Kiss It All Goodbye
The somnolent beggar refused to open his eyes to the slowly brightening sky. He thought the night couldn’t have ended so quickly. He clutched his half-empty bottle of gin while the memory of drinking with his buddies swirled in his intoxicated mind. The light slowly grew and the leaves on the ground rustled. With the exception of a distant hum, the streets remained quiet.
He lay there in the curb while the world spun sickeningly around him. The only thing the beggar could in any way focus on was the ghostly hum, which seemed to be more powerful now than just a moment ago. As the light of the sky poured down on him his eyes only closed more tightly. The warm breeze prickled his icy skin.
The hum reminded him of the noise his ears would make after hearing the thunderous rock concerts he used to attend as a teenager. He went to the concerts to avoid a family who always criticized and belittled him. “Why can’t you have friends like I did when I was young?” his father would protest. His mother, silent and austere, never offered the love or tenderness that other mothers did. The memory rode around in his head like a merry-go-round.
He had friends who came to the concerts with him, friends with whom he shared years of life and long nights of illicit party-crashing, but who after time drifted away until they were just faces in the crowd. His friends were straightforward and self-assured. They made him a better man. Where were they now when he needed them most?
As the memories abated, he quickly became aware of his predicament. Several days had passed since his last shower. His socks were still soaked from rainwater that had seeped into the cracked soles of his shoes. His wallet – nowhere to be found. Dispirited, he curled his body away from the light and attempted to go back to sleep, but the hum wanted his attention.
He pondered the strange noise. It purred and rumbled melodically. It seemed to come from both far above and far below him. How entrancing it was to listen to this hum. The more he listened the more it entranced him. With his eyes still closed, he turned himself on his back and stretched his arms slightly. Somehow the light didn’t seem as intrusive as before. He stopped thinking about his miserable state for a moment and let his mind drift lazily about, contemplating the unusual hum.
At last, something was taking his attention away from his problems the way that booze never could. The hum vibrated warmly, and he felt his tension slowly evaporating. His melancholy, which seemed infinite and all-consuming only minutes ago, began to release its paralyzing grip. In this moment, he felt undeservedly serene. He thought about opening his eyes, but he knew to do so would break this spell, this wonderful meditation.
The beggar yawned. Soon he would have to open his eyes to a new day. Perhaps, he thought in earnest reflection, this will be the day I finally put my past behind me. He forced a bewhiskered grin. Perhaps this will be the day I start getting my life together. He considered the bottle of gin, opened his hand and let it roll away. Emerging inside him was a feeling he hadn't felt in far too long: it was the feeling of hope.
By now, though, the hum annoyed the beggar more than intrigued him, and he decided once and for all that he would open his eyes, but – mindfully.
He briefly saw the headlamps on a small, unpiloted jet plane hurtling toward him, then his life ended.
He lay there in the curb while the world spun sickeningly around him. The only thing the beggar could in any way focus on was the ghostly hum, which seemed to be more powerful now than just a moment ago. As the light of the sky poured down on him his eyes only closed more tightly. The warm breeze prickled his icy skin.
The hum reminded him of the noise his ears would make after hearing the thunderous rock concerts he used to attend as a teenager. He went to the concerts to avoid a family who always criticized and belittled him. “Why can’t you have friends like I did when I was young?” his father would protest. His mother, silent and austere, never offered the love or tenderness that other mothers did. The memory rode around in his head like a merry-go-round.
He had friends who came to the concerts with him, friends with whom he shared years of life and long nights of illicit party-crashing, but who after time drifted away until they were just faces in the crowd. His friends were straightforward and self-assured. They made him a better man. Where were they now when he needed them most?
As the memories abated, he quickly became aware of his predicament. Several days had passed since his last shower. His socks were still soaked from rainwater that had seeped into the cracked soles of his shoes. His wallet – nowhere to be found. Dispirited, he curled his body away from the light and attempted to go back to sleep, but the hum wanted his attention.
He pondered the strange noise. It purred and rumbled melodically. It seemed to come from both far above and far below him. How entrancing it was to listen to this hum. The more he listened the more it entranced him. With his eyes still closed, he turned himself on his back and stretched his arms slightly. Somehow the light didn’t seem as intrusive as before. He stopped thinking about his miserable state for a moment and let his mind drift lazily about, contemplating the unusual hum.
At last, something was taking his attention away from his problems the way that booze never could. The hum vibrated warmly, and he felt his tension slowly evaporating. His melancholy, which seemed infinite and all-consuming only minutes ago, began to release its paralyzing grip. In this moment, he felt undeservedly serene. He thought about opening his eyes, but he knew to do so would break this spell, this wonderful meditation.
The beggar yawned. Soon he would have to open his eyes to a new day. Perhaps, he thought in earnest reflection, this will be the day I finally put my past behind me. He forced a bewhiskered grin. Perhaps this will be the day I start getting my life together. He considered the bottle of gin, opened his hand and let it roll away. Emerging inside him was a feeling he hadn't felt in far too long: it was the feeling of hope.
By now, though, the hum annoyed the beggar more than intrigued him, and he decided once and for all that he would open his eyes, but – mindfully.
He briefly saw the headlamps on a small, unpiloted jet plane hurtling toward him, then his life ended.
posted by Row of Streetlights at 7:47 AM
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