Tag: Chris’ Writing

Self-Conscious: Part 2

I dream a lot. Even while awake. It is one of the only ways, besides camping alone, that allows me to escape the obviousness of everyday life. Dreaming reminds me that even if I know everything that is going on with those around me that I still remain a mystery to myself. I can still feel alone. Others may know me better than I know myself. I can not help that. No one can.

I walk to work in my uniform dark gray suit and navy tie. I feel like I look sharp. Others take notice. A working woman glances my way, catching my eye for a brief moment. This happens everyday. To all of us. We are led on and let in to others lives, if only for broken shards of time. She has grass green eyes, which makes it seem as if I am staring straight through her head to the lawn behind. An imperceptible shudder refocuses my attention on the sidewalk ahead. The woman is past.

“I would like an everything bagel toasted with egg and cheddar. And an orange juice. Please. Thank you.”

“You won’t get fat.”

I chuckle. She is always direct. At least she is that way with everyone and not just with me. I have put on a few pounds since law school. I have not seen the gym in awhile. She knows that as well as I do. That knowledge does not stop either me from ordering or her from serving. Our worlds go around.

As I leave the The Hole, an establishment not only in my life, but in this town, I flash back to this bagel place I used to frequent that sold pizza bagels and for a moment I want to be in college again. Young. Goofy. Riding my bike.

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.

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.