You Shall Be the Octopus in My Freezer

By Beck Fergusson

Can I tell you about the octopus in my freezer? He has been there a week and refuses to talk to me. I am puzzled by his presence; he seems unhappy. I am not sure why he is here. I barely know the octopus at all. My brother, however, has quite taken to the octopus and will not stop talking about him. Did you know octopi have nine brains and three hearts? They have these three hearts as a consequence of having blue blood. Their two peripheral hearts pump blood through their gills and a central heart then circulates the oxygenated blood to the rest of the body. They have one main brain located in their heads that is used for overall control. At the base of each tentacle is a smaller brain which can control each arm independently. Of course, the eight brains that octopi have in each tentacle are not like the brains we have. Instead, their brains are smaller bundles of nerves packed together. These nerves only equal out to around half the optic nerves that human brains have. As a result of their many brains, octopi can complete complex tasks. They can complete puzzles, untie knots, open jars and toddler proof cases, and are expert escape artists. Their intelligence stems from a completely unrelated path to human intelligence, as the neurons in their arms give them more control. Octopi are remarkably interesting and intelligent creatures, except for the one currently sitting in my freezer, augmenting his space by throwing out my frozen blueberries.

The octopus is very ignorant. This is not an insult toward the octopus in my freezer, it is just what he is: extremely ignorant. He trots around the kitchen, oblivious to the rest of the world, acting like we are all blank space. He constantly gauges the limitations of his authority. How could an octopus be trying to take my place? He is just an octopus. It revolts me, the thought a creature such as he trying to replace a person such as me. Why does he challenge my authority in my own home, he should learn to know his place in this kitchen. I have a room; you have a tight corner of a frozen box. It is absurd, really, an octopus attempting to assert dominance over me. It is I who has control in this house, not you, you will not replace me. I can see now, it is I who am the ignorant one.

You are everything I embody, but do not want to be. As we sit on your back deck, talking with your brother about the octopus who has taken refuge in my freezer (a memory soon to be wiped from my brain, for its simplicity is taking up too much space), the forced ideals of reality feel as if they should hit me imminently. Sit up straight. Look at who is talking. Nod along with the information being told. Politely share your own ideas. I have always found spending time with your family turns me more human. I do not flop around as the limp skin puppet I do in my own home, with my own family. I find it refreshing spending time with you and your family.

We sit on your front steps sharing a bowl of frozen blueberries, chatting indistinctly. The world could be ours. Everything holds us back from taking what we need. You have what I want, who I want, but still, we sit here eating our berries. I make the prudent choice to not bring it up, pretending I do not want what you have. Instead, I silently observe, grappling with my conflicting emotions. What could you give me but your apologies and the squeeze of a hug, for you do not want to give him up. Why would you give away the one you love, just to satisfy my needs, forsaking your own altruism. You cry tears of I am sorry, but I know you do not mean it. You have won this battle, even the war, and I sit here, a war prisoner, awaiting termination. The octopus still manoeuvres around the ice packs in my freezer.

The dissipating voices of are you okay and what can I do, are nonexistent in the world of tears; as nothing can comfort the newly red complexion of glazed-over eyes. You do not understand the forced task to face a feeling, that deep down, you cannot explain. The complexities of my emotions confuse not only you, but all those around us. No one seems to understand that simple things can make you cry, even if you do not relate to them. Everything I feel is a Venn diagram that connects everything to everything else. One spiral always leads to another and to another, and soon enough I am crying about something that was not even real in the first place. So, when I have tears coming down my newly tanned freckled face, and you barely even notice the marks of glimmering cheeks, I will come meet you in a field. We will be absolved from tears and nauseating guilt, and everything will become okay. We will not talk about our problems, but at the same time, everything will still be said. No tears or guilt are going to make us collapse on the pavement like we believe everything ends when we are merely teenagers, who are filled with anything but joy. Minutes will slip away in fleeting moments, hours will drift by like soft breezes, and the days will vanish like whispers in the night. And you, you shall be the octopus in my freezer, who never says a word, but somehow seems to always want to be there.

In the quiet stillness of the night, I gaze at the octopus in my freezer. This creature, confined in the frosty box, reflects the ignorant ideals of my own mind. The octopus, with its silent presence and enigmatic nature, serves as my reminder.