B******s Grind You Down

Narrative of Andrew Newman part two

The usual cadence of creaks and pops from his joints alerts me of his approach behind me, completely erasing any chance for the element of surprise. He still manages to catch me off guard by swatting at the back of my shoulder with the rolled-up newspaper he happens to have in his possession. When he comes around where I’m sitting, he shoots me a look as if to say “surprise, it’s me again.” The limp paper is nonchalantly tossed on the table as he settles and gets comfortable in his high-backed chair. I study his face carefully while it seems that his mind is at thought. This morning it appears that the lines are clearer and the circles under his eyes darker �" must have been another sleepless night. A half empty coffee cup is a testament to his seemingly endless battle against fatigue. Stubble covers the haggard face that has seen one too many days. Silence overpowers this small room and what seems like forever passes before anything is ever uttered. I haven’t decided if this merely an attempt to make me uncomfortable or a dare to see if I’m brave enough to speak.

“So, tell me about it, son” he says and nothing more. I reply to this with silence �" a cue for him to continue on.

“Are there some things that people can’t possibly get to? The things that we hold deep down inside of us. Property that they could never take away from us. Is it possible to have your spirit broken, to the point that you lose your ability to laugh? That would be the worst, wouldn’t it? A bird that is caged, never to sing any more. There is a fine line between being a dull, dry form of flesh and being a vivacious and outlandish talk box. I bet it hurts to feel that you’re slipping further toward being the former �" growing up as some fancy to call it. Sure, there are some things to avoid but you don’t ever want to lose your smile. You let them take that away and they have won. Be your own individual, even at the cost of alienating a few of those you hold the closest. Never let yourself be packaged in some pre-sorted box made by a long standing template. Push your boundaries, make jokes that you probably shouldn’t, write about what you want and how you want, force people out of their comfort zones. Don’t become the man sitting in front of you. Bitter with every person in his life and only focusing on the negative aspects of the world around him.”

His words speak to a certain part of my psyche. They sink through my skin and really start to hit home. For the longest time, I was told that I didn’t take things serious enough �" that I didn’t care enough to work toward the end result. But now I feel as if I’m growing weary and slowly losing the sense of humor that I once had. I’m the exotic bird that is the showpiece of the local zoo. They let me loose every once in a while, but nonetheless, I am still the prisoner of my own small world. The b******s are grinding me down. Slowly but surely. There will come a point where people will ask me where I went and wondering why my father replaced me if only in a sense of personality.

Time will tell if I become the archaic type modeled after my father. A man that has been transformed into a slave of his job. The fun has been drained out of things for him, but the work must go on. Money makes the world go around and some of us are doomed to be nothing more than boiled frogs. My body aches at night from the punishment that it has taken from the work I do. It’s the same work that my father does. I look in the mirror sometimes and debate if I could make it doing this for another twenty years.

Andrew is sitting there, knowing that he has gotten he proverbial ball rolling. He takes the loose tobacco in his pipe and tamps it a little more tighter. His fingers fumbling for a wooden match inside the box of plenty. The match is struck and is the first sound heard in quite sometime. Evenly moving the flame around the bowl of his pipe �" taking short draws.

“They’ll do anything to get you to fit within their parameters. Those b******s will grind you down” he muses behind his cloud of smoke.