Some Day, Any Day, No Day

Setting: The time is 4 o’clock, a pleasant Saturday afternoon of 67 degrees. Wind blowing gently. A girl and a boy are jogging on the trail of Trinity Park in Ft Worth, Texas. The track is circular, the length uncertain, the concrete hard underfoot, the grass dying slowly, yet a new season waits. The trees surrounding are becoming barren, leaves floating down resignedly. It is autumn. The sun is beginning to set, creeping ever so slightly down the buildings’ skyline. The two are running at a fast pace. She stares in the distance to see how far the path might go- he looks to the ground, watching each individual step at a time.

(They pause at the water fountain to take a drink. They stand under the shade of a large tree. Panting… she looks up at him.)

HER: You know, someday I’d like to have a yard. With a garden. And flowers planted in it. Flowers that I get to choose and plant. And a big old Oak to shade the front of the house.

HIM: Gardens just seem like a huge pain in the ass to me. You gotta plant them, and water them, and tend to them. Seems like a waste of my time. Might as well hire someone to do it all.

HER: See, but that’s half the fun of it, the satisfaction of knowing I planted that beautiful tree.

(She points to the sky, as if pointing to her own imaginary tree).

HER: It’s all in the art of it…the beauty of it, you know?

HIM: Eh, maybe. I would be content with one unimpressive tree in my yard, planted by some random man I hired. Just to say I had one, I guess.

HER: Oh whatever, you know you will want a nice yard once you grow up and have a wife and kids and a home. Every man does.

You’re just a college kid. You’ll change when you’re ready..... someday.

HIM: Maybe so. But I’ve got another ten years of partying my ass off until all of that.

(She looks up at him, eyes in amazement…not believing his wild claim).

HER: Ten years! Really? That means you’ll turn into a lonely thirty-year old bachelor that works and drinks booze. Ew.

HIM: Yep. I’ll be livin’ the dream until the dream dies. Once it dies, I guess I’ll find myself a woman.

HER: Gah, you’re full of shit. I’ll bet you money you’ll be married before then.

(He laughs, incredulously. He looks at her as if she’s a fool, but he knows she isn’t).

HIM: Oh what makes you say that? At the rate I’m going, I’ll be single until I’m thirty-five. I haven’t dated anybody since Laura, and that was three years ago… Gah, I forgot about her.

HER: You forgot about her? Ya’ll dated for like two years. You jackass!

(He puffs up, getting a sly grin on his sweaty face.)

HIM: It’s called being a man…you should try it sometime.

He takes off running, expecting her to catch up with him…his head pointing forward, laughing as he always did after making a crude joke. She takes one last sip of water, rolls her eyes, and hurries to catch up from behind.

HER: You know, sometimes being a gentleman in life isn’t all bad…you should try it sometime.

HIM: Funny…and what do you mean? I am too a gentleman.

HER: I dunno. You just act unfeeling toward every little thing. It annoys the hell out of me. Why don’t you admit to FEELing something for once in your life? You know it’s really quite liberating once you try it.

HIM: I FEEL lots of things…

(He snickers to himself, patting his own pride on the back.)

HER: God, you’re a sick person!

(She runs ahead of him, strutting off in her bitchy way, not stopping to look back).

HIM: Hey! Wait up. Hold on.

(She runs faster, gaining a few hundred yards on him. He chases after her, breathing heavily, yet ready for the pursuit and competition she presents to him. He approaches her from behind, still panting.)

HIM: Why do you always gotta be so sensitive? It was just a joke, come on.

HER: Well, you’re full of jokes...and shit. And I’m tired of it.

HIM: Since when do you take offense to my jokes? Always thought you laughed at ‘em…Or at least thought they were funny.

HER: You can’t admit to anything. EVER!

HIM: What the hell are you talking about? Did I do something wrong that I don’t know about it?

HER: No, it’s nothing. Never mind, you wouldn’t care anyways. Just come on. We’ve got to finish this last mile. It’s getting dark. Hurry up!

HIM: No, I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why you’re all pissed at me, when I didn’t even do anything.

HER: All right, you want to know the truth? Want me to be honest? Because I am going to be, finally. I think you are a huge jackass. I also think you don’t give two shits about me or anyone else for that matter. You’re insecure, arrogant, and your jokes aren’t funny. Also, I hate your shoes and your stupid sunglasses you always wear when you drive. One more thing: Don’t expect me to ever take you seriously when you are drunk ever again you asshole.

HIM: Holy shit, what did I do? I’m sorry, please remind me. Look, I don’t remember! It must have been a long time ago. Wait; did I say something to you while I was drunk last night or something? It was a wild night last night. I don’t normally get that drunk off my ass.

(Her eyes begin to well up, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. He looks at her as if looking for an answer to his failed memory.)

HER: You told me you loved me. And that you always have, ever since we became friends. You also asked me on a date, other than running the trail. And I believed you. I figured you would ask me today on our run. But you haven’t. And you never will. You’ve always been a drunk. And it’s about time I figured it out.

HIM: Oh come on now, every boy likes to party. Its no big deal. Just because I don’t remember it doesn’t mean I didn’t mean it, you know?

HER: Then tell me, do you mean it?

HIM: Mean what?

HER: Did you mean it when you told me you were in love with me?

HIM: Woa, woa, woa, hold up. I said I LOVED you, not that I am IN love with you.

HER: So you didn’t mean it then? I knew it.

HIM: No, that’s just unfair. You just twisted everything I said. I said I love you. And I do.

HER: You’re not making sense. Are you even sober yet from last night?

HIM: Oh shut up. What I meant to say is that I do love you, but I love you as my friend. You know, we’re jogging buddies. That’s the best kind, isn’t it?

HER: Jogging buddies? That’s what I am to you? A “jogger” friend? WOW…

HIM: Look, we’re not dating. I always just thought we were friends. You know, friends that like to run together, hang out, maybe go for the occasional hookup? It’s no big deal. Everyone does it. It’s normal. Chill out my friend, chill out!

HER: No, I’m not going to chill out. You’re a piece of shit, you know that? You lead girls on, expect them to just like being strung along, then act as if you don’t even care. Unbelievable! What do you expect to even do with your life? You’re already twenty, it’s about time you actually made something out of your nothing of a life.

HIM: Look, I’m just livin’ the dream. Don’t mean no harm by it.

Afterall, I am just a college kid…I’ll change when I’m ready someday…

Whose Life? Whose Dream?

“No, no…I can’t love you. I don’t love you. I wont love you. Who are you?”

I am walking over the city, out of a deserted bar. The building faces me. It is tall, sky-high above me…I am feeble. It‘s glassy frame shines off the rays of the all too bright sun. I see the light. It burns my eyes, but it makes me feel alive.

Where am I? Why is she talking to me? I haven’t talked to her in years. Gah, I miss her. I want to be with her. I want to look at her. She is unreachable, already past. Why?

“Oh shit, oh shit! What time is it? ”

It’s seven-thirty eight; my damn alarm never seems to rouse me from this deep sleep. And what the hell did I just dream?

I don’t have time for this! I put on my jeans, my fleece, my TOMs and I’m out the door. I find I have a coffee stain down the left side of my leg, must have lost some in transit. Oh well. I don’t have time to go back and change. I don’t have time!

The wind is chilly outside. I love the cold breeze that sweeps across my skin. My hair stands on end. I like the cold. It makes me feel alive. I park my car, open the squeaky door, grab a pen and spiral, and give the door a shove.

That slam is the beginning of my day.

I sit, inattentive, in class. The professor’s voice is monotone, uninteresting, and it sends me to dreams. And so, I dream.

I am no longer in a cramped, crowded room of a discontented professor and hung over students. I wander in and out of sleep and sleeplessness, nodding my head at each jolt of sound. My dreams perplex me with things I know not, people I love not, and wishes I have not.

It’s 9 o’clock. I am roused, I wake up, I see the people leaving. I am left. Class is over. I walk to the nearby coffee stand to get some caffeine in my system. Much better. But somehow, even the coffee tastes stale to me. The clock drones on. I wait for the next venture I will set out upon. Maybe that night. Hopefully that night.

I get back into the old car, its loose wheel is a familiar comfort to me; my music speaks my mood. I am anticipant. I drive home, to my shabby apartment, with dishes begging to be washed. And a carpet that tells me I’m lazy. I walk in. Roommate number one sits on the couch. I wonder to myself, what does he want with his life? What does he do during the day? Does he have dreams for himself, for his life? I don’t think long about it, for soon I am in the shower.

Oh! I love the cold water on my face, the streams of shampoo and soap running along my chilled body. I take cold showers everyday. It makes me feel alive.

This is my life. Everyday, I set out to feel alive, to know that I am really living. Sometimes, I wonder if I really am this person inside of my head, who I think I am. Am I? I can never be sure. That’s the trouble with it all. You really can’t ever know.

No time to think of these things, I saunter down to the small, messy kitchen. The tiles are raveling up and the counter is covered in neon stains of melted ice pops. Oh those ice pops seem to bring so much nostalgic fear to mind. The days of rollerblades and summer sweat down my curly black head, the days of YMCA sports and soccer moms. I miss those. Am I still the same? Who am I?

Pop. Pop. Pop. The bacon snaps at me as I set it in the hot pan, yum. I bite into a sandwich of nonsense- cheese, eggs, jalapeño, bacon, hot sauce, anything to get me going that dreary day. I love the feeling of the burning on my tongue and the spicy dread…makes me feel alive.

“Mac, we need that column. We need to proof read the entire thing! NOW!”

Who is this boss yelling at me? What does he want? Am I reporter these days? Seems I’ve landed a job in a desk and chair. It’s not so bad…the mundane quality of a day job, that is. It could be worse. But when did this happen? Where did the time go? The clock never ceases to tick. That little tick… a terrifying control over me.

I awake. It is 4o’clock in the afternoon. I have just taken my usual afternoon, college nap. This time I dreamt of myself as some sort of newspaper writer or something…what? I don’t remember much but that I felt pressured or something, pressured by time and the clock weighing heavy over my shoulders.

The pressure! I have a paper due at 5pm. I stumble to my computer. I frantically write the last few pages to a twenty-page paper over blah blah blah. I don’t even know what I just wrote. I email my half-assed paper to my boring teacher. Sent. ITUNES seems all too enticing; I need to wake myself up anyways for tonight. I turn on my favorite Beirut song entitled “Forks and Knives.” I mumble the words: “And I find it's all our waves and raves that makes the days go on this way…”

Maybe they’re right. But no matter. I hear voices downstairs. I always loved the commotion of the apartment after the sun went down. People seemed to be walking in and out, namely a friend that comes by each day. I always liked when she stopped in.

“Maccccccccccc!” she calls to me. I am happy. I hear the childishness in her voice.

I answer as I jog down the stairs, still mumbling the songs of my favorite band. She stops to tell me some event that has happened to her since I last saw her, twenty-four hours ago. It should be boring. But somehow, I am immediately engaged in what she has to say. She tells me about some dream she had involving a hippopotamus and a magic land. I believe in dreams, you know. Dreams make me feel alive.

Roommate number two enters. He sweats and pants from a day’s jog. You know, I really should exercise.

He, red in the face, asks her whether she is eating dinner with us tonight. I am cooking my specialty… pasta. I always seem to end up making pasta. I eat the same meal every night. Pasta. If it’s not pasta, it’s eggs. What a boring appetite I lead.

We always ask her to stay. I always hope she stays.

She seems to me, out of reach, distant, unattainable girl. She is young. I am old. She lives life for the next day. I live my life according to the second. I am unsure; she seems to know exactly what she wants. She leaves to fulfill some obligation or to study, something I can rarely find the motivation to do. She dreams of a job, a career, a life after this.

I dream of the next big thing. Will it come? And why does it tarry?

11pm rolls around. The night is dark and cold around me. There’s something promising about the night, maybe it’s the excitement or the mystery of it. I do not know what will come tonight. My night is just beginning.

A girl calls and just the phone call bores me. She wants me to go to some bar. Somehow, I feel as if something better might pass me by. I decide. I decline the invitation.

I knew it. Intuition led me right... SHE wants to go watch the trains, something utterly perfect sounding to me. It is cold, I grab a sweater and I am out the door.

She runs to the car in her girly form, red-nosed, red-cheeked from the windy night. Opening the door, she reveals a single sweet cigarette, flashing her giddy smile, the one that a child makes when feeling like a rebel. I am charmed.

We ride to the trains, not on them but to them since that’s all we can really do is watch. We sit. We listen. The noises of the metal are sharp and piercing, they clank the track and clink along. She smiles at the sounds of harsh metal and the buzzing, booming world in front of her. She props her soft body upon the nearby dumpster, tells me to join. I am lost. I am lost in the world of my dreams. She looks at me, wild eyes wide with innocent enthusiasm.

I AM alive.

I am living my dreams… that’s all we can do, isn't it?

From Afar

tales of the brave

tales of the fallen

tossed upon on a frothy wave

the sea is my name a 'callin

they say the righteous walk the path

tow the line and miss the wrath

ive grown fonder of the grey

live, let be, and come what may

ive pondered the mystery of me

and of you and him and we

but the bisecting lines dont connect

a grand puzzle, and only defect

no learned man discovers why things grow from cocoons

or why masses of sand create dunes

or why pharoahs lay in tombs

the mind will surely resort to doom

so let the butterfly be

and the seed embrace its mother tree

knowledge cant forever be the key

it grabs you by the feet and turns you into a restless bee

praise be to the One who knows these thoughts afar

on them the mind doth prey

but He is aquainted with my way

so we pray, and He orders the day

the day of mugs and bugs

the travelers's hugs

of things swept under the rugs

of yours and mine and ours

like a clock

we are the tick, he the hand

we strangers rest in a foreignor's land

to be taken up at his providential pick

Rain

I walked in the rain today

It didn’t stop for me

The drips and the drops persist

The soggy dew pats my face

Cold, soft, looking down on the human way

Without another thought, I hustle and bustle about

I read, I write, I don’t stop to see

That the rain keeps falling

All through the day’s doings

Searching for me, all in a pout

It plays upon the pane

Whispering the tales of its descent

Through the clouds, down the glass

The rain, it trickles from left to right

Cloudless, pure, rolling down my window frame

When will I see this beauty of the sky?

I never can catch it when it happens to hover o’er me

And so, the rain, it bades me farewell

Until next time we may visit

But I won’t realize your coming until you’re departed from me.

The Lurking One

The starling of the east

The prey to the wind

The wood in which we rest

Calls out to me in sounds I can not comprehend

The mysterious little bird continues to call to its own

The hopeless balloon entangled upon wires of doubt

The faces stream by in melancholy, mundane procession

And I, the spectator, watch in awe

The monotonous register clinks of coins

The passerby smiles with tainted breath

We move along with the caffeine

We remain unaware of the lurking fiend

The starling departs its clumsy perch

The laboring server turns the lights down and locks the door

And I await the next stream of life to pass me by

All the while the black knight perfects his schemes

He twists the minds of his prey with a stable train of thought

But this train spews the black smoke of deception and yet charity driven will

Only in a flash, the Holy Ghost intercepts the mind

He trains my mind for truth

And my train clinks along the rocky track

No longer blackened but with the window of a lucid, blue canopy

Hovering o'er me

Voices

time not being mine

the number ticks past the mark of nine

i can not ask it to kindly stop for me

all we may do is rest here with bended knee

the man with drap-ed hair

he asks to be next to his lady mare

there they go side by side

toils and tales forever tied

and nobody sits still in silence

all diverged in word, story, or song

waiting, resting,

saved or damned all along

lifes' voices have befriended you and i

yet, we are not made new to die

let us live in the quiet, the still

then, only then, may we get these places to our fill

Memory

Memory

Sudden, harsh, loud in mine ears

Sweet rush of once thought out thoughts

And quick farewell to a time once known

It is fonder whence looked back upon

Askew, the frame tilted in perspective

The mind is as a film

Unable to see, unable to face the realm of reality

We remember you and I in a different light

You, young and ripe in a new time

And I, here to survive the by and bys

Tell me, will the remembrance of I suffice?

Or will it wear out as the mortal body?

Decomposed, faded away, sunken into the dampness of ground

I, dead to you, and you to I

The tales given to the soil, lost to time

Farewell for now and then

Goodbye to you and I

And so, I travel this wheel round n round

You go the miles to there and here, just to be you and I once again