An Inhuman Condition

Names mean something. They may seem arbitrary out of context – just a convenient mix of syllables and letters, or the signifier is not the signified. And if you take the time to deconstruct it, you can always dance your way around it – deny the meaning in a name. Go ahead, Juliet did it. What a lot of good it did for her, eh? The light burned from both of them like a snuffed out cigar (of the same name perhaps).

It’s no coincidence that many people name their children after an old relative – someone meaningful hidden in the past. It’s not always as overt as a Jr. or second, third, etc. But the meaning is there. It’s a big deal to a new parent that this young, living thing is connected to them. We make the world around us, and those names anchor it. They give them a heavy weight that sticks with us.

Even if we forget the history of the thing – the inspiration behind calling it such – there was something in the birth of the name – calling it forth from nothingness. It’s a necessary function of the human experience – attaching these thoughts and feelings to unrelated swirling atoms. Trying to make sense of it all. Moving forth into the future while keeping ourselves always tethered to what was.

I name my whiskey Heather. I can find her name hidden on the labels – any brand, any bottle. She’s always there. Like a ghost haunting me through every bad decision. I toast to her at the very end “To us – I’ll always miss you, Heather.” Whether I’m toasting the girl or the liquor anymore is anyone’s guess. Either way it means something, the ritual.

And you can say there’s nothing there – that I’m just drunk and rearranging the letters out of boredom. I know there’s no conspiracy in the spirit industry to mix up and spell out her name. I know they’re common letters, but I can’t stop seeing it. Maybe I’m not letting go properly. Maybe I should move on. Those things would be healthy. I know.

She’ll always be something to me, and no matter how deep it’s buried I’ll never forget the past.

Heather always finds me.

Evan Williams – Since 1783
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