Straggler

A story about being scared about growing up that got honorable mention in a writing competition at my high school. I'm sorry if its short.

Did you know that some geese fly over 4000 kilometers to migrate? They’re flying over whole countries, and I can barely get up in the morning. Sometimes as I lay dormant in a cocoon of blankets, waiting for the snooze to go off for the millionth time, I think about what that must feel like. My mind wanders off, leaving me behind in a blissful limbo state. What do they think about for so long? Do they admire the lush forests sprawling beneath them or the bustling cities they couldn’t even dream of building? Or do they completely ignore what's under them because they're too entranced by the swirling clouds and whistling wind? Do they ever wish they could just land and call it a day? Are they constantly worrying about getting lost? If one of them gets tired will they be too scared to tell the rest? Will they be left behind? 

I would stay like this forever, questions flying through my mind searching, fruitlessly, for answers, but the ring of the alarm always wakes me up eventually. It's only made worse by its likeness to the school bell, as if right from the moment I get up in the morning the world is already trying to remind me what I have in store for what feels like the rest of my life, but is really just a Monday. I pull up my phone and begin the daily morning ritual of absent minded scrolling. One like, two likes, three likes, four likes… 

The sun bleeds through my curtain. This unfulfilling routine will have to wait until next morning. I dejectedly roll out of bed. I bet the Stragglers are already beginning to fly. I brush my teeth. What about the geese that have never migrated before? First-Time-Flyers, as I have aptly named them. I eat my breakfast. Do they like the food down south? I wash the dishes. The cold sink water makes my fingers feel like ice. At least geese don’t have chores.

I’m out the door earlier than I have to be, my breath fogging up in the air. The sun is still low, casting a slight pink glow over the neighborhood. The cold air nips at my ears. I forgot to charge my headphones. It's going to be a long and boring walk. Do geese get bored? They don’t have any music, or any TV. I’m not even sure that they’re smart enough to have entertaining conversations. The monotonous sound of my footsteps against the sidewalk only serves to seemingly prolong the walk. One block, two blocks, three blocks, four blocks… 

The school is warm, which is a relief. Flex goes by too quickly. I could use another hour without tedious work and droning speech. Maybe the mindless scrolling doesn’t even have to wait until tomorrow. Where do geese learn to fly? How do they know where they’re going, why do they trust that they’ll get there? Are they sacred? I’m not sure why I’m learning all this. I have no idea why I care so much. I am absolutely clueless about where I’m going, and every day the thought that I won't ever find out creeps further into my thoughts. I’m scared. 

The bell rings, and for a moment I genuinely think that my alarm has gone off in the middle of class. I really need to change it. My next classes aren’t much more interesting than the first. I listen to some interesting conversations, but the work keeps me busy enough that I can't engage in them myself. The day goes on as grey and tiresome as ever. One block, two blocks, lunch, three blocks… 

I have to work on a group presentation in fourth period. My partners are pleasant enough but I would've never talked to them if I wasn't forced to, and I doubt I’ll talk to them much after. Do geese like their flock? Do they have their own goose drama? What would that even be? “George took a dump in my patch of grass! I refuse to fly with him.” “Well maybe if you hadn’t chased those fleshy meat sacks that call themselves 'humans' into my nest I wouldn’t have done that.” My amusing avian altercation is cut short when my partner asks me what I want to be when I grow up. I’m not sure. I think, not about the question, but the geese, the wind, clouds, the trees, the cities. I think about their destination. Is that what's on their mind? Do they dream of Mexico when they're in Wyoming? Are they thinking about the sights they will see, or the sights they are seeing? Maybe the only reason they make it is because they think about where they are, not where they’ll end up. They don’t look for Mayhaw in blackberry bushes. I realize I’ve been quiet for a moment too long, and quickly answer “I don’t know”. A phrase I’ve said more times than I can remember. It feels different now. It doesn’t shrink me, doesn't make me feel like a little boy scared to show his mom his report card. I feel like how I would imagine a First-Time-Flyer feels when you ask them what they think about migrating. Confident I’ll get there, aware that means right now I need to be here. They don’t linger on the question; it wasn't really genuine. Just an ice-breaker gone awry. I get through class without any more awkward moments. The last bell rings. I take out my phone and change my alarm’s ringtone. 

The air outside feels lighter than before. The late autumn sun is already setting, casting long shadows and a wonderful warm, pumpkin-orange glow over everything. I fill up my lungs and feel as if I can fly off right there and join the geese in their journey. I think of everything from the book I read, to if double stuffed Oreos are really double stuffed, or just 1.87 times stuffed. I’m too lost in thought to even notice I don't have music, until a familiar echo of squawks pulls me back into reality. I look up to see a flock of geese fly overhead. I wonder how far they’ve been flying, how far they’ll continue to fly after they disappear from my view. They’ll make it. We’ll make it. Through one day, two days, three days, four days…

Did you know that some geese fly over 4000 kilometers to migrate? And they do it by flying a little further each day.