Time Wont Heal My Wounds

Einar has been my friend for as long as I can remember him. Nearly thirty years now and we’re not that old. I met him in fourth grade back when we were both two wide-eyed, short, skinny boys. Now he’s a towering man with a shaved head, a long blonde beard, and a lot of really shitty tattoos. One tattoo is of my name on his leg (I have his tattooed on mine). The guy looks like a Nazi, but he’s not one. For the record, I’m not a slouch either, but he’s just a tower of a man. He claims to hate everyone and everything that lives, well, whenever he’s trying to entertain a crowd at least. This man is a bit of a local attraction around here.

Einar’s misanthropy is a half-truth he tells everyone to explain his erratic nature and shitty friendship. Don’t get me wrong, he’s the guy who’ll actually kill for a person he loves, and he loves a few people in this world. That said, he might disappear on you for months. He’s married and has a young daughter. As far as I’m aware, he’s a good father and a loyal, loving husband. It helps that his wife is an oncologist. Even though some people in our town believe he’s fucking everything that moves. The guy told a few jokes and sweet-talked a few women once or twice with no actual intention of doing anything else. Now everyone thinks he’s some Casanova. No wonder he’s so spiteful towards most people.

He’s also got a cat, well, had one. An elderly creature called Karl. He’s had it for sixteen years. Loved the furry little bastard to death. Called it his only friend, at times. It died not too long ago.

When Karl died, Einar mourned it like a child. Not in the sense that he was all Hollywood emotional about it. Nah, but he was depressed about the loss of his friend. Around that time, we rekindled our friendship once again and I remember seeing the old poor thing, all thin and barely mobile – albeit content. Karl died in his sleep, and Einar buried the remains in his yard. I wasn’t there when it happened, but from what he told me; it was a beautifully cathartic event. A half-smile sneaking onto his face. I knew he was bullshitting me. I said, “you must’ve cried more than your daughter” and he burst out laughing saying it was hard to hold back the tears.

That was the day after the cat died. He called me over, and we had one of our little private parties for two in the park by his house. Over the years, these little parties had gone awry occasionally. One such time was when we ended up tattooing each other’s names on our legs. He’s on record as saying he can’t take his daughter to the public pool because people stare at him like he’s gay. On other occasions, we’d gone violent and gotten into fights.

Mostly his fault, really. He’d get pissed at something, and I’d back him up. As I said, Einar’s not all right in the head. One moment he’s fine, and the next he’s ready to tear your spleen out with his teeth. One moment he’s laughing and the next, he’s cutting himself to sicken someone in the room. He hadn’t done that in years now, probably since he got married. The night after his cat died, I had probably the most fucked up interaction with him and learned what made the man tick.

Yes, I’ve known him for over twenty years, but he’s never told me the specifics of anything. I’ve known his parents, too. His dad’s still around. His parents were pretty alright. Not parents of the year or anything, but not parents that would fuck up a child the way Einar was. There was something always off about his household. A certain void in the air that seemed to always linger. I remember there was a room in his childhood home that was always locked. I asked him once what was there and his expression changed. The color faded from his face and a mist of sadness formed in his eyes. He only told me they never went there. It used to be his brother’s room, but I’ll get to that later.

Einar and I sat down and had our beers and dried fish. It’s pretty good if you ask me. Call it a national dish for alcoholics. The sun had set, and street lights illuminated the surrounding area. We weren’t even drunk by the time shit hit the fan. A few empty beer bottles stood on the concrete below us. We were talking shop, reminiscing about the good old days when we were young and rowdy. Einar pondered the idea of regretting the shit he’s said and done as idiots kept on taking him way too seriously around here.

Some gray, unremarkable shadow of an old man passed by us, beading us a good evening. I had barely registered the man. Yet something had changed in the air, as if a storm was brewing in the middle of the summer. Einar stopped laughing about whatever he was laughing about. Suddenly and unexpectedly. Einar’s eyes darkened and the skin of his color seemed to turn almost metallically pale under the artificial light. He called out to the old man, who turned to face him.

Silence pierced my ears for the longest moment of my life. I was trying to figure out what was going to happen. Partially intrigued by my friend’s antics. I didn’t even notice him picking up an empty bottle and smashing it across our table until it was too late. When my eyes finally caught on to what was happening. Einar picked up the old man and slammed him against the wall behind them.

He was a man possessed, like a draugr, an undead spirit fueled by pure hatred and evil. Screaming and cursing at that old man. I tried pulling him off of the man, but he just pushed me off and yelled at me to stay away. The longer I tried reasoning with Einar, the stranger his assault had become; he was shoving the broken bottle at the old man, telling him to do it again. Demanding he hurt him again.

I could barely see the geezer behind the wall of rage that stood between us, but I could tell he was shaking with fear. So was I, to be quite honest, I’ve never seen Einar so pissed over nothing, nor I’ve ever seen him vehemently demand to be harmed.

Everything seemed to move too slowly and too quickly. I could hear my heartbeat faintly under the cacophony of violent threats and curses. Everything became real again once I saw Einar cutting himself with the glass in his head before pushing it into the old man’s hands and growling at the man. He was demanding to know if he’s enough of a man to do *it* again now that Einar’s a man and not a child anymore. My mind raced, and all sorts of fucked up scenarios ran inside my mind. Einar mentioned a name I was not familiar with, roaring it at the man’s face while threatening to kill him unless he gets cut.

Then, just as suddenly as it rose, the tension almost broke when Einar started laughing like a madman. He let go of the old man and screamed at him to get the fuck out of sight. As the pale piss-covered shadow of a human being shambled away, nearly tripping his own feet, Einar resumed his maniacal laughter. He dropped the broken half bottle to the floor and nearly pissed himself with laughter. I stood there, dumbfounded, as Einar ran to the bushes to relieve himself.

When he came back, my heart still raced, and Einar was once again laughing like it was the greatest night of his life. He kept choking out the words, “fucker pissed himself, fucking himself, the cunt…”

I just stood there, awkwardly chuckling, incredibly confused. Trying to ease my way out of the tension. Einar finally relaxed and told me to sit by him. He wanted to tell me all about what had happened in his childhood. To be honest, at first, I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to know, but I obliged. Einar sighed and his wild eyes settled on my form. His expression turned solemn and his voice became tired and almost withdrawn in its hoarseness.

Einar told me when he was a kid. He had a younger brother, Ludde. One day, when he was nine and Ludde was seven, his parents left them alone at home. Not suspecting anything to happen. Their childhood hometown was a safe little haven of civilization. Back then, everything was simpler and everyone knew everyone. You couldn’t get away with shit you can get away with now. Community is a dead concept.

Einar said he and his brother were watching some cartoons on their TV when he heard the front door being unlocked. He had thought little of it. Assuming his parents were back, he made his way to meet them. To his shock, there was an unfamiliar man in the house. Being a kid, he screamed, and the first thing that man did was smack Einar so hard he nearly lost consciousness. He spoke of remembering how his head started spinning and a sharp pain exploded in his right eye. Everything moved slowly for Einar from that moment onward. He heard his brother screaming in the distance, and the intruder cursing and shouting.

Everything came in flashes after that, as far as he remembers it. Being beaten within an inch of his life, and being witness to the death of his brother, being beaten as well. Tears flowed from his eyes as he mentioned vividly remembering seeing his brother being slammed head first into the counter. His voice cracked as he spoke about being haunted in his dreams by the memory of seeing that awful thing happen, hearing the disgusting dry cracking of bones. The horror of seeing his brother going limp. That one final blow to his head had broken his jaw and two vertebrae.

Einar’s tears wouldn’t stop flowing. He was full-on crying. This giant of a man who mere minutes ago was about to murder someone was now weeping. I can't even imagine just how hard it was to recount all of that. That same man, thirty years ago, broke into Einar's home, looking for valuables to steal. In a cruel twist of fate, he ended up beating my friend half to death, and killed his younger brother right in front of his eyes. He told me his parents found them both on the floor, unconscious. He could barely utter the sentence about his brother dying from his wounds at the hospital.

In these moments, everything started making sense, the locked room, the nearly perpetual; almost emotionless grimness of his mother. His father had it easier, for one reason or the other. Clearly, what had happened hurt his father too, but it only destroyed his mom. She never recovered. Until her very last day, she was off and until now I did not know what was wrong with her, but now I do. She probably had to fake feeling anything. She died fairly young, too. A heart attack took her at fifty-one.

The details about this man serving time in jail kind of dissipated in the background of my feelings about my memories from when we were children. Justice caught up to Ludde’s killer, and he was convicted and served his sentence, and after which he probably lived out an unremarkable life until that day.

When Einar finally finished his story, he wiped the tears from his eyes and handed me another beer before faking a smile at me. He said something that hit me like a liver punch. He said, “It felt pretty damn orgasmic to see that fucker actually fear for his life. I’d love to torture him to fucking death. And at the same time, now that it’s over, I still feel like shit. I still know his ugly mug will still haunt my dreams and it won’t bring back Ludde or Mom. Murdering him will only be an act of mercy.”

I questioned his logic, and he clinked my bottle before saying, “I was it in his eyes, past the fear and the anxiety. I saw his cancer. And I pray it kills him slowly, torturing him to the very last moment. I want him to feel all the pain I’ve felt… Not that it’ll change anything… I just really fucking hate him… no amount of time is going to change that…” before chuckling and sipping some of his beer.