The Weight of Human Error

Sam Szekely

*an excerpt from “The Weight of Human Error”*

Sat at the reservoir, Chrissy asks me if I’ve been seeing anyone recently. This was not meant to be a barb, but wearing her engagement ring, it lands like one. I tell her no, remind her that I’m not really doing that anymore, that a girl can only take so many bad dates before losing hope in us as a species. A flash of something in her eyes sent my hands searching for the Ativan that was still sitting on my bathroom counter, three timezones away. We were never very good at talking about this type of stuff. When Chrissy started dating John, her interest waned, and although she tried to remain attentive to my love life, frankly, I had no interest in recounting every bad situation I found myself in. In 21 years of friendship, these were the only things I ever kept from her.

It was fully dark out before relaxed pauses in conversation turned to more extended silence. Out of things to say, Chrissy kept scanning the empty park like God might part the heavens just to give her something to talk about.

“How are you?” she tried.

“Oh ya know…” I blinked, ignoring her line to avoid reading between them. “You?”

“Oh ya know,” she returned to her search. I started building a list in my head of all the reservoir-related disasters I could think of.

Eventually, tipsy and desperate to distract from this unfamiliar distance, I summoned the vague memory of some sleepover question, the type of conversation starter that would have felt profound at twelve. In those days, we could never shut up.

“Do you think we have free will?” I blurted.

This clearly startled her. She just gaped at me. But it soon softened to an earnest, considering gaze, then thoughtful silence. I turned to the sky without an answer for myself.

The last time I was in this spot, looking at this sky, I was newly 23, and felt the whole weight you think that age holds. Chrissy had been with John for over six years at that point. I had just sworn off opening a dating app ever again. I remember debating if I was supposed to be jealous of Chrissy, for loving the first man she dated, for being loved in a way that had proven impossible for me. I thought of how we loved each other, in our own way, and wondered if I was really missing out on anything. Or maybe I was supposed to be jealous of John, that he got to marry her, and that there were parts of her that I would never get to know. That the only thing I was really missing out on was her. I still do not have answers to these, but I don’t know if it matters now.

“I don’t know,” Chrissy answered. As easy as that.

Before I was 23 at the reservoir, I was 19 at the reservoir and nothing was easy. I had my mother’s taste in men. Emotionally, I was in freefall, and at the speed I was going, everything that brushed past landed more like a punch while looking more like a lifesaver. It was here I decided I was the type of person that good people couldn’t love. That is, with the exception of Chrissy, with her, I was just the type that good people shouldn’t.

This had long been the refrain of my relationships. I’ll be damned if I ever let a man make me feel that out of control again, but I try not to come here alone anymore. That once meant getting as far away as possible — running west, to Sacramento or Juneau maybe. It hurt, but for once it was not the wrong decision.

“Did you know 80% of plane crashes are the result of human error?” This felt like a conversational offering I was capable of giving.

“Eighty percent?” Chrissy sucked in, flinching for my benefit. I nodded.

“God, in that case, maybe we should’ve just stayed terrestrial,” she shoved her shoulder against mine.

“Think that’s bad? If human error can account for 80% of plane crashes, you should see what it can do to a teenage girl.”

Jadzia Jula

Biography: My name is Jadzia Jula, I a graphic designer and multidisciplinary artist. My inspiration comes from everyday interactions. I find beauty in everything I do. My skills primarily include graphic design, photography, and art direction.

Artist Statement: When I envisioned my life in the past, I wouldn’t have been able to describe how I live now. The vision I had was something artificial. It’s not fun. Now, I’m living in my ideal world with all my needs and wants met. This piece is a reflection of the good times I’ve had over the past few years of living to the fullest potential.

Sam Szekely

Biography: Sam Szekely is a fourth year majoring in creative writing and political science with a minor in anthropology, but has been a pursuer of the arts since birth. He primarily writes literary and science fiction, but also enjoys writing poetry, songs and essays. Outside of his life as a writer, you can find him playing guitar and banjo, defending audio books, waxing poetic about “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” or attempting to learn Ancient Greek.

Artist Statement: This is an excerpt from one short story in a linked collection about different people struggling with returning to their hometown for a wedding. This piece reflects on the visions we have for our futures and what we do when we look back and realize we are not where we thought we would be. What do you do with all the things you promised yourself you would be? Choosing a new vision for your future is okay, even if it wasn’t what you had in mind.