(These are the final paragraphs of a larger piece I’ve been writing for the several years. The lead character sits back against a wall lamenting life surrounded by a room full of peers passed out or otherwise out of commission due to opiates and/or alcohol. After several hours in the same position ruminating over life, he snaps out of the despondent state..)
That was when it dawned on me; where do the ducks really go, anyway?
I feel like for the first time in my life, I’m awake. I’m alive. I slipped out of a trance and took a step back from my surroundings. Every event that has led up to this point is now foreign or distant to me. I stood up and walk towards the outdoors. I stand on the edge of the railing and feel the crisp morning breeze invigorate me. I feel myself fall from the fifth floor balcony and as I hit the pavement below, my thoughts pour out and stain the asphalt with who I used to be. I look up from where I lay and watch myself as somebody else I hardly recognize, walk through the front entrance and journey towards my last pillar of hope. Today, I put it all on the line. This would be it. I feel like I can finally speak a language of courage and confidence instead of phrases tainted with worry and self-doubt. No longer would I be the son of sadness but rather an heir of opportunity.
The light slate sky covers the city and gives a protective, closed in feeling. It’s as if suddenly, the people on the street all have a place and purpose. For once, every piece of the world fit together where it’s all supposed to be. And finally, I feel as if I do too. The walk seems endless but it’s never been this intense. I’m seeing colors I never realized existed. I haven’t felt the air fill my lungs like this before. The streets glisten with the remnants of last night’s torrential downpour while the sky looks washed out and hung to dry. I can feel what everyone is thinking and for once I don’t feel like they’re criticizing me. The impenetrable barrier which used to exist between the transit and I is now clear so I may enter with ease. Any spot available is the perfect spot to stand as if it were waiting for me to come along all this time.
I board and part with the fare as I join a crowd of dreary travelers, all with their own thoughts and places to be. At the end of the day, we’ll all be somewhere other than around each other but for now, we share a common passage. We huddle together as a pack of individuals; longing for someone to acknowledge us yet dying to remain unnoticed. I recognize a gentleman from my building I hadn’t considered sparking a conversation with until now. He knows me but he has never seen my personality, whatever that may be today. I swallow my nervousness, look at him, smile and say ‘Hello.’ I introduce myself and tell him I recognize him as Neighbor Guy from the other end of the hallway. Small talk turns into a discussion and a after a while we’re cracking jokes. A lady few seats over laughs at an off-the-cuff remark and before anybody realizes it, we’ve broken the ice of apprehension that had frozen us all in perpetual silence. Relief collectively washes over us and soon the mobile room is a buzz. I remember dreading this ride for months and finally, after more trips than footsteps, we rode together as people instead of as persons. I spent the better part of many trips wishing it all would end only to now wish I could prolong if at all possible. Every red light is a blessing and each green light a curse. I wanted to be with them forever and somehow express how much I cared for them all in such a short period of time. As I reach my destination, I bid them farewell but hopefully not for too long. If I never get to see them again, I’ll appreciate this for what it was. For those few blocks, they were my family and I loved them.
I reach the cafe in record time and use the extra minutes to prepare my speech. I tell myself ‘I’m laying it all out on the line’ and ‘I got this.’ Why keep it bottled in any longer? Every moment of my life has led me here to where I am right now. Every action, every spoken word, every drop of pain was but an incremental step to standing exactly where I am right now. I clutched my last ten note and entered the café with a brazen curiosity I’ve never quite experienced before. I can’t remember ever having been this comfortable or this confident. My intrigue is matched only by the fluttering in my chest. I’m anxious but I am focused. The beverage line isn’t as receptive to spontaneous conversation as the people from the bus. Everybody here is Jonesing to get a fix of the same bitter tasting, scalding, dark liquid and want nothing to do with anything or one around them (specifically, my forced conversation.) I try not to let their aura of apathy consume me too.
As the human chain clinks forward, I get seconds closer to finally putting it all on the table. Moments pass I finally come face to face with the only reason to get out of bed every morning. I stand before her as an entirely new being and once the pleasantries are out of the way, I begin to pour my heart out. I can’t remember a single word but as I speak, I flourish with a focus, a reasoning, a desire and on a level of coherency I never thought possible. My voice is but a vessel in which my passion boards. Through the devoted effort of spilling admiration out of my voicebox without regard to what is said or thought in return, I open my eyes for a moment and am defeated by a remorseful gaze. I come to the realization in mid-soliloquy that my words aren’t having the intended effect. I try to save face and plow ahead anyways throwing all caution to the wind but alas it is to no avail. In the throes of desperation, it’s clearly evident that all hope is lost. I proceed forward, amidst the aggravated groans of those behind me as well as the empathetic embarrassment of those ahead or around me. I end the monologue on a high note that is one part pleading, two parts expressive, all parts hopeless and no parts successful.
She reveals that she has known my intent all along yet while my heavy heart and generous gratuities are greatly appreciated, neither of which are ultimately her desires. I am enlightened with the reveal that there’s already someone in her life to offer the very thing I am trying to sell her and with this knowledge my vital blood crank plummets further. She asks, all awkwardness aside, ‘would [I] still like the usual.’ I say no because ‘I order what takes the longest time to prepare because I always want these short few moments of what may seem like daily mindless banter, to last forever. They are the only chance I get to ignore all of the bad things in my life and appreciate it the best my pessimism will allow. The few lines we share over you preparing a drink I have no desire to consume, bolsters what little self-respect I have left in this faulty heart and sustain my ever decreasing appreciation for life I wish I could hold onto.’ I rationalize to her that I only don’t drink coffee but I hate the stuff. This daily expenditure is small fee for a pleasurable experience that will get me through my day. To be perfectly honest, when I leave this shop there isn’t a homeless person or refuse I can locate fast enough to remove it from my possession. ‘I am a perpetual machine of self-defeat and cynical optimism fueled only by the concise daily conversations of a girl truly admire but know nothing about.’ I thank her for her honesty and the many truly enjoyable talks she’s provided me, then apologize to everyone in the shop and exit, wrapped in my humility.
I exit through the doors and stand with my back to the cafe. The soft sheet over the city lifts and the clouds make way for the sun to shine through, highlighting the weak foundation of my fragile confidence I have worked so hard to build this entire morning. I am defeated. Without the pseudo self-worth or anxiety to mask what’s inside, I feel bare and I feel broken. The destitute man looks over to me, acknowledging a break in the usual daily routine. I don’t even have the confidence to look at him. I feel tears well up in my eyes but I don’t know how to let them through. Without making eye contact, I hand him the ten dollar bill ask him to ‘hold on’ as I grab any remaining change from my pockets. If I could reach in and pull out my identity I would because if I hadn’t known myself before, I was a complete stranger to me now. I shake his hand and he’s thankful, but he has no idea he holds everything I have left.
Just as I’m about to succumb to the streets below and let the city claim yet another lost soul, I feel a soft, tender grip on my hand followed by the scent of someone unfamiliar yet nostalgic. I turn around to acknowledge a cheerful, worried girl with sweetness but deep concern her eyes. She hands me a notepad filled with writings I had lost weeks prior and assumed was gone forever. Still unsure if I’m fighting back tears or desperately trying to thrust them from where they’re lodged, she asks me to ‘open it.’ As I flip through the most complete, literal interpretation of my soul so far, in front of a woman I’ve never met, I see that intricately intertwined with my innermost thoughts and ideas are graphical representations of characters, scenes and moments envisioned only in my imagination almost identical to how I had described them in written form. She tells me that she came across my haphazard collection of thoughts after I had dropped it while en route over a month ago, likely to see the aforementioned female in many of the selections. She states that at first, she hesitated to open but the quote on the cover had piqued her interest and she knew she needed more. She explains that her heart dropped upon reading about the waitress I had known only on a first name basis but fell completely and foolishly into infatuation with. Detailed in my notes were the eternal internal struggles with myself and the perceived notion that everyone around me had either failed to notice me or wished that they wouldn’t have. She saw me for what I was and not who I was trying to be. She tells me that she wants to get to know me better so she can show me who I truly am. To help me to appreciate myself on the level that she understands me. The one sided expose inside the dining establishment had confirmed everything she knew about me up to now. She concludes that while neither of us are perfect, the simple truth is that nobody is. From what she can tell so far though, that someday we could be perfect together and asks if I’m willing to give it a shot. She warns that the road ahead won’t be easy but it neither should it be impossible. We’ll each have our struggle but would never be towards each other.
This isn’t an ending but then a universal truth is: there never truly is, only new beginnings. I don’t want to question anything right now and I don’t want to reflect on how four hours ago, I wouldn’t have imagined any of my actions could come to this. Where we go from here and where we don’t, time will only tell. I hope this becomes love.
