She did not look towards it as if it were familiar or unfamiliar. She hardly moved from her spot, staring towards the door. She did not react to anything. She did not move. She could scarcely breathe. Her chest itself had locked into place.

“His brother came by,” the woman hissed back. “Said he knew he was missing. That they always talk. They had no secrets.”

The man sighed through gritted teeth. His frustration and seething anger could be felt for miles about. “I thought we agreed. We’d just say he left, went on a trip somewhere.”

“He knew that wasn’t true,” the woman snapped back.

She heard an accusation of stupidity or carelessness, and she wouldn’t let that stand. Her pride wouldn’t let her take the insult. 

“They tell each other everything,” she reiterated. “And some people already think he’s dead. 

“So you killed him?” the man hissed.

The woman sucked a deep breath in. Surprised, she stammered, “I didn’t…”

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Some people would say that if media is lost it doesn’t need to be found. There was a reason it was lost and a reason it wasn’t brought up again. And I don’t think it’s wrong, per se, but that assertion doesn’t say what you think it does. That doesn’t mean it was a good reason. It was just a reason. The reason existed. And so it’s not enough. Not for all of us anyway.

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The man cursed under his breath, but that didn’t provide the cathartic release that he needed. So he tried again at a more audible level, but when that was still enough, he was left to yell it. 

The woman jumped. Jade did not. 

“I thought that was your doing,” he yelled. “I thought that was you. So I…” 

He didn’t finish the thought, catching himself before another word could slip out. There was no need to finish the thought. They both knew what he meant. And the truth was something to keep close to their chests.

“I think I got it all,” he said. 

“Maybe the girl,” the woman offered.

Before she could get out another word, the man spat back, “Leave her out of this.”

“Can she be trusted, though? Children say things all the time.”

“She’s my daughter,” the man hissed. “And your niece.”

Then came silence, a declaration about how little that all really meant. 

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There’s more to the show, of course. Some episodes I think I remember. So what if I told you about them? What if I ran through the rest of my memories? I probably shouldn’t. I’ve taken up too much of your time with this story. And others. And the waiting. 

But some of you will be left waiting no matter what I do. You will wait until everything is out. And that is your duty. You will keep watch until the end. 

But I don’t know if I can give you that end. And that’s something else I need to feel guilty for.

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Aishi Online is a production of Miscellany Media Studios. It is written, produced, performed, and edited by MJ Bailey with music from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. If you like the show, please leave a review, tell a friend, or post about it on some mysterious online forum. You do you.