Distraction can be the sweetest reward. Here, everything was a distraction. Jus loved everything he saw every moment of the day. It was the same for Maarja because it seemingly dissolved all the antagonists in pursuit. Where to focus now was the question. It was good, and it was terrible. Only when sunlight hits soil previously covered by a building can one see what seed was spread over time.
A meteor streaked the August night sky, giving way to the cool, dark nights of September. The days were brilliant and alive. Jus was suddenly given opportunities for advancement, and he took them with gratitude. Everything fit in this new land. He had a place to live, purpose, and respect, all of which the last year had dissolved one after the other.
September allowed him to take so many pieces scattered over hundreds of miles and put them all back together. At the same time, he built his empire in his new city. This was what he had needed all along. Oddly, none of these winfalls separated him from his companion, like a shadow that stayed lockstep with him, ensuring that the lights of Saturday night would be doused like a fire.
By day, Jus drew great respect from Stuart, a man many years his senior. He streamed quickly into great favor. On sweet crisp October mornings, as a steam radiator played its unique staccato, Jus would sit across from the Stuart. Jus would listen to the old man talk fearlessly about his weaknesses. He always respectfully acknowledged until one day.
Jus suddenly succumbed to voices in his head that had been with him since Joplin, Missouri, October 86, and over and over since then. John Barleycorn must die. There comes a time when many travellers come to this realization, and Jus knew it was real. He fired the figurative distress flare into the room. Stuart stopped talking and looked across the table. "You, Jus?" His shoulders fell low. "Yeah, me." He felt ashamed, but the old man kindly told him everything would be alright.
The moment the word left Jus' lips, gravity ceased to exist. Like suddenly being selected for battle, everything was uncertain. It was like a spaceman landing on a new planet and removing the helmet to see if the air was breathable. Yes, Jus was breathing, but he was unsure how long it would last. It was pain, but also like a painless physical injury. It was fantastic and terrifying at the same time.
Music from his childhood became stuck in a loop. A desperate message to the personification of his disease materialized. It was a breakup, and it was mourning. A small lifeline of people declaring to understand, who were nothing like him, was the only thing holding him together. He wondered if that could be enough. This brought him outside the zone where he was allowed. Maarja protested, comparing his previous course to this one, arguing that the old way was better. As the saying goes, sometimes you are the windshield, and sometimes you are the bug. The hammer, the nail. You get the idea.
The merging of everyday life, withdrawal, mastering new skills, and always being connected to the string he could not see. Everything was new. There were weeks of activity inside each day.
A new year brought more choices, which gave way to splendid distraction and preoccupation. It was a nice place to be. Everything would have been better if he had not slowed down. Jus, although thriving, still felt like he was operating through the days, void of several internal organs. Something was always missing inside.
As winter finally gave way to spring, the wave rose higher and higher. Business ideas, welcoming friends and family, and framing busy days that contained 100 hours each. There was enough distraction to subdue Jus's emptiness. The distraction seemed enough to keep Maarja's injury hidden as well. Sooner or later, no matter what anyone says, they could not defy gravity.
The crash came without warning. It reeled them all the way back to the old brick structure and the smoke-filled night when the soldiers came in and seized them. It was clear; the core was broken, and Jus did not want it to be. He tried to fight. He would do anything. Everything around them was so prosperous; why couldn't they be alright inside?
As the days went by, Jus went over the crash repeatedly. He was determined to win Maarja over again. He decided that the problem was himself. Perhaps he had overreacted. He was fine. His chemical vacation proved that he could function and even thrive without it. Look at all he had done. Stuart, who had helped him last fall, was gone; Jus would not have to look him in the eye and rationalize this nuclear decision.
This was the way that he could win Maarja back. It was too extreme a change for her, and this could be the compromise needed to put it back together. She did not protest or condone in any way, except to be silent, which was an endorsement in the most significant measure.
None of us will recall the first time after all those months that Jus picked up that bottle and touched it to his lips, but everything else that followed was like watching a massive car crash in very slow motion. All facades would burn away, leaving only what was truly there, and then shock waves of self-realization and deception would follow. Mr Barleycorn had weaseled his way into the party, and now Jus was about to see some serious stuff.
Here is where the ship started burning up in the atmosphere.
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