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All is lost, I said, but no one seemed to be listening. Friends and family were all drowning in their own despair.
I climbed to the top of the tallest tower in the state, intending to jump. I girded my guts and leaped off the ledge. But then in a trice I was swept back to the spot where I had stood a second before.
Looking around, I couldn’t see a living soul. Was it a wild wisp of wind or what? No matter, nothing could deter my date with death. I girded again and prepared to plummet.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” someone said softly.
But there was still not a soul in sight. I waited and wondered what was afoot as my feet fidgeted to fly.
“No, you have too much to live for to loosen your life from the mortal coil,” said the disembodied advisor. I looked harder and could slightly see an ethereal entity beside me.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” I asked.
“Bartholomew Beatitude, at your beckoning,” said the spirit. “And I’m here to guide you thru pitfalls on your path to Paradise.”
“Well, nobody asked you,” I snarled. “Leave me alone, I’m trying to get something done here.”
“You call killing yourself ‘getting something done’? And anyway, you actually asked me. We arranged it all before you were born.”
“Arranged what? This is all sounding strange.”
“To be your spirit guide, or guardian angel, if you prefer a more Christian term for this term of commitment.”
“Fine, Bart, but don’t interfere with my plans.”
“Normally I don’t, Frank, but your plan to kick the bucket is beyond the pail. It’s not yet time for you to go beyond the pale.”
“But there’s no longer anything to live for. We’ve got the Oaf of Office back again to ruin our country and maybe the whole world.”
“He’s just the Oaf-Elect at this point, Frank. And all is NOT lost. There are plenty of people who will fight the fascists. And your sacred purpose to live for is to write goofy stuff like this and give folks a laugh despite the darkness.”
“Well, now you’ve gone and broken the wall, Bart. How am I supposed to retain my rep as a relevant writer if you reveal my ridiculousness?”
“That ship has sailed, sir. Your readers are acutely aware of your obsession with outrageous alliteration and assonance?”
“What the Hell is assonance, Bart?”
“It’s like alliteration but more with vowels than consonants. It’s consonant with your contempt for serious scholarship.”
“OK, OK, you know me pretty well,” I conceded.
“I should after shadowing you for 70 spins around the sun.”
“What, now you’re resorting to alliteration, too?”
“Some folks figure I’m a figment of your fantasies, Frank.”
“Can I just get back to diving to my death, dude?”
“You can try, but I’ll keep bringing you back from the brink. Remember what the Eagles sang: ‘You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.’ So we’re gonna need every sincere citizen to save us.”
“No need for insults, Bart. Don’t call me sincere when you know I’m a cynic.”
“You’re a wiseass for sure, but you have bouts of benign being, too, Frank.”
“Well, then I guess I’ll go on living and face the s*#t storm that will assault us every day.”
“That’s the spirit, Frank. With that admirable attitude, you will thrive, not just survive. Remember you’ve got family and friends who need your deadpan demeanor.
“Oh, right, it’s a wonderful life. But yeah, I can see my attempt was futile. Besides, jumping off the tallest building in Kansas, I just woulda sprained an ankle anyway.”
Frank Lingo, based in Lawrence, Kansas, is a former columnist for the Kansas City Star and author of the novel “Earth Vote.” Email: lingofrank@gmail.com. See his website: Greenbeat.world
