Shake Hands With the Devil

 
"The devil ain't got no power over me. The devil come, and me shake hands with the devil. Devil have his part to play. Devil's a good friend, too... because when you don't know him, that's the time he can mosh you down." - Bob Marley

This March was the eighth anniversary of my accident. It's been over seven years. Seven years is often the magical number in many myths and legends. In popular culture it's also believed to be the number of years it takes for "all your cells to replace themselves" so that in seven years' time you've basically rebuilt your body on a cellular level. Not entirely sure about the science on that one, so don't quote me on it, but there's still plenty of magic in the number. The "seven year itch" for example. Although most couples crash and burn long before year seven.

Having made it to and past this mystically significant breakpoint I can say that there have been changes. I'd like to think that I befriended some of my devil's along the way. In a somewhat shameless riff on a Keyser Söze quote, I've lone professed that the only power the Devil truly possesses is the ability to make us forget. Plenty of things got forgotten over those eight years. Names. Dates. Appointments. Bills. Assignments. Promises. Funny things you said. Stories I wanted to remember. Smiles. The way home. Passwords. New Passwords. Shopping lists. My own face. How to type. Math. People I went to school with. Things I should be sorry for. Plans. Writing. Safe places I put important things. And time. 

While there are other things that are perhaps worse, time may be the most debilitating thing to have forgotten.

(By the way, I may have written about this before, but, sadly, I've forgotten that too. Sorry if this is redundant.)

It took at least four years before the Devil and I can to terms on time. We shook hands on that and agreed with the understanding that things were just going to take longer now. And that I would never be able to accurately estimate how long something lasted while it was occurring. I would also never be able to accurately estimate how long it would take to accomplish a task or travel from point a to point b (even if using GPS or Apps) and I would not be able to accurately calculate future time. By that I mean I can not accurately look at a clock and say....figure out what time I will need to leave the house if I hypothetically need to get somewhere at 9 and it will take me half an hour to dress and it will take me an hour and fifteen minutes to drive there plus ten minutes to stop and get gas. YES. I KNOW that this is simple math, or at least is should be or is it FOR YOU. Sadly, I cannot do it. Something goes horribly wrong in my brain and I screw it up EVERY. BLESSED. TIME.

Then I sit there, behind the wheel, stopped at a traffic light, wide eyed, in dis-belief, thinking, "This is NOT POSSIBLE. I figured it out. Then I figured it out again. I'm not stupid. How does this happen?" And I look over and see Old Nick standing on the corner, leaning against a streetlamp pole chuckling, smoking his cigarette down to a grey, ashy nub.

If I let other people do it for me, I'm fine. I swear to you. A friend and I can leave at the same time, from the same place, going in two cars, and I'll get there twenty minutes later, because that's just the way it IS now.

So I build extra time into everything. All the while hating that I have to make this sacrifice. But it's still better than it was before. Before there was screaming and crying. Pounding on car steering wheels in traffic. Road rage where I was trapped on highways praying to gods even I've never heard of for salvation, for deliverance, for an airlift rescue. And there was my friend Nick in the convertible behind me, laughing, playing that horrible techno way too loud, looking like he'd partied for three days straight in the same clothes.

Knowing time ran differently for me, and likely always would, was one of the hardest things to come to terms with. I wanted that back, the way I wanted to be able to see in the same way. The way I wanted to be able to sleep without my stupid Lunesta. 

Someone, I forget who, said that the experience of time is what makes us human. They might be right. If so, I suppose that makes me just a bit less so.

At least I know my Devils now. Most of them anyway. I'm sure there are more lurking in the shadows waiting for the chance to mosh me down.