Life

Not so much as story as a mini-essay, but whatever

I live a busy life. Every moment of every day I have mapped out because I need to squeeze every minute for all it’s worth. From the seemingly never ending flood of bodies that walk through the doors at work to the ink covered, college ruled notebooks I lug around as I walk from class to class, my day is full. I work hard for the chance, just the chance, that I may one day live a life of tranquility. Expressing my mind, my heart, my soul through the words I share with whoever will give me the time of day. I think this is a little silly, don’t you? Writing is life. Any writer worth ten minutes of your time knows this. How can you convey the truths of humanity without having felt all of life’s greatest sorrows and joys?

 

                The field is full of gawkers staring upwards, yet you’re alone, the two of you. The grass is damp, perhaps it rained earlier today? Lucky you have this blanket in your trunk for emergencies, and a damp back right now sure would count. The sun just set ten minutes ago and yet the heavens glow. Pale greens and purples, golds and reds. They rain, they bloom, they snap, crackle, and pop. You’re not watching them though, they’re the sideshow. On the blanket next to you is a miracle of nature. Perfect in mind and body, she stares wonderingly at the night sky. With every blast in the distance comes an illumination of the features of her face, you memorize every detail before the shadows creep back into sight. You will remember this moment of unutterable bliss until you weep.

                This is living.

                His body is cold, rigid, unusually so. He’s leaning over, blue shirt, blue jeans, blue lips. You scream his name but clearly you need to scream louder, he can’t hear you. Fear grips you, all those things you learned in school, in cub scouts, those are far from your mind. Somebody help him, please, nobody seems to be able too. It’s cold outside as you run, but even the neighbor is useless. Finally the flashing lights show promise, but they just shove you away. Rocking, back and forth, back and forth. You’ve never prayed before, not like this. Suddenly you hope those words you’ve muttered a thousand times have meaning. Then everything’s quiet. You wait, an hour goes by, maybe several, does it matter? The phone tears through the silence and you watch as an adult answers for you. When you see his tears you know. You scream again and you can’t scream loud enough.

                This is living.

 

                I don’t live my life to count money. I don’t live my life to take notes. Life is more than that, yet everyone seems blind to it. The whole damn world talks about meaningless paper notes and nobody cares about the literal billions of people, billions of miracles around them. This world is such a beautiful place, full of agony and elation, laughter and tears. Nobody cares, and I must slog through the bureaucratic bullshit in hopes of living a life that means enough to be listened too. God help me I’ll make it there, but I wish I could live at the same time.