The Rogers News

Author: Chris

  • Self-Conscious: Part 1

    The ceiling is always there in the morning when I wake up. Thank God. I think this as I roll out of bed and plant my feet firmly on the short brown carpeting. My apartment feels cold. I turned the heat off last night when I returned from the gym. Hoping to cut my sweat. The coffee pot is already full. I can smell the full bodied flavor of Folgers in the morning. The smell is intoxicating as I walk through the small kitchen of my apartment on my way to the bathroom.

    I pee for a long time. Then brush my teeth. Then place my hands on either side of the sink and stare into my own eyes. There is nothing there yet. It is too early. Every day it is too early to see much of anything inside myself. I note my gray hairs. I note that they are like aliens invading the landscape of my head. Long ago, I didn’t believe in gray hairs. They weren’t even in my universe. Now, well. I have proof of gray hair on scalp.

    We all grow up, I think to myself as I start the shower. I pour myself a cup of coffee to set next to the shower. It is the warmth and the taste I like. I have no use for the caffeine. High on life, I like to say. People hate that. But there is a lot to live for in this world.

  • Movie: Quantum of Solace

    I saw the latest James Bond movie, Quantum of Solace last night in a packed theater. I was thoroughly entertained from the opening scene to the credits. However, the movie was odd to me. It was one of the most subtle Bond movies I can remember seeing. There were no gadgets. The typical “Bond girl” flesh quota wasn’t met. I don’t recall the line, “Bond. James Bond.” Even the “Shaken. Not stirred” line was delivered differently.

    The movie was darker — sad almost. Simple. Almost entirely believable.

  • Rejection

    A man walks on the shoulder of highway whatever. At the top of a small knoll in the road, he is silhouetted against the infinite darkness each time a car drives by. The headlights burn into his back and illuminate the path ahead. Each rain drop seems to reflect an individual sorrow the driver cannot see. Each drop falls onto the sandpaper-pavement adding traction to an otherwise slippery walk from and to. There are no destinations for a man tonight. His hopes of salvation fell down under the horizon when the sun set. This is something even a firm thumb and a kind smile will not get him out of.

    At midnight by a man’s estimation, a gas station, closed for the night, comes into sight. The back light is on to ward off would be crooks. A man is not a crook, though. He is more like a moth drawn towards the lamp-light. A man will not get burned tonight, however. He is lost. He is lonely. He is sad. But he is not doomed. Not tonight, at least.

    Next to the bundles of damp firewood and stacks of salt licks and between purple bottles of windshield washer fluid and the front door, a man sits down to rest his sore feet. His socks are damp and he wonders if he should take his shoes off. Is he going to walk anymore tonight? Or is this a good enough place to shiver for a few hours before moving on? He removes his shoes and sets them beneath his seat to insulate his aching tailbone from the chilling cement sidewalk fronting the gas station. A man pulls his tattered fedora down so that it rests upon his nose. He breaths deep the cold air of the wet night and hugs himself hard to warm his core. At this moment he is too tired to think of where he wishes he could be.

  • Idle Tuesday

    Earlier today I was walking in the cold from my car to school. White Park, which surrounds an unfrozen pond that will be later used for ice skating or merely slipping around in shoes, was to my left. I was on my way to school to study more law. Something I do a lot of these days, and am honestly anxious to stop doing. (Of course I’ll be a life-long learner. Of course I’ll always be learning about the law. But not by sitting in class listening to professors drone on. And on. No sir. By doing.)

    So, the park was on my left. A road was on my right. A major road by Concord, New Hampshire standards. Ahead of me was the school, which, as I strode awkwardly past an idling car waiting for me to pass, seemed incredibly foreign. I didn’t want to be at school that moment. Not at all today. It just seemed confining. I kept walking along, making a point to step on each broad white line of the cross-walk, counting in step. Fourteen strides total. That was my pace across the side street, where the car was still idling. I felt so mechanical knowing someone was watching me walk. I felt the forced thrust from my hip that was translated through my knees and into my ankles. I wanted nothing more than to own a Segway. Or be wearing roller blades. A skateboard even, although I am a novice rider, would have felt less awkward. But, no. I was stuck with my shoes. Shuffling. Tripping. Thrusting at odd angles, inch by inch.

    Then there was this beautiful pattern on the sidewalk. Leaves like stars on the gray pavement. I stepped cautiously forward, forgetting about my mechanics. Then I stopped. The sidewalk felt soft. Unstable. Like walking on rain soaked grass. A car drove by. The school was still ahead to my left. White Park, with its “No Ice Skating” sign displayed in front of the unfrozen pond, was behind me. The idling car had long gone. I tried to move my feet. Then suddenly the stars gave way and I fell down into the sky.

    Written from 7:05 pm to 7:25 pm on Tuesday, November 11, 2008 at school.

  • City Sidewalk

    I have this image in my head of walking along a city sidewalk with you late at night. The street lights are glowing orange. There is a bench on the left. Everything in sight is covered in an inch of undisturbed snow. The path ahead seems to be converging on a single focal point with an infinite approach. We are not cold. We are not in a rush. We are just walking side by side. Holding hands on occasion. Talking. Looking back at our footsteps as they fade into the orange glow we leave behind.

    Maybe most remarkable is the silence we have found. It contents me. I can relax my shoulders. Take a deep breath of cold air and open my eyes wide to all of my wonders. Most wonderful of all being that I am on this path with you.

    It is moments like these when I most want time to stop. To let me have a moment longer. Because soon it will be five or ten years later. I will be a different person. Still wanting what I have tonight.

    Written from 8:32 am to 8:52 am on Sunday, November 9th, 2008 in my apartment in Concord, NH.

  • Wanting to Write

    I want to write… I want to participate in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo.org) and churn out a novel, but each time I have a spare moment when I could write I think of about eight things I should be doing like looking for a job, reading for class the next day, doing the dishes, running this errand or that one. And none are valid excuses. Nor is not knowing what to write. That is the point of NoNoWriMo. You just churn something out.

    I did this last year. I’m doing it again. I’d like to write 50k words by December 1st, but that’s a steep goal. Very steep goal with days passing quickly.

  • GOBAMA

    Barack Obama’s win last night goes down as one of the major historical events of my lifetime — the kind of event that makes me remember where I was when it happened. The only other event like it that I remember clearly is the terror attacks on September 11, 2001. I was eating pizza at the La Famiglia pizza restaurant (now a Jimmy Johns) on the corner of E. William St. and S. State St. in Ann Arbor, MI when I heard, faintly on the store radio, that a plane had flown into one of the World Trade Centers. I was shocked — scared somewhat, although Ann Arbor didn’t seem like it would be next on the list of terror targets. I walked to the fishbowl and watched video news feeds on TV and on the web. It was a surreal moment — one I couldn’t believe was happening at the time.

    Last night was equally memorable. I sat in the bedroom of my sublet watching the election results on both my computer and CNN HD. Next to me was my best friend and the one person I would most want to share a moment like this with. I smiled. I didn’t jump around. I just felt relieved and happy.

    Then, this morning, while I was on my way to get donuts, I screamed, “GOBAMA!” a few times. What a tremendous moment in the history of the United States of America. Definitely not something I imagined I would see in my lifetime.