Really?

Really?



Reality – is it something we try to escape from, or is it something that God wants us right in the middle of? Maybe we’re supposed to be a part of reality, but not take it so seriously? Perhaps we’re supposed to be like a kid in little league who’s at bat in the bottom of the ninth with the game on the line, it’s like the kid is aware that this is a big deal, but all he really cares about is getting that package of Fun Dip after the game? What is reality? There seems to be the tangible reality, that the dimension we live in is a paradox of horror and beauty. There is the unknown reality of time and space that we know nothing about such as other worlds, lifeforms, planes of existence, and the idea of God. By thinking these thoughts are we trying to escape reality, by trying to understand or control it? Is pain the violent rejection of reality? Pain being that feeling like when your stomach drops as our dad drives fast over a hill that suddenly descends like a free fall, or the queasiness when we agonize over loss. Memories of experiences, do they define reality?

He looks at the back of his manager’s head as it moves back and forth in sporadic off beat movements while reciting the words to some really bad calypso song. The young account executive stares out the window of the passing landscape and for the umpteenth time on this business trip wonders how life got to this point. “This song ROCKS!” his manager continuously screams in his Canadian accent. The exec sits in the back seat mustering every b.s. muscle in his face to feign enjoyment in the midst of this modern day method of torture. The exec gets this quirky feeling when people are doing something that he would be embarrassed to do, he feels as though he must be embarrassed for the person. This feeling mixed with the summer sun beating mercilessly through the tinted glass makes his body temperature rise as if Scarlett Johannson was sitting next to him in the back seat. His self realization is enhanced by the image of the previous night as his manager lounged in the hotel room shamelessly wearing nothing but “tighty whiteys” (a cardinal sin in the age of boxer briefs). Later on in the day his manager sees a girl at a stoplight who prompts him to flail his tongue and make a sucking noise that arouses the bile of the exec’s digestive system to nauseating levels. He imagines his boss cheating on his wife who treats him like he’s a ten year old child, and guesses that he probably never really knew his dad and struggles to find his validation in this world. Then his manager begins his version of motivational speaking by using the analogy of “putting the bat on the ball” that he has driven into the ground since he finished his last management class. Is this worth it? The exec thinks as he tries to remember what he wants to be when he grows up. If this is his lot in life, it REALLY sucks.

The computer screen burns like a fluorescent night light. The images burn into the retina and the lack of blinks causes the heartbroken thrill-seeker’s eyeballs to scream and perpetually water. The back of his throat is dry because his mouth is stuck open in what is a mixture of awe and disgust. As the hours pass these seemingly inhuman movie clips invoke a longing passion, a necessary anesthetic and a putrid feeling through his abdomen. This emotional mixture culminates with the climax of the experience, leaving him drained physically, emotionally, spiritually and finally reduced to dry heaving. His eyes sting and that feeling in his stomach spreads up through the diaphragm into the chest cavity as if making a bee-line straight for the heart. The worst part is that he wasn’t able to recreate her, she is still gone and now all he can think about are the other women that have come and gone. He gathers his stuff together to leave work, the office closed four and a half hours ago. “This I will never do again, it is killing me, I feel awful,” he tells himself as he picks up the 1,000 pound phone to begin the reconciliation process. To escape from her this way is REALLY killing his soul.

The ice cream has a fizz to it and becomes a glass of frothy delight as the child mixes it with his spoon then gulps through the straw. Sitting in his grandmother’s lap, the nighttime humidity is almost as sticky as his hands covered in Coca-Cola and Mayfield vanilla ice cream. Lightning bugs swarm creating a light show on top of the chorus of crickets and June bugs as his grandmother hums. She squeezes the child only to have him whine and wiggle loose in order to finish the treat that is the pinnacle of his weekend at Nanny and Gaddie’s house. The Coke float will stick with him long after his little hands are washed and he is tucked and prayed into bed. These are REALLY good times.


Creamy peanut butter and blackberry jelly mixed together in a bowl, two slices of white bread ready to be slathered with the blissful combination. The small brother and sister run in and out of the camper as “Grandmama” screams at them to close the door. “Grandaddy” is sitting at the table with a Tab watching the Atlanta Braves on the Superstation, quietly taking in the whole scene with a sense of deep satisfaction that shows in the slight smile on his surprisingly youthful face. Outside the 4th of July festivities are beginning as the light show kicks off to the sounds of screams from the thousands in attendance. The grandparents take the kids outside to sit with their PB&J sandwiches as they enjoy the view of the lights and fireworks display. With the concoction smeared all over their face, the kids soon retreat back into the camper terrified of the fireworks. “Grandaddy” soon scoops both of the “young ‘uns” underneath his wingspan as they sit on the small couch to watch the rest of the Braves game (they lose). The kids drift off to sleep as “Grandmama” cleans up. She and “Grandaddy” both stare at the sleeping kids with so much emotion that they feel as though they will burst. The kids will wake in the morning and kick and scream as “Grandmama” makes them take a shower in the campground bathroom. The rest of the morning is spent eating breakfast and flying a kite with “Grandaddy,” before packing up to head home. The children assume that they will do this every 4th of July, unaware that they will never come back again for the 4th of July celebration at the mountain. They will REALLY miss their “Grandaddy” when he dies years later.

Her face a bright red with tears streaming down the sides of her flushed cheeks. Through uncontrollable sobs she tried to express her mixture of rage and extreme sadness. She pleaded over and over, “how can you do this, why are you doing this to me?” He looks at her with remorse in his heart, but also with a feeling of relief as if two weights have been lifted from each shoulder. Why must we hurt the ones we love? Did he love her for just for the sake of trying to feel loved? Can real love towards someone really exist? Do we REALLY have to love ourselves?

His face has that stunned look, paralyzed by the inevitable conversation. She is too busy, she told herself beforehand that she didn’t want to have a boyfriend before she moved, but somehow he hoped that it would magically work like it does in the movies. Love knows no boundaries right? The time is just not right, that is the REALITY of the situation.

The crowd is hushed. The gathering at the far end of the track oval has just witnessed a breathtaking introduction. As only a handful of competitors have cleared the bar, one lonely figure has bounded over the current height with a monumental clearing. The thing that makes this so unbelievable is that while the rest of the high school athletes have struggled up to this point, the competition has just begu for the long legged baby faced kid. The other “jumpers” are visibly dejected. He goes onto win and set the record for the annual track and field meet. Later that night he sits in his room and reflects. He is exhausted as he slept little the night before and as is custom, had a cleansing vomit session before the day’s competition because of nerves. He is content because of his accomplishment, his athletic ability enables him to fulfill his dream. He dreams of flying and for a few brief moments it is realized as he is suspended in the air. Most of all he has an identity and feels as if he is alive for the single purpose of creating lift with his body. He REALLY loves to jump, what happens once he is grounded?

Deep dark brown eyes full of nothing. The child stares empty into the floor as the pus oozes from his arm. His mother has come and gone once again leaving her four children to be cared for by the missionaries. She must go earn her “living” as she sells herself to the latest customer. Apparent through their sadness is the beauty of the children with their dark skin and straight dark hair. They move timidly afraid to accept the free toys and toothbrushes. With a quick grab the boy takes the army figure and a gradual smile fills his face. His burn wound is cleaned and bandaged and his siblings are also cared for. It is a heartbreaking REALITY that something so beautiful and so young must endure the torture of yearning to be loved by a parent.



The obsessive compulsive accountant frantically moves down the hall, the dark office with its waves of open doors has him feeling a panic deep within the fiber of his being. He immediately clicks the lamp on the desk and plugs in the standing light in the corner. He then whirls around into the empty office of the President, cursing to himself as he realizes that he’s not yet arrived to work, “people never learn to be professional” he thinks to himself. As he storms back down to his office he forcefully slams the two open doors shut and reverses direction back to his office with the same manic swiftness. Back at his desk, he raises his phone receiver preparing to berate the unsuspecting customer service rep. Later in conversation around the “water cooler” he will profess his hatred of homosexuals, while in the same breath confessing his preference for urinating while seated on the toilet. After a day filled with berating telemarketers and paging co-workers to inquire about how to fax, e-mail or fill out a form, he makes for his getaway Toyota Camry, parked in blast off condition and spotlessly awaiting his presence. Once he gets home he slams the door in the face of the Jehovas Witness who come to his door, telling them that they don’t have appointment. Later as he listens to Yanni and eats his dinner, a steak sandwich on a hoagie bun split right down the middle, his wife once again pleads with him to get his blood pressure checked. He is a combination of Ebenezer Scrooge and Bill Murray’s character from “What About Bob.” He is REALLY annoying.

“He’ll kick you” screams the minion of the two hulk like redneck invaders. Minutes ago a group of local ruffians walked in uninvited to the party of the new kid on the block, a mysterious outsider whom all the girls seem to be enamored with. With mouths full of smokeless tobacco and tight clothes covering their massive bodies the two “Goliaths” barge into the house ready to take down “David.” A group of onlookers gather as the assault begins, between commands from the small coward who accompanies them. The two are surprised by the resilience of their prey. A son of a military family, the young defender has had years of martial arts training and this is not the first time he’s had to defend his honor in a new town. He swiftly defeats his attackers in Jackie Chan like fashion and turns on the small accomplice who turns and runs like the true “wuss” that he is. The “outsider’s” legend is solidified and the girls become even more infatuated. A few months later, filled with even more blind hatred, the same two redneck vigilantes beat a homosexual man within an inch of his life and end up in jail. Years later the outsider is still struggling to adapt, the father of a small child, he has learned to cope through drugs and alcohol, and is fighting a different fight to survive. His heart finally gives out because of too much heroin in his system. Growing up can be REAL hard to do.

The cell door slams. 40 pairs of eyes stare emptily at the scared new resident of cell block d. Having just been arrested for drug-possession, and still high from his last hit, the young man warily finds a spot underneath a staircase to put his “bed.” He later plays chess, but passes most of the time sleeping, waking only to watch the Falcons game, wondering if he will ever be able to get out. When he sleeps he has the most vivid and wonderful dreams, when he awakes it is worse than any nightmare he ever imagined. Which one was REAL?

The 800 plus fans move back and forth in a synchronized motion. From the vantage point of the stage the mass of heads moving back and forth resembles waves in the deep sea. The performers call out, the people respond. The energy exchange is intense, the performers give every ounce they have until are on the brink of emotional exhaustion. Backstage they catch their breath and revel in the hero worship. It was a REAL good show, almost too REAL.

His palms are sweaty. As the movie screen twists and turns through the romantic story his heart pounds as his hands have been locked with hers for over an hour now. He dare not move afraid to let go of the chance he’s been given to show his affection for the girl he’s dreamed about night after night. He dare not move because he feels the clamminess of her palms and feels her gripping just as tightly as he is, he can feel her heart beating through the tips of her fingers. As the movie nears its end the a paralyzing terror sets in as he realizes that this utopian moment is about to end. The moment passes and his dream girl becomes a thing of the past. Years later he remembers with childish fondness and grown up sadness just how REALLY innocent things were. He wonders where did the innocence go?


“Ewwww!” Comes the reaction from the young girl when told she will be partaking in communion and consuming the blood and body of Jesus. The innocent response elicits laughter from the pastor and the congregation. The young man laughs, because he knows his faith sometimes becomes like that of the young girl, and he wishes he knew how and what to believe without sacrificing who and what he is. How is he supposed to tell people about the God of his understanding, when there is not that much understanding? So he takes the bread and the wine (grape juice). He continues his volunteer work and tries to let his actions do the talking for him. He gets really confused, but when he sees the smile on someone’s face who needed his help, it REALLY makes sense.

“Ar Star Blazers!!!” The television blares as he settles down for his favorite cartoon. Cartoons are a child’s lifeline, and Star Blazers takes the young space warrior to places in his mind that he always dreamed of. Suddenly, he is interrupted by his father, “son I need you to turn the T.V. off.” The young boy first ignores his father, and then summons his best 10 year old whine in a futile protest. Finally the boy relents, his dad sits down and says, “Your mom has asked me to leave, move out of the house, she wants a divorce, do you know what that means?” The boy looks at his little sister for an answer, but all she does is sit quietly sucking her thumb and sniffling. In an effort to get Star Blazers turned back on, the boy lies, “yes I know what it means.” He finds out what it means later as the cops remove his father after he’s slept on the couch for two weeks. He learns even more of what it means as his dad and his mom’s boyfriend almost kill each other in front of his eyes. He finds out even more as he hears his dad use ugly words to describe his ex-wife. He sees it in the tears of his mom, the anger in his sister. He grows to be just like his dad, a lone survivor, hiding behind a wall of isolation and good deeds. All he wanted to do was watch Star Blazers. It is a REAL cool cartoon.

To spend too much time in between one’s ears seems futile; reality is processed, but does it exist in our mind? Reality can be really good or really bad. In spite of one’s efforts to escape or medicate reality, it has and always will exist. Understanding reality, is like trying to understand change, both seem constant and unpredictable. So reality is experience? Who really knows? Thank God for that right?