2019

Another morning, a new day but the same song. Born on the exact date as Kurt Cobain's death (April 5, 1994), I was convinced he wrote the song, Lithium, for me, as if he had a premonition of Ezra Green's birth, like he knew exactly who I'd be and how I'd turn out.

If my parents were alive today, they wouldn't have been all that impressed with how I turned out. At almost twenty-five, I had never even had a real job. I barely graduated from high school. Playing cards and singing and dancing with old ladies didn't count. Three days a week, I helped out at the local senior center for twelve dollars an hour, which wasn't enough to support myself, so I continued to live with my aunt and uncle. I'd been living with Aunt Ruth and Uncle David since my parents died when I was eight years old.

I used to think I killed them, even though everyone told me it was an accident, but I knew what really happened. My mind tended to run wild, and once I got a thought in my head, I couldn't get it out. It was like a domino effect that spiraled out of control. If a somewhat normal person believed the stories I believed, they'd want to top themselves, too.

Yep, I killed my parents. I took the battery out of the carbon monoxide detector to replace the battery in my remote control race car that I'd been obsessed with for weeks. I had no idea what a carbon monoxide detector did or why my parents had one in the hallway next to their bedroom. After all, it wasn't a smoke detector and smoke detectors were more important, right?

That's what I thought until Rob's mother drove me home after a sleepover, and I found my parents in a permanent sleep.

Nevermind. I can't think about it anymore.

Every morning at eight o'clock, my alarm went off, and I woke to Nirvana's Lithium. I could never figure out how Kurt knew lithium would be a magic drug for me, the drug that saved me from ECT (electroconvulsive therapy), also known as shock treatment, two years ago when I was in and out of psychiatric hospitals for months due to severe, crippling depression. When I say severe, I mean SEVERE, the type where I was near catatonic, where I couldn't get out of bed, where I planned, in detail, how I intended to end it all, although I never carried out with my plan. I never even tried, but this last time was close. The recommendation was either lithium or ECT. I chose to give lithium a try. It turned out to be a miracle pill. Within two weeks, I snapped out of my depression and it had been more or less under control since then.

If I were to ever end my life, I figured carbon monoxide was the way to go, just like my parents. But now wasn't my time.

In my bathroom, I popped a pill, brushed my teeth, then stepped into the hot shower, all part of my daily routine. Today was a weird day and I couldn't put my finger on it. A little bit of Ezra's brand of art therapy would ease my nerves. I didn't want to worry Aunt Ruth again, so I sought another outlet for my anxiety, which often bothered the tenants next door, but Aunt Ruth and Uncle David let me do whatever I wanted. However, the tenants didn't appreciate the mess I'd make in the front porch or lawn. If they had only joined me in painting and singing and making sculptures out of trash, they would have had a better time.

In the shower, I lathered my hair, Kurt Cobain's voice singing in my head as it did every morning. For weeks now my current playlist dictated nearly every aspect of my life, and I couldn't do without it. I was once told I had a touch of OCD, among other things. Lithium was an obvious choice for my playlist, a song that never gave me any trouble.

Maybe this week was weird because it'd been raining every day, and the second song on my playlist was ELO's Mr. Blue Sky. I hadn't seen a blue sky in five days. Because of the dark gray skies, coupled with rain, I refused to leave the house, not even to see my elderly friends. I just couldn't bring myself to leave. After all, Singin' in the Rain wasn't part of my playlist.

I really hoped I'd see the sun today. Aunt Ruth was getting sick of me leaving pieces of paper everywhere. In a stream of consciousness, I'd write incessantly, oftentimes jotting down random thoughts and words that expressed my erratic emotions.

On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, my day at the senior center started at ten a.m. Every other day, I could have slept all day if I wanted to, but my counselor told me I should have a schedule and follow a daily routine, so I did.

Slipping on a pair of jeans, I peeked out my window to discover the brightest day I'd seen in months. Maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but it felt like forever since I'd seen such a beautiful day.

I hated winter, especially March. Although March twentieth was the official day of spring, spring really didn't start until late April in Massachusetts. And sometimes there'd be no spring at all, jumping from winter to summer in a day.

With my phone in my pocket, my air pods in, I trampled down the stairs, zipping up my hoodie, eager to go outside.

"Hey, where are you going?" Aunt Ruth asked as I ran out of the house. "Get back here, Ezra! It's cold outside."

But I didn't go back inside. The bright sun was deceiving. It was freezing outside, but I didn't care because I was so excited to see that big yellow circle in the sky. As I dug my toes into the cool mud, I looked down at my feet to discover that I'd forgotten to put on my sneakers. The brown, melting snow turned the entire ground into mud, another reason why I hated March.

Shivering slightly, I shoved my hands in the pockets of my hoodie, staring up into the blue sky. I admired it, wishing I could disappear behind the white billowy clouds. I wondered if the clouds would bring me to my parents.

Despite the cold, I enjoyed the sun beating down on me until an annoying shadow cast over me. Keeping my chin tilted up toward the sky, I stepped out of the shadow.

"Hello," an unfamiliar voice said, the owner of the shadow, as I listened to Mr. Blue Sky, feeling at peace with the world. The man cleared his throat to get my attention, as if he hadn't already gotten it. "I'm looking for Ruth and David Hoenig. I'm here for the apartment."

My aunt and uncle owned a two-family home in a suburb of Boston. We lived in one house, and three tenants lived in the adjoining house. Years ago, Aunt Ruth and Uncle David turned the attached house into three apartments: one in the basement, one on the second floor, and another on the third. The basement apartment was the smallest and had been vacant for months.

Although music played in my ears, I could still hear this guy talk. Any minute I was about to turn up the volume. The man took a step toward me and poked my shoulder. I took a step backward.

"Excuse me," he said, raising his voice, desperate for me to respond. I wasn't interested, more interested in the sky. "I'm looking for Ruth and David Hoenig. Am I at the right house? Hello? Are you deaf?"

"No, I'm not deaf," I said with my eyes closed, my chin tilted toward the sky, the sun warming my face. "Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to float through the clouds? What do you think they'd feel like? Do you think they'd feel like cotton balls or cotton candy?"

"Um... uh... I don't know," he said.

As I opened my eyes, I squinted at the sun, not sure where this day was headed. "Today I'm in the mood to dissolve into the sky," I said. "It's a beautiful day and today's a good day to just dissolve into the blue, don't you think?"

"Hmm... interesting. Can I dissolve with you?" the man asked.

What?

He earned my undivided attention with such a bizarre response. My eyes met his as I brought my chin down.

"Why would you want to dissolve with me?" I said, intrigued by the brown eyes behind the glasses. "You don't know me."

"I've wondered what it would feel like... you know, to dissolve into nothingness."

"I didn't say nothingness. I said dissolve into the sky."

"Isn't the sky nothingness?"

"No," I said. "Nothingness is death. That's not what I want today. What do you want today?"

"I want to meet Ruth and David Hoenig. They're expecting me. Do you always go around quoting Virginia Woolf?"

"I'm not going around anywhere."

"But you quoted Virginia Woolf, right?"

"I suppose I did."

For someone who barely graduated high school, I was knowledgeable about a lot of things, particularly literature. Since I was born, my parents took turns reading to me. Before they died, they had just started Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Aunt Ruth resumed the story shortly after and we made our way through the series.

The front door opened and Aunt Ruth emerged. From what I remembered of my mother, she and Aunt Ruth had the same hazel eyes, fair complexion, and dark hair. I took after my dad with his ash brown hair and blue eyes. I couldn't remember if my mother was short, but Aunt Ruth was barely five feet tall.

"Get inside, Ezra, and put your shoes on. Look at you, you're covered in mud. What am I going to do with you?"

Taking my eyes off the handsome stranger, I headed to the front steps.

"This guy's here to see you," I said, glancing over my shoulder. He ran his fingers through his chocolate brown hair, trailing behind me.

"Oh, you must be Levi," Aunt Ruth said.

"Yes," he said. "Levi Blum."

"Oh, you'll love him," I said at the top of the stairs. "A fellow Jew. Shalom."

"Will you stop, Ezra?" Aunt Ruth scolded me. "Don't go scaring the tenants away before they sign the lease."

"How do you know I'm Jewish?" Levi asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"Levi Blum?" I repeated his name, as if he didn't know his own name or his ancestral heritage.

"It's not important," Aunt Ruth said. "Go inside, Ezra."

"Aunt Ruth makes the best latkes and noodle kugel..."

"Let's go, Ezra," she said, shuffling me inside. "Go listen to your music or something so I can talk with this young man. You know how hard we've tried to rent that apartment."

"It's haunted," I told Levi.

"Wait here, please," Aunt Ruth said to Levi and grabbed the sleeve of my gray hoodie, leading me into my room. "Stay here and keep your mouth shut for ten minutes. You know I love you dearly, but you like to cause trouble."

At the ten-minute mark, I opened my door, following the voices behind the closed doors of the office. I opened the door a crack to find out if Levi Blum was signing the lease or not or if I'd already scared him away.

"I see you, Ezra," Aunt Ruth said.

"What do you think of the apartment?" I asked, pushing the door open. "Pretty crappy, huh?"

At only six hundred square feet, the living area barely fit a couch and coffee table.

"It's not crappy," Levi said. "It's only me, so I don't need a big place. I can't afford anything bigger."

"Levi is a musician," Aunt Ruth said. "So is Ezra. He's quite the singer. They love him at the senior center."

"Maybe we could jam together some time," Levi said. "And then we can both dissolve into the sky."

"Ruthie, he's weird," I said, backing away. "Maybe you shouldn't let him live there."

"That's enough, Ezra," Aunt Ruth said. "Don't you have to get ready for work? You can't wear those muddy socks."

"At nine o'clock I'll be listening to and singing Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town," I said to Levi. "I usually do it in my room, but since I don't know you, I can meet you outside."

"That sounds... interesting," he said. "But I have to get going. Maybe some other time."

"Fine. Suit yourself." As I went to close the door, I stopped myself. "Do you know what song I'm talking about?"

"Yes," he answered. "It's Pearl Jam."

My eyes remained fixed with Levi's as I backed away, heading down the hall. I returned to my room to prepare myself for work.

A/N The lithium story is based on a real experience.

If you're interested in listening to ELO's Mr. Blue Sky, check out the opening scene of Guardians of the Galaxy Volume 2.