Pages

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

that's old man reaper

I didn't care to be anxious anymore.
I walked away, and settled in the highest room my resources could allow me.
There I sat in a fluffy antique chair, right by the sunny window, my favorite song playing- silence.
Sometimes I focused on the lazy sunbeams right in front of me, and other times my eyes would shift down to the city street.
I saw an old man walking. He coughed a lot. It might have been the colors in his shirt, or the bandaid on his elbow- when I looked at him I suddenly thought of this-
Every school lunch of mine. The essence of compilation snacks in papery sacks. The sack itself adding so much dimension to a banana, a sandwich, chips and some chocolate pudding. Compiled by mom. Sacks like salt at the dinner table. Sacks like hot sauce at the corner deli. School lunch would just not taste good without the papery sack and mom's fingerprints. I would bury my face in the papery sacks and peek and breathe and smell mom's love and think recess and spring and new shoes and back pack straps.
I didn't care to be anxious anymore.

The old man disappeared around the corner.

That old man seemed a lot like my memory. He was a tired, sick hope list, which was mine. I ran out of the highest room to get him. I ran into the windy streets that make my ears cold, my throat swell and palms sweat, to see what I could do for him. I would take him to his summer home. I would buy him the roast beef combo. I would put him in a baseball cap with a spinner on top, put a skateboard underneath him. Try my best to give him youth. To save him or spare him until I could live out my childhood again, and maybe again, to achieve all my young heart ever wished for while my heart was still young.

I didn't care to have a retired heart anymore, so I was content with being anxious.




No comments:

Post a Comment