I am Ichabod

STSC Symposium "Death"

Apr 16, 2023

The story below is my submission to the STSC Symposium, a monthly set-theme collaboration between STSC writers. The topic today is “Death”.

I haven’t been in the mood to deal with finicky esthetics since, what could it be, circa 1935 or so? Do you have any idea how tiresome it gets to learn new things when you can’t die?

I have what the ladies would call a bubble ponytail or whatever they call it in those instruction videos. Yeah, I learned how to make my ponytail by following an instruction video made by what looked like a fifth grader. So what? I learned how to make a bubble ponytail, didn’t I? I keep my hair long these days. I figure why not? Easy to take care of.

Today when I sat on my Harley in a Miami Beach gridlock I noticed a woman in an SUV behind me. I could tell by glancing in my side mirror that she was trying to read the words on the back of my leather vest. Or perhaps she was checking out my ponytail that sticks out from the chrome skid lid. She was trying to figure out something about me and that’s why I’m in this mood. So hear me out.

I don’t know, I’ve felt sort of tired lately. Tired inside my bones. Maybe it’s happening finally. Maybe I’m learning how to die. Now and then I read about the fellows in Silicon Valley and how they’re trying to find a way to conquer death. Before G.H. died she told me I probably could get a nice business going if I went into the anti-aging and life-extension industries. Kurtzweil stuff. We used to laugh ourselves silly coming up with crazy ideas. One of them involved me selling tiny vials of my blood to researchers for abominable prices. Simply put, I’m not interested. What I have is not normal. It’s not the way human life is supposed to be.

The first time I sensed this I was a toddler. They tried to drown me after my mother died in child labor and my father died in the Battle of Aphek. My first name was Ichabod and I didn’t drown. Instead the woman who tried to drown me became so overwhelmed with fear when she saw my eyes wide open and smiling under the water that she let go of me in the river and I crawled back onto the shore and lived. The priests took me in and raised me.

As with anything nowadays, you can easily look me up online. And, before you get too excited, most of what you read isn’t true. But, I am that man whose name was Ichabod, and yes, my father died in a battle leaving me without a father and a mother during a very dangerous time. When I was a young boy I liked to hide in the temple and daydream. One day I was laying on a shelf high above the back room so that no one could see me. That is when I overheard one of the priests tell another that my mother stood too close to the Ark praying for protection while carrying me. It was the most frightening thing I had ever heard, and I still feel a dread drive through me when I think about it. Could this be why I cannot die?

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See, my father was a high priest. My mother was deeply ashamed of him. He was, according to what I have heard, good at many things, but he was an awful priest. He used offerings for his own purpose and was too attentive with the women in the sanctuary. He died on the same day as the Battle of Aphek, when the Ark was captured. My mother was one of the last human beings near it before it vanished.

I tried my best to stay out of trouble. Years passed and, when others around me got old enough to wonder why I didn’t get old with them, I moved away. Living during those days were, as you can imagine, not easy. Without the advantage with which I was born, I would have died half a dozen times per year. Mostly due to stupid infections. I spent a couple of hundred years studying herbal medicine, and I ended up having a fair amount of success in houses of wealthy people. And, I tell you, nothing has changed. Same stuff they sell at Whole Foods today is what I ground up and mixed into powders for the rich and famous in Ancient Rome. Sure, some if it works!

Only five people in my life have known my secret and believed it only when I had to do the revolting chore of proving it to them. Usually by trying to drown myself. I don’t like to do these things, so I prefer to not talk about them. Anyways, it’s difficult to find friends and lovers that truly, and I mean truly, trust you. And when they trust you still want to live with you after they learn the truth. When G.H. passed away she was 95 and we met when she was 35. Like I said before, I’m beginning to feel tired. I don’t know if there will ever be anyone else. I might do the rest alone.

But what about the kings and queens and all the amazing historical events? I told you I was immortal, not omniscient. Most of my life I lived on the outskirts of world events doing my thing, and only learned about them way later. Oh, I tried to rush to an area if I got nose of something happening. About 99 times out of 100 nothing ever happened. Or things happened that were terrible and caused me to escape for my life.

My main claim to fame was that I bought fish from Andrew, yes, the same Andrew that became Jesus’ first disciple! He was a nice fellow! We talked for a long time. Next time I came back someone told me he’d dropped everything and joined a cult.

Languages? Obviously I struggled and still do, but you have to remember that I’ve had time to practice. If you only knew how I struggled with French until I got hired as an announcer at the Versailles. Discipline is a powerful learning tool, I learned. They chose to beat me on my knuckles, since they were hidden within gloves and the gloves behind my back. English came to me in a more pleasant way. I was the innkeeper of the Mermaid Inn in Rye for a stretch. I stayed there as long as I could, and frankly those were some of my best years. It’s still there, if you ever want to visit. Charming place. Many years later when I moved here, the cattle ranchers used to laugh and laugh at my accent until I wore it down to nothing.

Appearance wise I’ve drifted slowly. I look about 60, maybe 57 on a good day. The first time I noticed a stop in aging I was around 20 and let me tell you, those were the days! Those were the days! That’s why I’ve begun to wonder if I am not aging a little after all. Just slower. But something has begun to take root, something that is making me move a little slower and even speak a little slower. Just slower.

So when I saw this woman today, I sort of got a shock. I don’t know, it felt as if she saw me and by saw me I mean — saw Ichabod — the man I still am. It was as if, for a moment, her thoughts flew through me and I heard all her questions about me. “What if he is really old? Older than he looks? There is something about him… Why do I feel he is ageless? Ageless…” This kind of stuff rattles an old soul, I tell you!

The red light was taking long, and I could feel her stare burn a hole in my black leather west. Once we got green I moved over one lane to get a glimpse of her. The best I could glean were sunglasses, long hair, and a black tank top. We got separated and she vanished into the Miami sunset.

I’m going for a haircut and a shave, and then I’m going to have to do some serious thinking. I think it’s time to move on. Maybe this will be the last time. I haven’t been to Sienna in ages…

Cabinet of Curiosities

I am Ichabod

STSC Symposium "Death"

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