6 minute read

We Know Them … Clarajane Gregory

by Clarajane Gregory This is the story of the same young person that all of us know. Their name is familiar and passes lips frequently. They are loved by most, bring laughter with them, carry a bright smile and great wit. They make friends with whomever they please, generally whomever they find to be in the vicinity. Knowledgeable about the world and seemingly full of spirit, they breeze through life. You know them just as well as I do on the surface and within. They live every day with the same expectations and attempts at perfecting their life. But like all people, they suffer from faults. Their fault: life is painfully dull.

It is early on a Thursday morning. The youth in question is preparing for their day. They dread the boring lectures of school and the meaningless chitter-chatter of their fellow youths. In the kitchen, the smooth tiles’ coldness dully cuts through their thin socks, making the morning even more tragic. The kettle bubbles and a musical tone pierces the morning silence, in which many are still sleeping. In no movement of haste, they move to the kettle, and with a potholder of dull red in hand, they pour steaming water into a cup. The water slides easily into the mug and splashes lightly over the awaiting tea bag, producing a splendid gurgling sound. The bag rises to the top and the brown tea leaks from it into the surrounding water, revealing the remnants of the prior motion. They leave the kitchen to pack. In the room adjacent, a backpack of nothing in particular is placed on the table. Hefty textbooks are slid easily into the bag, followed by overstuffed notebooks containing

Creative Works… 208 handouts and scribbles, secrets and reminders, memories and nothing of importance. Our youth looks at the books and wonders. They wonder how the authors came to have enough knowledge to write a textbook. Did their information come from other textbooks written by other authors? If so, why was it rewritten by them? Why not use the original? Thoughts began racing through their mind, and not for the first time that day. Do I have the ruler I left on my desk last night? Yes. Where is my lucky pencil for taking tests? I have a test today, based off of one of these rewritten textbooks no doubt? Am I superstitious for having a lucky pencil? Yes. Why does it matter? Anyways, it is just one more thing to make me ordinary. If I am ordinary, then maybe I will enjoy today. What makes someone enjoy a day, the activities, or the people? Thoughts like these branched and blossomed in their mind as they went about their morning routine. Without much thought as to what they were doing (as their mind had come to tackling the question of how the mountains, unconquered, would look from their peaks), they removed the tea bag from the slightly oversteeped tea and the cream from the fridge. With one hand on the mug, causing a tingling sensation from the sudden heat, and the other holding the cool cream, they poured it into the mug. The cream glided over the carton opening and into the tea easily and sat at the bottom for a moment. Then it billowed up in clouds of serenity and bounced off of the glass ceiling. The cream billowed and bounded around in the tea, creating swirls and whisps of calm and beauty. he chaos was predictable and lasted only a moment. A moment the youth spent staring intently at the tea with no thought in their mind. From the moment the cream

Creative Works… 209 met the tea, their mind was perfectly still, lost in the mysterious free movement. Splunk! By muscle memory, a spoon was grabbed, thrust into the tea, and stirred with ungraceful crude movements. The scene was lost. Thoughts prevailed. I have got quite a bit to do today. School, six classes. Seven periods including lunch. Eight teachers including coach. Numbers. Racing through the mind; One, two, three, four; one, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen. Patterns and math. Aren’t they all found in nature? In our perfectly mathematical universe. Our universe is so big and great in which I am leaving for school, so inconsequential. Uhh, this tea is bitter! And my tongue is burnt, makes no difference, as nothing will be worth tasting today. Just a sandwich and some cri... The soft blue sky. Light clouds of cotton stood still, gracing the sky in their yellows and creams found at the horizon, and blushing like cheeks next to the trees. The sunbeams glint and glow as they spread silently across the sky. The light is caught on the leaves of branches, tumbling and tripping softly, over and under them, falling to the sodden floor. Diamonds sparkle in the grass, shining and shimmering like the reflection of a pool against the summer pavement. Birds sing their songs sweetly in the morning air. The morning air. It catches the youth’s lungs quite suddenly. Their inhaler… mustn’t forget their inhaler this time, or else they’ll be in the nurse’s office before first period. They cross the brick path, through the front gate and past the mailbox. The mailbox, checked every day for letters and only bills found. They always expected a letter when they checked the mailbox– from whom, they don’t know. They are only ever met by coupons never used and

Creative Works… 210 bills always paid. Occasionally a credit card offer, discarded before even being opened. Why did anyone ever care to send anything by mail anymore? Now, if you wanted to communicate anything of importance or need a response, an email would suffice. Geeze! These days, everything was done online. Homework was mostly on computers, only to be printed and handed in. The world was found in computers these days. People talked and met and lived on computers. Businesses and education, life and death, news and media, all spread and lived through computers. It would be amazing if anyone ever lived separately, like an old-timey explorer. As they walked to school, thoughts flitted through their mind, some familiar and some new; all found a common connection to the prior. The cool air was no longer a shock to their lungs, but passed through pleasantly. The air was crisp as ice and the sunshine was warm on their face. They walked under the trees older than their teeth and over the grass younger than their days. The rush of cars was lost to their mind as they interpreted the scene passing them by. They looked around at the trees, trunks dull in color and rough in texture, leaves soft and vivid in their greens. Their hand hovered over the splintered wood of the familiar fence. As they walked forward, they thought how the fence on the left, a tree like the oaks on the right, were once, and of all the people who had walked here before them. The history of the old railroad that this path used to be. People and cargo traveled the same path their feet now carried them, history that built the world around them. They closed their eyes for a brief moment and took in the sounds of the trees rustling in the breeze, the dogs barking in the distance, the birds softly calling and the beauty of…

Creative Works… 211 vroosh! A car passes by. Society again disappoints; they walk forward and entertain their thoughts.

Dullness is found in life by those who do not see the world around them. It is not a matter of traveling and learning from books. It is a matter of experiencing what lies right in front of and around you. Live your life, not the motions of it, for those are just a shadow of what it really is to be alive. It is a beautiful world; don’t miss any detail of it. This young person was once us. They were, and are, you and me. We know them. We know their name, their strengths, their talents, their words, their thoughts, and their faults. This is the story of us.

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