As Time Passes

         My truck was parked at the lakefront. Old, white, with chipped paint and tires too weathered, amid the glorious rays of sun and imaculate grass. Amid tall oaks, whose branches swayed with the wind. The beaten old truck parked amid the perfect morning scene, full of imperfections, like the world itself. Like the people that used it.
         People. Four of them sitting in the bed of the truck with the tail gate permenantly down. Sitting in the bed, doing what teens do. Chatter nervously, flirt, smoke. Me? I was sitting on the broad hood, as broad and white as a newborn's mind. I sat there wearing my earthly tones with my elbows on knees-cheeks in hands posture. I sat there pondering the mysteries of the universe.

         Time passed.

         Sounds of laughter mingled with sounds of wind and sounds of water. The four teens in the back were people I knew. They went to high school during the weeks and hung out on the weekends. We had similarities. They liked my truck, and so did I, and it, combined with the lake front, was a favorite hangout for them. To them, time was infinate. They had no future.
         The wind blew my hair wildly and made it stab my eyes ferociously. It was long by boy standards, short by girl standards. The language of moveing water filled my ears. I closed my eyes and tapped my fingers against my cheek bones. Deep breaths.
         I reached into my pocket and pulled out a silver lighter. The flip-top kind. I opened it. Click. I don't smoke, but I had this one anyway. I closed it. Clack. Whenever I would sit and think, I would play with it. Something to keep my hands occupied, I guess.

         Click-Clack

         Time passed.

         Youth these days is so much the same as before, and yet so different. It is all about the future, always the future, never the present. But these thoughts of the future do not belong to youth, but those who traffic youth. Kids expected to think about collage and careers and such. All those collective minds, reluctantly sounding off to the future, yet none consider the present. Click. I would like to think that I cling to every present moment possible. Time is finite. I have no future. Clack. A dilemma.
         There was laughter from the back. A slight smoke drifted my way when the wind died down. We were supposed to be growing independant, and for that our parents simotaniously loved and hated us. What an awkward stew of emotions. Click. The people in back were not adults. They want to live in the moment, the the rest of the world wants them to live in the future. Youth is so fleeting.

         Clack

         Time passed.

         The girl, Laurie, climbed and scraped over to sit next to me, with all her brightness and pale light, cutting into my negative reverie., putting it to an end for now. She put an arm around my shoulder. It seared my flesh, burning in rapture. She smiled, and I wished she wouldnt have, because she was so beautiful-almost painfully so.
         She casually put some non-descript roll of white paper in her mouth and asked to use my lighter. It was no longer in my hand. I decided to not let her use it. 'What was I thinking about?' she wanted to know. Everything and nothing. She hugged me out of sympathy.
         The wind quieted down. The words of water became more aparant.

         Time passed.

         Ounce, at one of these stupid teenage parties that she has from time to time, Laurie and I slept together. I don't mean sex. It was in the early morning hours. Laurie had had a few. We laid down on a couch as the sun was peaking on the horizon. There were no others around, they all went home to sleep off hangovers for the rest of the day. We lay amongst a skyline of couch cusion and and half empty cans, my arms around her waist, and dozed for a few hours. The only sounds were the slow rhythmic sounds of our coordinated breathing. During those moments, my mind was in a state of blissful neutrality. A state of no-mind prevailed, a concept I often find difficult to grasp. It was great.
         As we sat close on the hood of my large, white, beaten truck, we shared yet another moment. She asked more about my thoughts, and I tried breifly and foolishly to explain them. Eventually talk died down and we sat intimately close, listining to the all knowing language of nature, which filled in where my words failed. Her head was resting on my shoulder, her georgous hair cascading down my chest and arm, which was around her shoulder. This was what is called living in the present.

         Time passed.

         We all parted ways, but Laurie lingered long enough to watch the sun set. She turned to me and smiled. We chatted a while. Finally she asked, "Whats the meaning of life?"          What a question! I started to gather my thoughts for some kind of explaination, only half taking the question seriously, knowing that she had more to convey. She giggled sweetly, leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek and whispered in my ear, "Its not important."

         And there it was.

         She giggled againe, poked me in the stomach and walked away as the sun went down.

         She knew.