Disappearance of J (Janus syndrome: portal sickness) by T.J. Anzai The end is most definitely a very quick thing. It arrives too swiftly, out of reach from human hands. A fast fish swimming with a smile in the blue shadows of a flowing tide. Stare it down and you'll find yourself in a running knot, running out of time, with the ocean growing larger on every frail movement. Sometimes rain clouds perch on the horizon, drifting and creeping slowly. Look the other way and it strikes. A flash of lightning at the most inopportune of moments - in mid swing on the 13th green, fusing flesh and 9 iron. As it approaches, moments lived and remembered give way for the moments to come and the deception of endless endless time vanishes in that imaginary instant. Seconds minutes hours days crash into the earth, subject as all things to the force of gravity. The end. It comes, accelerating, 32 feet per second per second... x. * x * * A telephone is ringing. It is a faint sound, barely audible through the noisy fence of the industrious day. Later on, with the world bound in the quilt of night, the sound comes clearer into focus. A telephone is ringing. And ringing. And ringing, but nobody answers the call. It's not the fall that kills you, but the sudden stop. J would have slept eternally into a bottomless dream, how- ever, some unconscious wisdom had canceled the descent. Perhaps, it was an unwillingness to find out just how bottomless the dream real- ly was, for without assistance from any wake-up devices, J arose to a gloomy midweek Wednesday morning. In the name of safety, the alert subconscious had eschewed the possible risk of a fantastic smash-up. and not a moment too soon. It was already fifteen after the hour of nine, and today was the day that J had eagerly awaited for. 'At long last, the day of the end,’ thought J, yawning. The stridency of the morning rush had already subsided. The majority of morning commuters were well past the hours of running red lights and practicing the one hand on the steer- ing wheel one hand on the coffee cup skill of driving. The only sound from the outside world had an occasional swishing melody of a stray vehicle against the background drone of rain falling (or is it the drone of rain suddenly stopping?). J promptly proceeded with the morning groom. It was a usual common routine, yet on this day of the endgame, the showering, scrubbing, and brushing seemed a lonesome task. J began to realize that there were some things impossible to prepare for. "So long, good- bye," J muttered to no one in particular, as bottles of shampoo and liq- uid soap, half used and _ half full, found their way into the trash. A tube of toothpaste, also only half used and half empty, followed. During the flossing of bicuspids, a sudden depression occurred and J began to have second thoughts about the decision. The plan had been in the works for weeks prior, and up until the previous evening, there had been little difficulty dealing with such emotions. The importance of the task kept sentiments at bay. Preparations had been carefully settled well in advance and all that was left was for the earth to rotate a couple more times. A few more weeks, a few more days, and now, only hours away... 'So it's finally here,' thought J with a sense of provocation. There was certainly a tinge of sorrow in J's thoughts, but also, there was the excitement attached to the unknown road that lay ahead. J was clearly suffering from a case of nerves, though still far enough away from chewing fingers. Attached to the decision, a garden of emotions blossomed, seasoning more complications than previously anticipat- ed. ‘Everybody wants something new,' J thought, trying to sound convincing though not accomplishing much. It was an expira- tion date of sorts that had arrived this morning, and soon the old would enter the bargain bin to make way for the new. This was the logic that J followed, for generally speaking, new things are better - they are needed. How could newness not be better? It has a brighter shine, is fresher, crispier, and damned if it isn't a hell of a lot tastier. ‘It's to be done,' was J's own considered reply. Even still, somewhere in the subliminal, J's conviction fell apart. There existed an enticement, the classic lure, of ancient arti- facts, 50% off day-old discounts, and the Bordeaux that ripens with age. And elsewhere, lost in the shuffle, there was the material element: the phenomenon of silver halides reflecting the light of the past, sitting idly in a drawer, in a book, in colorful frames. There was not a back-out plan for this day. J hadn't even considered such a thing. It was do, or else. The only safety net was the will to carry out with the plan. J reasoned that there simply wasn't any time left for this sort of contemplation and emotional gibberish. Only enough time to devour the few remaining edibles set aside for this morning and to punch in the appropriate numbers into the telephone. Afterwards, the only thing left would be the schedule; check in at 10:30, departure at noon. * * x * * D received the call sometime on a weekend afternoon. There is no way to prepare for such news. Shock rides upon a train. If it be the engineer, it takes the best seats in the house for viewing the massive destruction, flattening of obstacles. Though photographs by T.J. Anzai usually, it sits in the caboose, giddy with the anticipation of delivering the full weight of the thing, to rip through whatever lies ahead. "We can't feel guilty about it,' D is saying to the others. 'I'm sure that it isn't what J had intended us to feel.' Somehow, even D could not completely bury it, for how could anyone not see it coming? The disappearance of J. The news spread and ensued an onerous gathering of all who carried a thought, a memory, a love, for the vanished one. Some grieved, unable to dismiss visions of horrible outcomes, though the local law enforcement agency had found little evidence to suspect foul play (and therefore, could commit only min- imal resources to the case). Others raged, blurting creative combina- tions of curses. 'How _ dare that _ J go _ missing like that. _!" There were also those who simply seized the occasion of a gathering as an excuse to get pissed drunk. Eventually, these folks would merge into either the grieving or raging assemblies, contributing to some form of property damage along the way. And then there was D, who was simply willing to let it be. ‘Until we meet again,’ thought D intuitively, confident of the forecast. * * * * * J is waiting under the awning of the building's entrance with a suitcase and a medium duffel. There are no adventurous souls in sight - no takers for a saturation stroll. Several cars pass by on the street, trailing a haze, adding reversal to the rain. Soon, a yellow taxi rounds a distant corner and pulls up slowly in front of the building. J gathers the luggage and hur- ries forward. The driver opens the cargo trunk, then dutifully braves the rain to offer assistance. "Where to?" asked the driver, resetting her fare timer. There it is - the metronome's song - onward it marches.A pulsing heartbeat, vulnerable to the counterweight. An increase in tempo, allegro vivace presto, and around and around it goes... until it ends. What is that feeling of gradual acceleration as the end approaches? Perhaps it has something to do with certain laws of physics, or it is lodged in some sacred part of the natural world. There it is - the metronome's song - onward it marches. A pulsing heartbeat, vulnerable to the counterweight. An increase in tempo, allegro vivace presto, and around and around it goes... until it ends. The movement coming to a silent rest, and it becomes a known fact that double bar lines do have enough in between to bring about the end. Everything runs out; it's not a matter of when, but how - and whether or not any pages remain, left unturned. * * * * * The taxi is a golden comet, shooting through a space, flooded by the wettest year on record. The city streets will spout a lux- urious fountain tail of mist and vapor for alien spacecrafts to hide in. a as influx: Magazine April 1999 31 Disappearance of J (Janus syndrome: portal sickness) by Tw. Anzai The end is most defintely avery quick thing earivest00 sil, out of reach fom human hands. A fast oh swimming with a smile in the blue shadows of wing tide Stare it down and oul find yourself i a running knot, running out ‘of time, withthe ocean growing larger oo every fal movement. ‘Sometimes ain clouds perch on the horizon, drifting and creeping slowly, Look te other way and it stikes. A flab of lightning St the most inopportane of moments - in mid swing on the 13th {rcen fusing Delt and 9 ron. As it eppreeches, moments lived and remembered give ‘way forthe moments to come and the deception of endless endless tine vanishes in that imaginary intan. Seconds minutes hours days ‘rash into the cath, subject a all things to the fore of gray: "The end. I comes, accelerating, 32 Tee per second per second A telephone i inging Iti fait sound, barely audible through the noisy fence of the industrious day. Later ony with the ‘world bound in dhe quilt of nigh, the sound comes clearer into foes A telephone is ringing. And ringing. And ringing, but nobody answers the call 1s not he fll that ils you, bu he sudden stop. Jwould have slept eternally nto a botomless dream, how- ver, some unconscious winlom had canceled the descent. Perhaps i ‘eas an unwilingnes to find out ust how bowomles the dream ea Iy was, for without asistance from any wake-up devices, J arose © 4 ‘loomy midweek Wednesday morning nthe name of say the alert, fubconscious had exchewed the ponble rik of fantastic smash. tnd nota moment too soon Tas already fteen ale the hour of nine, and today was the day that Jad eager awited for. ’At ong last, the dao the cod thought J, yawning. The strideny of the morning rus had already fubsided. The majority of morning commuters were well past the hours of running red lights and practicing the one and on the seer ing whee! one hand onthe colee cup sil of driving. The only sound fom the outside word had an occasional swshing melody ofa stray ‘eicle against she background drone of rai falling (or iit the drone ‘of rain suddenly stopping? ‘promptly proceed with dhe morning groom. Iwas a ‘sual common routine, ye on this day ofthe endgame, the sowering, Scrubbing, and brushing seemed a lonesome task J began to realize {hat there were some dings impossible to prepare fr. "So long, good bye," Jmuttered to noone in particular, as bottles of shampoo snd ‘id soap hal used and half fl found their way ito the wash cube ‘of toothpaste, als only half used and half empty allowed ‘During the flossing of bicuspid, a sudden depresion ‘occurred and J began to have second thoughts about the decision The plan had been in the wore for wecks prio, and up unt the previous fvening, there had ben litle dificulty dealing with such emotions. The importance ofthe task kept sentiment at bay. Preparations had ‘been caeflly settled well in advance and all that was lft was forthe cart to rotate a eouple more times A Tew more weeks, 4 few more ays, and now, only hours avay *So ts nally here thought J with sense of provocation, There was certs tinge of sorrow in Fs thoughts, but also there ‘was the excitement attached tothe unknown road that ay aca} was ‘leaelysuflering from a case of nerves, though sil ar enough away from chewing fingers. tached othe decision, a garden of emotions blosomed, seasoning more complications than previously antipat- a "Everybody wans something new J thought, uying 10 sound convincing though not accomplishing much. Te was an exp tion date of sort that had arrived this morning, and s00n the old ‘would enter the bargain bin to make way forthe new. This was the logic that J followed, for generally speaking, new things are bette they are needed. How could newness not be beter? I has a brighter thine fresher crisper, and damned it ent hell of lo atc. Tes tobe done, was Js own considered rep Een sll somewhere inthe subliminal, J’ conviction fll apart. There existed an cticement, the casi hire, of ancient arti facts, 50% off day-old discounts, and dhe Bordeaux that pens with age And cheer, lor in the sul, there was the material element the phenomenon afsiver halides reflecting the ight ofthe past, siting ‘alyin a drawer, in «book, in colofl ames "There was nota back-out plan for this day J hada even considered such a thing Tt was do, or else. The only safety net was the ts cary out withthe pas] reesned that there spy wast any {ime let for this sort of contemplation and emodonal gibberish. Only fnough tne 0 devour the few remning eds set aide for this ‘morning and to punch in the appropriate numbers iat the telephone [Aterwad, the only thing left would be the schedule; check in at 10:30, departure at noon, D receive the cll sometime on a weckend afternoon. “There is no way t0 prepare for such news. Shock ries ‘upon train. Ii be dhe engineer, takes the best seats a the house {or viewing the massive destruction, flattening of obstacles. Thovsh & hoe by dl ‘sual tsi in the caboose, giddy withthe anticipation of delivering the fall eight ofthe thing, op through whatever es abead "We can't fel guilty abouts Dis saying tthe others. Tm sure that i ist what J had intended us to fee? Somehow, even D ‘could not completely bury it for how could anyone not seit coming? "The disappearance of J. The news spread and ensued an ‘onerous gathering ofall who cared a thought, a memory, love, for ‘the vanished one. Some grieved, unable to dismiss visions of horrible ‘outcomes, though the loeal law enforcement agency had found litle evidence to suspect foul play (and therefore, could commit oly min- were albo those who simply seized the occasion ofa gathering 2s an ‘rcuse to get pits drunk Eventually thse folks would merge into ithe the grieving or raging assemblies, contributing to some form of property damage along the way. “And then there wt D, eho wa simply wing to et itbe "Uns we meet again thought D intuitively, conideat ofthe forecast. 1s wating under the awning ofthe buildings entrance with a suitcase and a medium dle There are no adventurous sous in sight - no takers fora saturation sll ‘Several cas ass by onthe street, traling a haze adding reveral to the rain, Soon, a yellow tai rounds a distant corner and Pulls up slowly in front ofthe building gathers the lggage and hur es forward. Te driver opens the cargo trunk, then duly braves the rain to offer asitance Where to? asked the driver, resetting er fare time, There it is - the metronome's song - onward it marches. A pulsing heartbeat, vulnerable to the counterweight. An increase in tempo, allegro vivace presto, and around and around it goes. until it ends. ‘What is that feling of gradual acceleration asthe end approaches? Pethape it has something to do with certain laws of ‘Physics, ort is lodged in some sacred part of the natural worl. "There ti the metronome song = onward it marches. A pulsing heartbeat, vulnerable tothe counterweight. An increase in {tempo allegovivace presto and around and around it gos. unt it fede The movement coming (oa slent rest, and it becomes «known {act that double bat lines do have enough in between to bring about the end. Everything run ou ifs nota matter of when, but how - and whether or not any pages remain, left unturned “The taxi i a golden comet, shoting through a space, Aoded by the wettest year on record The city stret wil spout aux. ‘urous fountain tail of mst and vapor for alien spaceeafs to hide in, influx: Magazine April 1999 31