Interviewed by Christopher Barton nonFiction editor at Chaotic Merge
Christopher Barton: How did the creation of “no Expiration Date” help you to work through the emotions involved with these tough topics?
Harris PlesKovitch: It’s difficult to say what came first, the “okayness” or the essay. I first started this piece in September of 2020 and I think we can all relate to the blur that year was. But one thing I can say for sure is that emotions are hard. We have, across all languages, so many words to describe emotions and yet so often we fall short. Language is one of those things where we’re just trying to put a descriptor that mostly fits onto something that we can rarely fully describe. But sitting with those emotions long enough to try to put the words to it is a very healing process.
Christopher Barton: Was there any part of the essay that got left on the cutting room floor? Looking back, is there anything else you wished you’d included in “no Expiration Date”?
Harris PlesKovitch: Some days I’m still conflicted as to whether or not I should have included another thread: a blue balloon. It was something I held on to from a memorial service that some friends had put together after Brannon’s viewing. We filled some cobalt blue balloons with helium and wrote messages for him on them in permanent marker. Other balloons we just blew up ourselves and scattered them across my friend’s living room floor. It was an event full of smiles, remembering good times. We wanted the feel of having one last party. Then we went outside and let them go while listening to his favorite song (an environmental catastrophe, but we were just kids).
I remember coming home with one of the floor balloons and putting it on the dining room table. My little brother tried to play with it and my mom, without saying what had happened, gently told him that was a special balloon that wasn’t for playing. The balloon held a spot next to the coupon for the longest time, eventually deflating and blue latex is permanently stuck to a few of those mentioned knickknacks. But in the end I decided that those things would distract from and minimize the coupon, and in extension the title.
Christopher Barton: What lesson or advice would you pass on to your fellow writers about writing through possibly traumatic past experiences?
Harris PlesKovitch: You don’t have to push yourself to write the perfect piece that tells all of it at once. There’s more to the story. There’s always more to your story. You don’t have to broadcast the whole thing to the world. Even if you wanted to, you really can’t fit it all into one piece. Just give enough to convey what you’re trying to say, without betraying your truth.
It’s okay to take breaks from writing the piece. It’s okay to have conflicting feelings, and it’s okay to have changing feelings. Originally the last line of this essay ended with “and I am okay.” But this isn’t always the truth of the matter. I still have days where I’m not okay. Especially around this time of year. Don’t limit your piece to how you feel in your first draft.
And most importantly: there isn’t a “right” way to grieve or process traumatic experiences.
Christopher Barton: Was the Chili’s coupon always the central image for this essay, or did you come up with the connection through the process of writing the piece?
Harris PlesKovitch: It was always the central image. I originally wrote this essay for an intro to nonfiction class. My professor challenged us to use an item as a central piece in a memoir. I think right away I said to myself “I’m writing about Brannon and his coupon.” Obviously, I failed in the memoir aspect, but luckily I had a professor who didn’t believe in forcing a piece to be what we originally set out to write.
Who is Harris PlesKovitch?
Harris is a Creative Writing BFA graduate. Their work explores the darker aspects of the human experience, venturing into the shadows and largely unacknowledged depths of humanity. It’s been described as grimly realistic and “discomfort on a silver platter.”