The Ride is Life

Emmet woke up on a chilly Saturday morning before everyone else in the house. He had been waiting in anticipation, much like a child with a new toy in its box, to try out some new riding gear that had been delivered the day before. With giddiness generally not present in his day to day life, he slid the gear over his thermal underwear and went to the garage to get his bike.

As he pushed the bike down the driveway towards the road, Emmet marveled at his breath that hung in the air after each exhale. It reminded him of his youth when he would wake up very early to go sledding after a nocturnal snowfall. A pulse of nostalgia pulsed through his body. More places he shall never be in again to add to a melancholy mental list he makes in moments of solitude.

He caught a glimpse of his neighbor, Kurt, pushing his bike towards the road. This could be fun, he thought, riding his bike with a friend like when he was a kid.

He shout out to Kurt, “Hey, buddy! How many you putting in today?”

“Ahh, a short one. Kid’s got gymnastics this morning and it’s my turn to take her. About 15-20” Kurt answered.

“I am stoked to try out this new bib, that’s perfect. Mind if I ride along?” Emmet asked.

“Don’t mind at all! The more the merrier. Besides, we’ve been talking about doing this for years”

The first two miles passed in chilly silence as the two men warmed up. Emmet was in front. Kurt sped up to ride next to him.

“Great to be on the road, isn’t it?” Kurt asked.

“The best” Emmet answered earnestly.

“It does get me thinking about things” Kurt interjected.

“Sure does” Emmet answered, coincidentally having been jarred from deep thought himself.

“Emmet, you ever think about ending it?” Kurt asked.

“What do you mean?” Kurt asked, knowing full well what his neighbor meant.

“You know, look, I loved that Anthony Bourdain guy. That hit hard. He had life by the balls. He was doing what he loved, saw the world, was extremely talented and was loved by millions, yet…” Kurt trailed off.

“That took me by surprise too. But, I think if that’s in you, it’s in you. Doesn’t matter what your circumstances are. It’s like a bad wiring or something.”

“Yeah, a bad wiring” Kurt repeated, more so to himself with the words echoing in his head.

“To answer your question though, no. It’s never crossed my mind. You wanna tell me something, Kurt?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I think I have a touch of that bad wiring. Sometimes thoughts get stuck in my head, like on a loop. ‘It’s all gonna end anyway, like, nothing we do means anything. Nothing lasts. We are absolutely alone’” Kurt said, looking straight forward.

“There may be some truth to those things, but, I just say to that, enjoy the ride. Just like now, us on these bikes. We are literally going nowhere but I am loving the shit out of it” Emmet answered, “such as life” he added with a chuckle.

They rode in silence for a little while, Kurt digesting this delicious analogy from Emmet.

“So going home is death! The ride is life!” Kurt blurted out so suddenly it startled Emmet.

Emmet decided to play along, “Then we are Hindus because to them, death is birth, so going home will result in a whole new life”

“Jesus Emmet, I didn’t know you were this deep. That’s profound, brother.”

Emmet surprised himself, as well.

“Thank you for the ear, Emmet. I needed this; you have no idea how much. And please, let’s keep this chit-chat between us. Not even the missus. This kind of talk gets people looking at you weird or with pity or something” Kurt said.

“You got it” Emmet said. He meant it.

They rode on. For the remaining miles, Kurt pondered the new life he could have upon arriving to his home. It gave him hope.

They arrived to their street and before getting within eyeshot of their houses Kurt broke hard and Emmet followed suit. Kurt got off his bike and urged Emmet to do so as well. “Man, again, you don’t know how much I needed this. Let’s hug it out. Please?”

The two embraced. Kurt was careful to not let Emmet see the hot tears that rolled down his cheeks. “Seriously, anytime man” Emmet responded. He meant it.

They both jumped back on their bikes and rode to their respective driveways. They hoped off, gave one more good-bye wave and pushed their bikes to their garages. It was still very early and both families were still fast asleep in the warm embrace of their homes.

Kurt immediately went to the chin up bar he had installed on the wall. He looked up at the crude noose, haphazardly made of belts that he had put up before the ride. With more tears, he undid the noose and immediately threw the belts in the trash, handling them as if they were covered in disgusting slime.

He took off his riding gear and put his pajamas back on and slid into bed. His whispered to his wife, “I love you”

She, still half asleep, asked, “How was your little bike ride, hun?”

With more tears and a smile he answered, “Life changing”

A Most Unfortunate View

Alan had just moved into an eight story apartment in a new development on the outskirts of town. He was attracted to its proximity to the major highway on ramp that led him to his job, thirty miles away. It also had a lower price given its distance from downtown. What really closed the deal for Alan was the view.

From the laundry room window, he could see the skyline of downtown in the distance, off to the left. Situated right in front was a legally protected swath of woods. It measured around half of a mile in length and maybe a hundred yards in depth. A little stream ran through the middle so it was teeming with life. On the other side of the woods was a wall that delineated his middle class bubble from the outside world.

Immediately on the other side of the barrier was a trailer park, surrounded by a fence that time and a lack of funds had eroded. Beyond that was farmland as vast as the sea. Due to the highest trees in the wooded area, these features did not compose Alan’s view. These trees were seated on a slight incline that ran through the middle of the woods. This gave the impression they were a lot deeper than they were, as if they went on forever. Alan’s universe, from inside his apartment was the far off city and these immediate woods.

Alan smoked cigarettes in the laundry room. In the morning, the woods were green, lush and full of life. At night, they were black, eerie, yet still full of life. The distance from his 8^th floor window gave him the bravery to stare at length into the woods for he knew that he wouldn’t even have the courage to stand at the edge by himself at night.

One night, while smoking, something in the blackness of the woods caught his eye. An isolated light would dance, momentarily, before going out only to reappear a few yards over in any direction. At first, Alan thought nothing of it but it had gone on long enough for Alan to chain smoke two cigarettes.

Alan called the guards at the gate. He fathomed there might be some kids playing with matches in the woods. The guards assured him they’d look into it and wished him a good night. His was pleased with his citizenry and decided to go to bed.

A half hour into slumber, the urge to urinate aroused him from bed. He decided he’d sneak another cigarette before going back to sleep. He saw a flashlight at the edge of the woods. It must be the guards, he thought. He saw the strange lights dance closer and closer to where the guards were. He almost called out to him but he remembered he was paying a premium to live far away from people who shout from windows.

The next morning, as Alan drove towards the gate, a group of police cars caught his attention. As he rolled by, he slowed to a stop and asked what was happening. He was told that one after another the guards went to investigate possible arson in the woods and all three failed to return. A chill rushed through Alan’s body. He didn’t even think to mention it was he who called it in.

At work, Alan could only think of the dancing lights. Wherever there was black, he saw them. Before turning on his computer, he saw them in the screen of his monitor. When going to the bathroom, he saw them in the moment of darkness before the automatic lights turned on. He went to smoke in the dark warehouse and he saw them at the other end. Those were moments of sheer terror before he found the light switch and made then go away.

Alan was jumpy all day. He decided he was not being productive so he shut down his computer and headed for home. He told his boss he was not feeling well and that he’d tie up some loose ends from his laptop. Given Alan was an excellent employee, his boss wished him well and told him he’d see him tomorrow.

When Alan pulled up to the gate, he pressed the remote opener but nothing happened. A guard came out from the booth and manually opened the gate. He was informed there had been no power since the morning. Having been on edge all day, this information made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Alan parked his car in his designated spot and walked towards his building. The street lights in the parking lot were off so it was exceptionally dark. There wasn’t an iota wind, yet the woods sounded as if they were being blown around by a storm. As he approached his building and the woods became visible, he was shocked that not a single leaf stirred.

Alan was forced to take the stairs. As the fire door slammed behind him, he found himself in complete blackness. He waved his arms around to activate the motion sensors of the emergency lights and nothing happened. Fear paralyzed Alan. He turned to open the fire door with the intention of running from the building. He pushed on the bar and nothing happened. He was trapped.

He ran to the first floor in the dark. He pushed on the door. Nothing. It, too, didn’t open. He looked down from where he came. Tears filled his eyes when he saw the dancing lights. He wiped the tears away and ran to the second floor. The door wouldn’t budge. Although he didn’t feel anything, it sounded as if there were a strong wind blowing in the staircase. He looked back, the lights were already halfway between him and the first floor. He cried out in horror. He ran up the stairs in the dark, tripping over his heavy, clumsy feet. The lights continued pursuing him.

He reckoned he was around his floor and with all the faith he could muster he pushed on the door. It opened. He was, in fact, on his floor. The last dwindling day light crept in through a window at the end of the hall. All of the doors to all of the apartments were wide open, including his own. The windows of all the apartments were open as well and curtains were being sucked out and blown around by a wind that could not be felt.

Alan ran into his apartment and slammed the door. He turned the deadbolt and ran to the laundry room. Wind was pounding on his door. Alan squatted down in the darkness and hugged his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. With a crash his door flew open. The dead bolt was ripped right out of the jam.

The lights were dancing in his doorway and in those of his neighbors. He couldn’t move. A thousand memories flooded him at once, yet instead of being overloaded by the passing images he was able to distinguish each one individually and give each one a little attention, all at the speed of light. He came to the disappointing conclusion that this was it. It was all for naught, his life, so he thought he’d take the matter into his own hands.

His whole life he did the right thing; studied, worked hard and deprived himself of many pleasures and it was going to end like this. The lights danced towards him and with a primal scream, he threw himself through the window.

He braced for impact but after a few moments, re realized he was not falling. He opened his eyes. He was suspended in the air. He looked towards the woods and they were alive with the dancing lights. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of them, coming and going with unnatural spontaneity.

He felt himself being pulled towards the woods. He wept in defeat. As he was gently landed in the middle of the woods all went black. The dancing lights disappeared at once. The sound of wind immediately stopped. All the lights of the complex came back on. The three night guards from the night before emerged from the woods, naked and screaming. Alan was never seen again.

One More Life

A crowd gathered around the fallen motorcyclist. Rumors and conjecture of what had happened flowed through the crowd like a current of electricity. The people furthest from the injured man were transmitting the most fantastic stories while those closest were most concerned with the actual well being of the man. The screech of sirens filled the air as the ambulance made its way towards the scene.
“Please make way for the paramedics” a deep voice shouted. The people in the back of the crowd were too busy gossiping about the incident to hear the command.
“Make way for the paramedics, now!” the voice shouted, this time even more forceful. There was no response from the back of the crowd.
The chief paramedic, whose disdain for humanity has grown and festered inside of him from two decades on the job, reached for his .380 auto sidearm he carried in his waist band. He aimed it at the sky and pulled the trigger three times.
A few people in the back looked back to see what was making it difficult to hear the fabricated story of what happened by the person beside them. One had the audacity to say “What´s the big idea?”
The paramedic went numb. A single thought went through his mind. Why should I help this victim for him to recover and become one of these people in the back of another crowd around another tragedy. He thought of the drunk drivers he fixed up only to see them again, in another accidents, drunk. He thought of the gang bangers that he patched up only to find them another time with another bullet lodged in them. He thought of the pedophile he saved after having being lynched by furious neighbors only to read about him being caught red handed destroying another young life.
He felt invisible. He felt powerless. He felt insignificant.
He raised the tiny pistol to his temple. He shook his head. Not this way, he thought. He then raised to pistol towards the man who questioned what he was doing. NO, he thought. He tucked the pistol back into his waistband. Not yet.
He decided to do what he knew how to do. He pushed through the crowed and saved another worthless life.

110% in 3 years Pt. II (Final)

(note from the author: Please read PT. I first     https://ryanimpink.wordpress.com/2014/01/09/110-in-3-years-pt-i/  )

 

Rick took on the role as father as if he were a soldier in a war for his legacy. He knew he was a loser. He didn’t need the constant reminders, though he received them. One day during a mild argument about a questionable comment left on a photo posted on the internet, Megan told Rick that he was a piece of shit in all aspects of life except one. She told him he was a great father. Both statements were true. Rick was okay with that.

 

The months dragged on and Rick was there in Laney’s life. He was devouring parenting books as fast as he could and applying what he learned. He was extra careful to not upset Megan as to not cause fights because he read that could affect the development of his new found love and reason for being. Though they still lived separately, the spent a lot of time together. Rick needed this time to be around Laney but not for his sake but for hers. He knew, from what he read, the importance the role of a father plays in the first years of life.

 

Holidays passed, birthdays passed and logically the years passed. Laney was an early developer and stared uttering her first words around 14 months. She was speaking sentences by two and a half years. By three years she was able to carry out eerily adult like conversations.

 

One day when Rick and Laney were at the park, Laney on a swing with Rick pushing she said “Daddy, you aren’t going to be around much longer are you?”

 

Rick almost choked on his gum. “Why are you asking that?”

 

Laney paused then responded “You didn’t say no Daddy” another pause “Mommy fights you a lot. I know you don’t like it”

 

Rick was at a complete loss for words. She was onto to his plan. Three years. It was time to go. He gave more of himself than he thought possible because he read that the personality of a child is practically solidified at around three years old. He thought if he put in his solid three years of stellar fatherhood, he would set Laney up for life. He could not take it anymore. The ridicule that Megan doled out. She would belittle him in front of others. Worse, in front of Laney. But how could Laney have sensed that this was coming?

 

His eyes started welling up. “Do you trust Daddy?”

 

“Of course, Daddy”

 

“Then know that Daddy will always be close”

 

“Okay Daddy”

 

Later that night alone in his apartment Rick knew that he had to put Plan B in action. He went to his closet and found the egg shaped ball of aluminum foil and carefully opened it up exposing two gelatin capsules full of white powder. With tears thin his eyes he poured himself a glass of Teacher’s whiskey and quickly washed the capsules down. As warmth turned to coolness turned to numbness turned to darkness he whispered “Trust Daddy Laney”

Man on a ledge

 

 

 

“I`m so tired” Larry moaned.

“That’s odd” Jan said lazily.

“Why’s that?” Larry asked.

“Because you don’t do anything” she answered not even having the energy to lift her eyes off the tips of her fingernails.

“I do plenty!” he said, slightly peeved.

“Like what?” she yawned.

Larry started to open his mouth to speak but not a thought came to his head. He closed his mouth again. He really didn’t do anything. He never had. He was even too lazy to breast feed when he was an infant and here he was, 35 years old, no job, renting a tiny apartment paid for by the government and without a hobby.

“I’m waiting” Jan said unable to hide the boredom in her voice.

Larry felt a slight panic in his chest. Up to this point he had never evaluated his life, not even for a moment. He was closer to animal than to human in the survivalist way he conducted his life. Food, shelter, sleep, television. Those were the only necessities he required. He couldn’t believe what he was feeling. He couldn`t believe he was feeling. When you are accustomed to leading a life as profound a loser as Larry, you don’t feel much. That is the only way to move forward in these circumstances.

“Just wait right here” Larry said to Jan.

“Ok” Jan almost whispered without an ounce of curiosity as to where Larry was going.

Larry undid the four locks of his third floor apartment. He made his way to the staircase. He took a deep breath before opening the heavy metal door. He made his way up the six flights of stairs that led to the tenth floor. At the ninth floor, he noticed that the light was burned out and he walked the rest of the way in complete darkness. When he reached the door that gives access to the roof he paused. He pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket. As he lit his cigarette in the dark he marveled at the pale illumination the lighter gave off.  He took a long drag of the cigarette and opened the door.

The light was blinding because of the darkness he had just spent the last few moments in. The air was so warm that the wind was hot. It felt like the exhaust of a tractor trailer being blown on his face. He stood there just feeling the hot wind and letting his cigarette burn down.  He did this for so long a time that the cigarette had burned down to the filter and reached his fingers. The pain felt so good to Larry at that moment.

He made his way to the ledge and looked down.  He couldn’t help but feel like a failure. Everybody who had come into contact with him had been let down at some point. He stepped up onto the waist high wall. He felt unbalanced on the wall but he was strangely unafraid. Then he heard a scratching in the gravel that covered the rooftop. It was the stray cat that hangs around the building and whom Larry would give food on a daily basis. It too jumped up on the wall. It started to rub its head on Larry`s head.

Larry bent over to pick up the cat and he immediately burst into tears. This sudden eruption of emotion was just what it took to topple his already precarious balance.  In thirty five years Larry had avoiding killing anything. That day he succeeded in killing two.

Fly Birdie

As I sit up on a perch on the ledge of the 50^th floor, I look down on the ants.

Not the kind of ants that carry their dead on their backs,

but the kind of ants that display their dead in their best suits over home cooked food and alcoholic beverages.

I sat there looking towards the end (where the ants are walking) and towards where the beginning was set (where the real birds fly and beyond) and I thought “Was this trip worth it?”

Questions like “Can I cash my ticket in now, get a refund and start all over again?” cross my mind.

Then I realized, to fly, one just has to let the updrafts push underneath their wings bringing them to dizzying highs and dangerous lows.

So I convinced myself that if I flapped my wings and tried to fly it would be like thirty plus years taking place in a matter of seconds.

Ground = death. Death = ground.

What is the difference if I wait for these 30 plus years to transpire or if I MAKE THEM HAPPEN IN SECONDS?!

(That day, my seed went unplanted.)

Protect ya neck

“ALL I want is five more minutes” he pleaded.

He was not granted these five minutes.

One might ask why he wasn’t granted these five minutes.

He’s a nice guy. Cordial to strangers. Never killed anybody,

intentionally. Why couldn’t he have

the five minutes he asked for?

Because those five little minutes would have killed him

for he was hanging from a rope…

around his fucking neck!