Barricade

I twiddled with my coffee stirrer and stared at the vanilla latte in front of me so intently that surrounding bystanders must have thought it was whispering to me the meaning of life. I wished that it would.

What would I tell my dear friend to console her? The silence between us was the exoskeleton for the tension that was bred by my inability to reach her on her own little island of isolation. No matter what words came out of my mouth they seemed to hit a barricade-- a metal wall that guarded her from both the best and worst that life brought.

“You’re not alone in this, you know?” I said the only words I thought may slip through the cracks of the metal pleats of her barricade. I looked up from my latte and tried desperately to have my eyes coincide with hers. She needed to see my empathy, my understanding, my united front with her. I needed her to see that I was with her—that she was not disconnected from the world and everyone else around her.

She said nothing. Her eyes stayed locked on her untouched plate. Did she even hear me?

I twiddled with my coffee stirrer and stared at the vanilla latte in front of me, my eyes pleading for it to whisper to me the answers of life.

Why couldn’t my friend see that she was not alone in this? Why did she insist on sitting inside of her barricade, shut off from the rest of the world? Her guard didn’t just keep out the worst of life: the enemies, the weapons, the storms. Her guard also kept out the best of life: her allies, her relationships, the joys and adventures of life.

She insisted that her circumstance was so terrible, so unbearable that no one could begin to fathom what it was like to be her. She insisted that no one could possibly step into a place of empathy. She clung so tightly to her wall of isolation that she didn’t have open hands for me to hold. She was so busy holding onto her defenses that she didn’t allow for anyone to hold onto her in this troubled time.

How could I get her to see that it was not her circumstances, but herself that was the leading cause of her disconnection?

In Nany Alonso’s novel “Disconnect” we read a variety of short stories regarding the theme of disconnection. Throughout the short personal stories it is evident that while there are many factors that can cause us to disconnect, often times it is ourselves who are the agents of these factors—ourselves who are the actual perpetrators of our own disconnection.

One of the short stories in Alonso’s novel is called “Bad Luck”. In this short story we are carried through the plot of a superstitious girl, Lillian’s, bad day. This day is described as being the embodiment of bad luck, a cruel fate, one that is unstoppable. She contributes many of these events to the fact that a black cat had crossed her path.

As a reader it brings us to question, was it the day itself that was terrible—cruel karma—or was it Lillian’s perspective? Was she truly a victim of a cruel fate or did her perspective and superstition set herself up for failure? Her day resulted in her feeling disconnected from the world around her, from the positive aspects of life. While she contributes that to cruel fate, bad luck, it appears that the real perpetrator of her disconnection was herself. Her perspective made her feel isolated and alone, and while she may blame it on karma, it appears that she actually is the cause of her own disconnection and isolation.

Another one of the short stories in Alonso’s book is called “The Patient”. “The Patient” is a short story that shifts perspectives of the reader and walks through an interaction between a doctor and a patient and their overlapping relationship between a private and a professional relationship. This shift in perspective allows us as the readers to see the contrast in the internal monologue that the two characters are having. Through seeing both of their internal monologues we are able to see clearly just how much the two of them are on different wave-lengths from one another.

Although the two of them are interacting with one another and clearly have both a professional and a personal relationship, they cannot seem to understand one another because they are pre-occupied with their own narratives and monologues. They desire to connect with one another, yet they are self-absorbed and insecure—unable to reach outside of their own world to connect with each other. While superstition is not the obstacle in their way, while the factors are not the exact same in this situation, they are also self-perpetuating their own disconnection and isolation.

Alonso’s variety of short stories explored the many ways in which the factors involved with disconnection may change, and yet often times ourselves are the ones that perpetuate our own isolation and disconnection. While we are human beings who long to be understood and connected, we still manage to set up barricades and walls, disconnect to our own island of isolation.

I sipped the rest of my latte in silence. The walls remained mounted high, and yet I knew that it would take a breakthrough from the inside of the guard in order to become connected with my friend sitting across from me at the table.

“Hey. Just know that I love you. When you are ready to talk, let me know.” I stood up from my chair, paid our tab, and left. As the bell on the door jingled I knew that my dear friend was so stuck in her own world that she didn’t even hear the sound of the bell. Did she hear me say goodbye? Did she know I loved her? Someday she would. Someday the walls would break down and the barricade would be crushed. Someday she would be free from her isolation and disconnection. But that day was not today.