Tommy was born in
Tommy didn’t
have much money, but he did well in school, graduating at the top of his 17 deep
senior class. His dad had tried to save for out-of-state tuition, but Clyde Park
Hardware could only sell so many hammers. Tommy went to
Tommy
graduated
The leaf bobbed quietly down the current. A hummingbird’s wing, it flicked up and down on the hills of stream created by the rocks below. The current turned flat and fast, shooting the leaf forward into a slow curve. Trout eyed it from below, almost surfacing to sniff at it, before turning rapidly under the shadow cast by the outcropping above the turn.
Soft swing into the wide bend done, the leaf bobbed on the brisk paced water. Rocks loomed above it on either side; they were sleek, covered by wet black moss. The stream hit the rocks, shooting sprays of small droplets downstream. As the leaf passed the rocks a shining drop, indistinguishable from any other, fell into the leaf’s upward reaching veins. Taking no notice, the leaf continued to beat its wing down the current, seemingly unaware of the sparkling stowaway. The stowaway sparkled, glinting softly and sharply, bobbing, throwing flecks of the sun’s light in every direction like a disco ball.
Again, the brown leaf shot out into slow water, its stowaway glinting mischievously, happy to be lucky. In this new section of stream, the leaf lost its drive. It had reached, an ephemeral pond, a beaver dam, and drifted listlessly on its surface. The pond was almost still, dust collecting in the thin sheen on top, dulling the water’s natural sparkle. And with the water’s glint muted, the drop, the stowaway sparkled stronger, another difference made between itself and the ambivalence of all the stream’s drops. The leaf drifted, dozed off, pushing its water through the dust-clogged water.
Dusk came in and clouds across the big sky were stained light pastels of orange, pink, and purple. The dust on the temporary reservoir kept the water still quiet and slow. The million tiny particles carpeted over the water, blindfolding the million eyes eager to reflect the tender colors they knew were beyond the film. The stowaway reveled in its independence and innovation; it did as all drops would and bent the big sky onto its fishbowl surface. Still unaware of the comfortable drop, resting in the soft bowl of its veins, the leaf drifted purposelessly towards the dam.
The pastel clouds faded, replaced by bright winking stars that flecked the deep navy sky; the contrast of the tiny white flecks made the sky into reminders of pinstripe suits. And the drop winked back at every star, again letting the flat photo of the sky drape itself over its infinite curves. The leaf, ever unaware, had almost reached the dam.
The sun now peaked up over the eastern edge of the earth. Yet the orange that spread across the sky this time was one unique to the sunrise. It was majestic, and had a crisp quality to it that somehow made the awakened bird’s chirps somehow seem comfortably unsurprising. The birds chirped, the orange bled, the dust blurred, the drop glinted, and the leave drifted softly, finally, into the dam.
So the leave rested, collecting dust as the sun traveled. The day grew hot; the sun beat down, pale and merciless, making the air feel thick. The white orb never blinked, staring the earth down until it reached the west horizon, where, contest won, it blinked. As the sun made its journey, the lucky drop attempted to do as it had and reflect the ever-changing canvas of sky above. At first it worked, the drop glinting proudly, content with itself and its most recent reflection. Yet alone, as the isolated stowaway on the leaf, the drop could not match the sun’s relentless attack. The heat pounded on the drop, and the fishbowl reflection gave in. It drifted apart, slowly ceding to the sun, the million tiny parts of one of million identical parts floating into the sky, becoming a part of the beauty it had strived to reproduce as a stowaway.
And so the sun slipped below the horizon again, its blink revealing deep navy eyelids flecked with sparkles of silver. The dust muted and blurred. The leaf rested against the dam and felt it all. The sun’s rays beat down, blinked, and shot down again, drying the leaf. Now it was brittle and thin; the skin stretched between the veins bleached to khaki, the veins darker with the contrast. The khaki was taught. Some of the dried edges had eroded onto the ephemeral pond below, indistinguishable from the dust it once drifted above. The transformation was imperceptibly slow, yet relentlessly consistent; the tiny brittle flakes fell to become the dust below as jagged slabs of an iceberg crash down from land to melt and become sea. Now only the veins remained, the skeleton proof of the leaf. The sun’s rays stared, blinked, stared. And the skeleton was gone. Dust to dust. And the dam broke. And the dust disappeared.
“Hey that shit was actually interesting, I’ve struggled with writing hella much, I can’t reread my shit cause I’ll just see how much of my personal interpretation is behind my words and all that shit that’s never gonna get across to the reader. And that sucks so I try and change it but with that mindset every word choice seems so significant to filter from myself. So it ends up taking hella long, then I get super frustrated and the whole thing blows up in my face. And it especially sucks doing it for school cause unless I’m gonna spend weeks and weeks on a story or essay or something with absolute and complete dedication I’m gonna end up turning something in I don’t like. And fuck that cause I could’ve just busted out some of that private school shit I got in me and bullshitted the entire assignment and got a good grade, instead of having to turn in some half complete thing that I’m much more emotionally attached to.”
“Yeah that sucks. But to be honest I dunno what the fuck you’re talking about, I think you and that fool who just did the presentation are both just pulling shit out of your asses. You sound lightweight smart though, I’ll give you that.”
“Holy shit dude I’m not trying to fucking impress you or anything. I don’t care enough to pull anything out of my ass. I’m just trying to have an interesting honest conversation cause that fool had some really insightful shit to say and I was just trying to talk about it.”
“I dunno, I’m sorry but I think you’re just being a basehead dude, cause right now you’re just saying random fancy words that sound good.”
“You’re so fucking frustrating something. Do you really think I care about sounding good to you right now? After the shit we just heard? This doesn’t have anything to do with my ego I’m just trying to be real with you right now, cause I know you’re smart, you can stick with this, you just gotta open your mind. I guarantee this shit will help you live your life cause if you just relaxed a little fucking bit and thought about things for yourself, being aware of the uniqueness of your perception as well as recognizing all those societal cultural assumptions you have. I know it’s hard, probably impossible to ever filter everything from yourself completely cause all that shit is ingrained super deep, but you gotta try son. It’ll help, I swear.”
“… I still think that guy was a fucking stoner”
“Holy shit you’re fucking ridiculous dude, I can’t even believe you sometimes. I swear to you, that guy had some shit to say.”
“No, he was just a fucking basehead”
“No, your dumbass never listens, stop being retarded, close your eyes, take a deep breath, and open your goddamn mind.”
“Dude, who the fuck do you think you are? Buddha? Telling me to go meditate and shit. Shut up faggot.”
“Alright alright, my bad I get into things like that sometimes. I’m not trying to force anything onto you man, or patronize you or anything, just trying to push it you know? Cause sometimes our conversations are like ‘so uhh, where do you guys wanna go?’ And then we go to sev-lev or some shit, and honestly, fuck that; that shit’s boring as fuck.”
“Faggot.”
“… Fsho dude.”
“Naw I’m sorry I’m sorry, I just wanna get this night started, I hope something’s bouta crack tonight.”
“Fucking faggot.”
“Faggot.”
“I hate you. But yeah I feel you, enough’s enough. Let’s just go get some alcohol and work our night out from there.”
“Alright cool none of this philosophy bullshit. I talked Rex, he’s at his house, we’ll swoop him. He just got his fake this week so he’s trying to do it big tonight”
“That sounds excellent man. Have you talked to any females?”
“Naw. You wanna do that cause you’re in shotgun?”
“I’m on it son, bouta text Lauren, cute ass girl.
”Oh fsho I’m down, I haven’t kicked it with that girl in hot a second.”