Or a lazy teenage boy, watching sadly as the work and shit and drudgery and messages pile up. He watches his planner fill with ink, and overflow onto the already messy bedroom floor. He hides in sleep, somehow. The guilt of going to bed with applications undone on the desk next to him used to keep him awake, but now he just sleeps, the desire to work decreasing as the need to work increases. At this rate, he'l just not end up at college, or at least not at his first choice, or at least without money. Grades fall, as he falls asleep. Today, probably spurred on by the memories of a loved dog, his mind wanders to his last pet. His only pet really, a small silvery goldfish stuck in a foot high cylindrical plastic bowl. It swam back and forth, around a green plastic plant for almost two years. I fed it irregulary, assuming, as I do today, that it was more natural. I cleaned the tank three times. Only when it died (by hang it self by the gills on the sharp end of one of the plant's branches while I was at school one day) did I realize it existed.
Fish ain't cuddly, nor good companions. Lucky Me.
listen — Aaron Webb, in the voice cast for this edition
I met my great great great great ... great grandfather. He sat on the ground under the tree, softly munching on the leaves. With a concerned look for one of his lairmates, I know he loves. With a cry of pain brought about by a stinging ant, I know the savage feels. A bow of the head to a leader in the pack demonstrates humility, and a low moan in the morning shows hunger. I know he lives, I can tell that he knows where he is, and the purpose of everything around him. He lives, and he knows it. Do I? My emotions that little warm ball of fluff come out on this cold febuary monday sniff the air peer at the ground before turning with an annoyed grunt and returning to their burrow signifying another lonely Valentines Day
I stare up at the night time sky, letting my eyes slowly adapt to the darkness. Over an hour, I discover the universe, wandering from Ursa major, to Canis Major, down to Leo, over to Auriga, and across Gemini. Suddenly, appearing in the sky somewhere around the Pleiades and shifting through Orion, is a dull red ball. It isn't blinking, so is probably a satelite.
Somewhere, a young woman watches that object with the same amazement- a curious appearance to an untrained eye. But as she does, she wishes that she had someone to share it with her, curled up here under the stars. An extra pair of arms to hold her, an extra body to keep her warm, and a chest containing a rapidly beating heart as a pillow. Maybe she thinks of me.
Who saw it all tonite but just for a second. Hawking, Einstein, Newton all satisfied and smiling While the white rabbit with his watch shakes hands with the Catapillar and his hookah and laughs.
Time, space, and energy all shifted into a simple beautiful picture.
The answer to it all is "How many..."
I roar with rage at the alarm clock's sneering cry. I walk over to it's leering face, hit it once and sink back on the bed. All that remains of my dreams is a heart filled with vast lonliness, and a stomach lined with melancholy.
listen — Aaron Webb, in the voice cast for this edition
met a girl in Italy. Acually re-met one. Casual aqaintance from Grand Rapids who is a Michigan Junior Classical Leauge colleauge... We re-meet during a tour of the ampitheatre where Spartacus once battled as a slave, literaly bumping into each other. We talk briefly. I don't really recognize Her, the real her, since it's not the MJCL President, cool, professional, and charismatic that I met before. This is Kira, smiling, friendly, alluring. Tour guides move off in seperate directions, and we part ways with unknowing smiles.
Another chance meeting on the balcony of the hotel the next night. Conversation about nothing and everything for an hour while we watch the twinkling lights winding around Vesuvius, and busily ignore the gaggle of British 12 year olds.
Meet briefly next two days, hand slaps of recognition seem to linger a bit. I decide to start looking. More conversations, drinks with friends, more smiles.
As we load buses on the last day, I fumble out a half-excuse about why we need each other's phone numbers, scribble mine on a scrap of paper, and wave good by.
Her phone number is sitting on my dresser now, watching me pace across the room. Should I call? Was there actually something there? Or was I reading too much into the whole mess( as a lonely mind is wont to do), and guilted her into exchanging phone numbers? What business do I have getting myself involved with a girl an hours drive away anyway? What's worse: abject rejection, or thought's of what could have been?
listen — Aaron Webb, in the voice cast for this edition
A light flicks on over my bed at 1:30 on a sunday afternoon. The light is enough to send me up through the hazy layers of sleep back into reality, back into the now. I groaned, regretting the loss of some very pleasant dreams. My mother's voice chimes pleasantly as she opens the shades covering my window. "I know you didn't get back home last night until late..."
"six"
"Whatever. You need to get some homework done."
I moan a bit as I shift noncommitally under the flannel sheets, so I can watch my mother pick up the pieces of the rental tux which are scattered over the carpet. "What movie did you see last night?" she asks as the strap-on fake bowtie falls to rest on the hanger.
"Les Miserables" I reply. "They did a pretty good job, but nothing stood out. Kira liked it." Kira being the girl I met in Sorrento, who was suddenly my prom date a couple weeks later.
My mom turns toward me, a thought cued by my last comment. "Was Kira wearing any of that glittery make-up. There was some on the seat in your dads car."
"I guess so."
My mom squints at me, and adds with a voice of surprise thinly veiled by the tone of motherly concern that "There is a bit of glitter on your face too."
I respond with a nonchalant "Huh." resonating with the wonder I still felt 7 hours after a friendly post-prom embrace at her Grand Rapids home suddenly shifted into a long, tender good bye kiss filled with love and hope.
With sudden energy, I slide out of bed, grab the robe off the back of the door, and head downstairs for breakfast. There, while stuffing spoon after spoon of Cheerio's into my mouth, I ponder my first real kiss, the end of my life as a high school student, hopes for the summer, and a still rising long distance phone bill.
listen — Aaron Webb, in the voice cast for this edition
If there were ever the perfect place to test all your thoughts about humanity, it is the subway. Tribalism, cunning rivalry, racism, love, unexplained hate, all in abundance, and exposed by and eye which is bored for the wait for the next stop. I sit down across from a man dressed like a nice guy. In his hand, is a brocure he's reading. A retreat for quakers or something like that. Suddenly glances up from his reading and catches me watching and examining him. He glares through thick glasses at me, and I drop my eyes in the age old instinct of animalistic submission. His pinkish hat says "friends". A man is sitting a couple seats behind where I'm going on the subway. He is obviously retarded, eyes uncrossing and crossing at my entrance to the almost empty car. He grunts and blinks as I smile and nod in his direction as I do for everybody who I see. He talks to himself loudly throughout the ten minute ride,but all I see of him is a brief glimpse over my shoulder. You're not supposed to look around you see? I risk this subway taboo, making an exception for this odd man. In his hands is a small coupon advertising an ornamental knife. His eyes widen slightly when he notices what he is holding. He smiles slightly, and smartly flicks his gaze toward mine. I turn as he drops the piece of paper onto the subway's carpet.
As I sit, the subway stops and lets in a new batch of passengers. A young man walks in. He is about 6'1" and obviously is very strong, with muscles straining at the seams of his shirt. He twirls his bloated wallet apon a pivot created by his thumb and middle finger. As the train screams toward the next stop, he notices me stand and gather my things. I meet his gaze, instead of dropping it like I had for the 'friend'. His answer to my instinctual challenge? To step over to his left one half step, into the space near the door, insuring that I would have to break into his personal space to get near the door. As the door opens, he steps out, and up the stairs without a sound, probably subconsiously satisfied that he had won that battle. I catch myself doing the exact same thing seconds later in line for the outbound side of the ticket processor.
On my way back home tonight, I saw a couple kissing as they parted on the train's doorway. I yearned to ask the next attractive girl on the subway 'where you from?' 'where you going?' 'whatch up to?' as I had with the girl in Sorrento, and the fellow freshman at western who's room number now burns insistently in my back pocket. But on the subway, I know the answer. She's from the last stop, she's going to another stop, and she is busy playing the sport of solitude in the big city.
listen — Aaron Webb, in the voice cast for this edition