Self Festival

By Chris Carroll

They found me quivering on the ground. My clothes were shredded tatters. I had lost my memory. A policeman asked me questions in the detective’s room. I couldn’t answer anything because I couldn’t remember. They sent me home and I ran into my roommate Happy. Happy said he was writing a story about me. You got drunk last night, Happy said. Oh, that makes sense, I said. Happy hugged me and I felt calm. She drew me a bath and I felt warm for an hour. I read a book written in an interesting and brief style. My lips were dry. I went into my room and got into bed. I looked around at my room. Yellow string lights created a warm glow in my room. My computer monitor was on, so I got up to look at it. I was a writer, apparently. I had several stories I was working on. One was about how people get lost in other people’s stories, and also their own stories about themselves. I remembered a moment where my therapist could tell I knew that he was helping me make a story about myself, so I could be more like Happy, who was better off than me. Happy people had better stories. Sad people asked questions like, “Do you think I actually don’t have friends, or do I just have a complex about not having friends?” Happy people could successfully weave the brute, uncaring physicality of their material experience with a singing and ribbony story. It was like something good wrapped around a concrete thing. The saddest thing was a little dog covered in shit and dirt. The happiest thing was silhouettes of Saharan animals embracing in a nature documentary while a hopeful ambient soundtrack played. Just being able to visualize sadness, darkness, happiness, made for a more robust life. I assured myself I was not fixated on negativity, and I used pills, food, and love to help. I left my room and took another bath, this time I brought a book and read three pages of it. It was called Self Festival by Rhea Mellie. She was a young and burgeoning writer who wrote in an interesting style.

One passage read: As I fell in love with her, she kept looking away. We walked down the street and got angry. In front of a building we realized our parents were involved. Then we got expensive Chinese food but it wasn’t good. We kept trying to get expensive Chinese food but it kept getting worse. The seasons changed and I felt better but she was gone now. She moved in with old people. I confusedly stayed the same age, twenty-four to be exact. I fell in love again but it was less exciting. I told my mom I didn’t want to talk to her anymore and she cried and we grieved our relationship together and it felt dark and wrong, and I didn’t entirely know why I was doing it. At a street corner I typed sentences into my phone. I think I was more interested in sentences than meaning. I remember someone at a party last night said something really encouraging to me. Why was everyone encouraging me? Was I presenting as someone who needed encouragement? I felt like I was walking around asking everyone to believe in me. I guess that isn’t bad. People temporarily supported each other’s sense of world/self positivity. When someone started looking at you nasty, it felt disappointing to see. Your snarl has nothing on my song. That’s why I stopped talking to my mom, because she was creeping me out. She had put too many eggs in my basket and I didn’t want to disappoint her anymore. I connected with younger and younger people until they became so young that they were basically one. I used to judge people for hanging out with kids but then I started doing it and eventually all my adult friends had kid friends. It was a way of maintaining innocence. Their parents were unsure at first but when they saw me laughing with Alex, who was twelve, at the park, and the obvious joy we created in each other, they understood. We all chalked it up to babysitting and kept on laughing.

Chris Carroll is a writer who lives in Brooklyn, New York. He runs the publication Creepy Winky House. His stories are online and published by things such as Expat Press and Charm School. His instagram is https://www.instagram.com/chriscarrollchriscarroll/. His dad is the Lead Cashier at Goodwill. His mom is a full time stay-at-home parent.