Escaping The Neurological Trap

[Courtography]

(Caleb Bloch continued from Pathways)

Everything was cold now. Caleb wasn’t sure why. He was too tired to put much thought into it. He just pulled his arms inside his sweatshirt and curled up on the floor. Maybe he could outlive everyone else by just hiding here. He was so sleepy. He needed to be alert, but a few minutes wouldn’t hurt. He probably couldn’t run away now anyway. Caleb’s leg dragged when he walked now. That was probably bad, but it took so much work to dwell on it. He’d ditched the backpack to make it easier to move, but now he wasn’t doing that either. He was probably just tired. Sometimes he was dramatic that way.

He looked up at the ceiling of the cabin, his eyes unfocused. Caleb’s body was still other than the occasional deep cough.

~

He stretched out and shivered. Something cold was pressed against his skin. Caleb looked up at the lightbulb in the ceiling fan above his bed. The room was painted blue. The comforter on top was blue. Caleb wished he could redecorate. Blue was a fine color, but his favorite was purple.

Cornelius’s little snake head poked out of the end of his sweatshirt sleeve. Caleb laughed. Cornelius always looked so funny when his head poked out of somewhere, but Caleb usually didn’t let him climb up into his sleeve. He always tried. The snake loved confined spaces.

Caleb looked down at the floor. Multiple heavy textbooks were spread across the floor along with stacks of papers. Today was a heavy homework day. He would probably have to work past dinner tonight. Why did he take a bunch of advanced classes? It was stupid of him. His mom would really lecture him if he didn’t do well on a pre-calc test again. Plus, he had several chapters to read in The Jungle that evening. He got it. Working in the late 19th century to early 20th century sucked. Knowing that much would probably get him through the class discussion, but Caleb was obedient enough to always do the reading anyway. Even though he would rather be reading some horror novels he’d been given for his last birthday. He probably wouldn’t find time to read them until semester break.

He sighed and looked down at the snake.

“Alright little buddy, I have work to do, but I love you.”

He set Cornelius in the tank. The snake curled up inside its half log.

Caleb sighed and sat down on the floor.

Homework sucked.

~

Caleb’s hands shook as he pulled the bottle of vodka from his parent’s liquor cabinet. Product of Sweden, it read on the label. Wasn’t vodka Russian? It didn’t matter. It was alcohol and that would work for what he had planned. His parents would be out for a few hours. Hopefully that would be enough time.

He carried it back over to the countertop, setting it down on the green plastic it was made of. His mom always talked about wanting granite, but they cost too much money. Caleb didn’t know how much granite countertops cost. He pulled the lid off the bottle with an audible pop. It looked mostly full. Why did they have all that liquor if they didn’t drink often? It didn’t matter. Few things did.

He poured the clear liquid into the rocks glass. It smelled horrible, but he had to do this. There was no way he could face this future. His parents didn’t understand that focusing on school wasn’t enough to distract from the horrible feeling of his body masculinizing. His voice was like a fucking tuba, his body was overgrown with hair like a chimpanzee, and he had shoulders like a linebacker. There was no way he could become a girl like that. There was one way out.
He looked at the carving knife he’d set on the counter before. It looked scary. He’d never handled a knife that large before.

He raised the glass to his lips and choked back half the glass. His mouth and throat burned. Why did adults drink this stuff? He looked down at the knife. Should he slit his wrists or spill his guts? It was going to hurt a lot, but it’d be over soon.
His family would be upset. He didn’t really want to die, but it was so hard to talk to the therapist. He picked up the knife and held it above his left arm.

His left arm opened the knife drawer. The right one dropped it in. The rest of the vodka in the glass was poured down the sink and the bottle went back in the cabinet. His parents wouldn’t know. They couldn’t know he’d considered this. His stomach didn’t feel good.

A few moments later he was curled up in bed. He didn’t like to nap during the day, but there was no point. He didn’t have the strength to end it or to carry on. That just left rest as his option for the day. He needed to stay away from his parents whenever they got back. Caleb wasn’t a good liar and he had never had alcohol before. He didn’t know what effect it would have on him.

He shut his eyes and hoped for sleep.

~

The chair was uncomfortable. That was how it was at his great uncle’s house. The older generation got the normal comfortable chairs at the head of the table, while the younger one got cheap folding chairs from the basement.

The way the table set told him it was Pesach. Didn’t Pesach just happen? His head was fuzzy, maybe it had been a year since then. That didn’t feel right, but what other possibility was there? No one in the family was crazy enough to eat matzoh during Rosh Hashanah dinner.

Things felt off. He was dressed so casually. Usually, he wore something nicer than a sweatshirt for the holidays, and he wasn’t waring a kippah. Caleb didn’t enjoy wearing one, so he wasn’t going to complain about it if no one else did.

He wanted to be free to eat. Waiting until nightfall always left him hungry, and the formal part of the seder only let him eat little bits at a time. Plus filling up with matzoh always made bowel movements unpleasant the next day. Plus, the old people always took so long to read their parts. His mind wandered when it wasn’t his turn. He was lucky his cousin wasn’t kicking him in the leg under the table this year. It really hurt for some reason.

Oh. They had gotten farther now. He wanted soup soon. Hopefully that would make Caleb feel better. Everyone was reading the next section.

“The sages speak of four kinds of Jews, represented by the four sons, the wise son, the wicked son, the simple one, and the one too young to inquire.”

~

He walked slowly across the rock. Things were dim and damp. He wasn’t sure where he was, but he felt okay. His hand touched the wall. Caleb felt like it was telling him to keep moving. He kept walking. Eventually he came to an entrance to a wider room.

What is all this?

SS03: CALEB BLOCH: DECEASED