The Way Things Were/Are

The Way Things Were/Are

A.T. Buesching

We clutched the corners of our desks with a vice-like zeal, and finally watched that spastic hand take the plunge from atop the peak. It was as though everyone in class were on the same ride, as arms flew up and gleeful cheers broke the lights.

The walk home with friends had a fervor that seemed to shake the road ahead of us. The sun had powdered the parched earth. We wanted to quench the dust and bright brown quills with celebratory "hydrotechnics". We could tell from the oddly-shaped balloon we found in the gutter, that we were not the only ones with that in mind.

We stopped at the little store that belonged to a mother of classmate - a pit-stop to replace the sweat and savor the imitation mistral. We cared only for the featured creamy ingots and fruity tonic cans that sat front and center. Our pockets jingled no more, and a blast of heat and jealous jeers from a yellow shuttle welcomed us back to the streets.

The cars that passed us on the street became noticeably more lavish as we neared the Bank. A jutting spire with windows like the eyes of a fly, and workers that dressed like they were all the president. I dreamed - like my friends all did - of growing up and working somewhere as grand as that.

The pack slowly split as the single sidewalk began to form a web in the crayon box rows of homes. One at a time, breaking off and waving, "See ya later!" until I alone strode home for the summer. Never knowing, but always believing, that the following year would be the same as the one before it.

I sit near cross-eyed at my desk, waiting for the stubborn nine to regress on the monitor that swapped a twenty in my eye for a forty. My contract now expired, I collect my boxes and final payment before lighting the button marked with the star to guide me home.

My belongings and I are soaked to the soul by a steady rain. As I walk to my car, I catch a glimpse of a condom stuck in a storm drain. I laugh for a moment, and think back, wondering why that's funny to me.

I stop to pick up a few things from a small store along the way. A heater sucker punches me when I open the door, I tell it "Thanks". Eggs, milk, cheese, limes, rum. All for tomorrow. The young lady at the register is very pretty, much prettier than I remember her being. As she bags, she asks me where she knows me from. I shrug and wish her a good evening.

Stuck at a red, I glance over and see those windows lined with crafts and a florescent sign reading "SEE YOU IN SEPTEMBER..." near the front door. I wonder, and am then shocked at how many years it's been. Not many.

I park, unlock and relock the door, and make a bowl of noodles and some phone calls. My savings are there, but they aren't growing. Once fed, bathed, and bored of the same news report as the night before, I retire to a bed with one side sunken in. I slowly drift off, not comforted by a warm touch or promise of tomorrow, but half an Ambien.