Last Post--One of my Creative Writing Works from this Week

Rebekah

As it rushes by we subsided from our conversation and look at the anonymous showings of life from strangers. Looking through the marks, beneath it, and into our own visions.  It passes quickly it feels as if it’s racing against the clock.  For three minutes we sit in the car, looking at the end of the bud, as the flicker of light almost burned out.  The soaring passed us.  The gates in front of us make us take a moment on our journey to stop and think abstractly.  It’s a nice break, that’s for sure.  It’s magical.  We go from crossing to crossing hoping that we would be stopped by something we couldn’t control.  Sure, it did push our arrival back forty-five minutes, but at this point we did not care.

            We tried to escape from what we did not want to face.  The fire was hot and the feeling of comprehension was lost, about an hour ago too.  As we talked before, we were going to enter and leave together regardless of the results.  It feels as if time is actually standing still for a moment.  This moment though, is something I will want to scar over as quickly as possible.  I kept hearing a thought in my head over and over again.  “Just let go, and let it be.”   All that did was gave me the urge to stand up and scream out John Lennon’s lyrics.  My mind tends to do that.  Bottle the unexpected and damned in the back and then cover up by ensuring that the world keeps moving.  As much as I want to change this moment neither of us had the power to do so.  It was if that fork in the road finally came and the decision was either to understand or forget.

I choose to stand in the middle weighing out the pros and cons, since I clearly am the logical thinker.  Only realizing that it hurt more, so now, I had come to the conclusion to settle, then to forget.  

            How could the last eight years be such a lie?  I guess that’s the thing about life that we do not get told when we are young.  That life is continuous and endless events that are ever so changing.  One moment you could be headfirst only to realize that just your toes are touching.  As we sit here in the mild air of a September night, we looked up to the stars.  I think we are looking for some kind of sign, I mean, isn’t that what everyone does when they feel vulnerable and want to escape?  Road signs tell us where to go everyday, why can’t the stars tell us logical explanations for the emotional and surprised equations? 

            At this point, we are realizing that the bar is there; right above us.  All we had to do was take a leap, close our eyes, and pray that we would not fall down.  The moment we reached, it was if the bar had disappeared.  It reminded me of something I read.  It immediately took me back to when I was a junior in high school.  The passage was read aloud from Daniel Quinn’s work of art, “Ishmael”.

                        “A few years ago you must have been a child at the time, so                    you may not remember it many young people of this country                      had the same impression. They made an ingenuous and                          disorganized effort to escape from captivity but ultimately                          failed, because they were unable to find the bars of the                           cage.”

            We were not going to find the bars of our cage tonight.  We were not going to find them in the near future either. The saddest part is that we believed that we ever could.  Honestly, how could we ever find them if we did not know what they looked like? They were not grey or silver with rounded edges.  They were not gold with soft tops and sparkles inside the metal when sun shined on them.  Something had told us that night that we would find it in the most ordinary of moments, when the noise would settle and the quiet would fill. 

            My sister and I sat and listened to lies that we were being told.  It’s like the lie your parents tell you when you’re young that your cat went on vacation.  Only this was no vacation, only the mere beginning of the end of the line.  When something terrible happens to you, some mourn and try to understand the horror of an act of life.  Others, slip into and overstate where they operate at a faster rate, overcome sleep deprivation, recant food, and mostly look into the simplest of objects but turn it into a whole new story.  As we continued to stare at the grey and transparent smoke that came off of each dark red coal we began to think about the time when we were little.  Jumping as high as we would off the trampoline and trying to be invincible. We were kids, and that’s what we did.  You feel that life will always catch you, or at least your sister would.  We knew at that very moment, no one would catch us from this terrible fall.  We would slowly have to let go, and then begin to stand on two feet. 

            I think at one point or another the story began to get old.  Relic.  Rose Kennedy said, “It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’  I do not agree.  The wounds remain.  In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens.  But it is never gone.”    Rose Kennedy was correct.  Two and half years later, every time we get stop for a train we still remember that mild September air.  We remember the abstract and anonymous signs the people wrote on the trains.  I will remember the cigarette, and how it was slowly burning out in the cracked window.   To think and ponder this day is as to think of your first heartbreak.  It’s still fresh, it still hurts and time, time won’t even heal the wounds of the lost.