ALL MY SORROWS ENDED ON MY 21ST BIRTHDAY

(Story originally posted on my old Reddit account)

I received my list on my 18th birthday, just as others had before me and others will after me. Each list contained the pains each person would endure and when. Deaths of loved ones, ruptures in relationships, misfortunes, and other emotional and interpersonal trials and sorrows were laid out before you, handed to you when you came of age by the Monks of the Order of Tempus Loquendi. You don't have to accept your list. You can go on blissfully living your life, taking each day as it comes. But I was too curious, and so I went alone, up to the dreary stone monastery on the Black Mountain, and stood before three monks, a scribe and two guardians, who would hand me the timeline of my sorrows. After what felt like an eternity, the scribe in the middle, seated between two monks whose dark brown hoods obscured their faces, announced he was finished. I took the piece of parchment from his hands, feeling the weight of my future in its thickness.

Under the heading entitled “Sorrows and Tribulations of Adam Jolivet” I found nothing after my 21st birthday. My eyes widened and scanned the page fervently. Usually when someone was to die early, it was listed so that they could live out the rest of their short life doing things they loved or spending time with family. However, this was different. I looked up and stared at the hooded figures manning the printing press and sputtered that there must have been some mistake. Eerie silence was all that followed until the awkward and tense space between us was broken by one telling me that the monks make no mistakes. I swallowed and then asked what it could mean if I have no pain or distress past my 21st year, but I was greeted with silence.

My parents offered me no answers. They seemed just as nonplussed as I was, and my mother quietly suggested that perhaps I should just enjoy these few years I have until I reach 21. My father seemed quiet and tense, tried to argue that if I were going to die the monks would have printed it, but he soon conceded that perhaps I should delay university until it is clear what this means. He shook his head, and I hated the pity in his eyes when he looked at me. My mother took the list from my hands and read it aloud for the umpteenth time.

“Sorrows and Tribulations of Adam Jolivet”

* Death of family dog at age 18 years, 7 months, and 7 days

* Relationship with girlfriend ends at age 18 years, 10 months, 21 days

* Grandmother dies at age 19 years, 4 months, 19 days

* Motorcycle accident at age 21 years, 0 months, 0 days

* No further incidents

She sighed after reading it, and folded it neatly along the middle before leaving the room to place it in the safe with our family’s other important documents. I felt my mouth twitch as I saw my dog slowly padding behind her and realized how he had started to slow down lately. His 12 years really were beginning to show. I followed my mother and picked him up gently, realizing I only had 7 months left with him, my best friend. In a way, I was grateful for the list for making me appreciate him more, and I thought about the good times we’d had together as I rubbed my face on his soft fur.

After that night, life returned to normal, somewhat. I decided I did still want to go to school, and at my parents’ insistence, I enrolled at the local community college so that I would be close to home should something happen. My parents were keen on traveling, and I admit they were a bit overbearing; however, wouldn’t you also be if you thought your son was going to die?

I was grateful for the extra love, though, when my girlfriend Anna broke up with me. I made the mistake of telling her in our 9th month of dating about the strange end of my list. She promptly told me that hers told her that she would live to see 75, and she didn’t want to spend her life mourning me. I remember the corner of my mouth jerking a bit as my eyes began to burn. I tried to tell her that the list hadn’t told me I would die, but she didn’t want to hear it. She asked me what else my list ending at the age of 21 could mean, and I didn’t have an answer for her. She kissed me on the cheek and left me absorbed in my own thoughts.

I think it was telling my parents what happened that infected them with the travel bug. Anna’s comment bothered them more than it did me, I think, and they wanted to make sure their only child saw as much of the world as he could before he died. We traveled through Europe that summer, seeing the churches of Rome, traveling across the moors of Scotland, wine tasting in Paris, and on and on, until we received the call about my grandmother while in Croatia. We were and were not prepared. Prepared in a general way, yes, because of the list I had received.

My grandmother knew by her own list when her time was coming, as well. However, in the days of traveling, we had lost track of things, and we had forgotten about her imminent passing when we extended our trip the week before. My mother was inconsolable, but not for her mother-in-law. When my dad attempted to comfort her, I heard her sputter something that sounded like “only one more,” before my father hugged her and looked at me sadly. I had grown to hate that look.

After my grandmother’s funeral, my mom was loathe to let me out of the house. I promised her that I wouldn’t ride or go near motorcycles, but that did nothing to help her fears. It was all she could do not to burst into tears every time I left the house, even with my father gently reminding her that the lists were never wrong and that we could only enjoy the time we were given. I always made sure to put on my bravest face for her. As my 21st birthday neared, however, even my dad was growing somewhat clingy. I couldn’t blame either of them; they truly thought they were going to lose their only child. Yet, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that the end of the list didn’t mean death for me. Every list I’d seen had announced the person's death and what caused it. I took this to mean that the motorcycle accident in my future would mainly cause emotional pain, not physical, even if it was vague. That still didn't stop my mom from going with me to pick up beer the day my birthday rolled around.

But just like that, it happened. While out grocery shopping with my mom,  I was struck by a jackass on a Harley while in the parking lot of our small town’s only grocery store. The physical pain I felt was nothing compared to the emotional distress I felt at hearing my mother’s anguished scream. That sound and her pale and terrified face were the last things I saw before the black spots filled my vision.

I came to who knows how many hours or days later. I was in a hospital bed with multiple IV’s sticking out of my arms, and, as I slowly began to move my fingers, I realized my right wrist was in a cast. I brought my hand up and felt the bandages wrapped tightly around my head, feeling my face to try to survey the damage. The area around my left eye was swollen and painful, but otherwise my face seemed alright. I tried to move my legs and felt a sharp pain shoot up both. They were in casts, I realized quickly, and I stopped my exploration there. I looked to my left and saw my parents, both asleep and slumped in uncomfortable-looking hospital chairs. My mother’s dark hair had fallen over her face a bit, and my father’s remained in a tense frown even while unconscious. I realized after a few minutes of studying them that…I felt nothing. No love, no concern, no comfort at them being there, just blankness. My mother stirred then, some instinct probably telling her that I was awake and staring at them. She smiled in relief upon waking and seeing my eyes open, and I forced myself to smile at her.

A future with no pain lay before me, I realize now. I suffered a brain injury in the motorcycle crash, I was told, but I didn’t tell the doctors about this startling symptom. I can't feel emotion. It feels so strange to tell someone. But, now I know what my list meant. With the accident, I have been given future with no sorrow, no tribulations, and no pain. But that also means a future with no joy, no happiness, and no love either.