Silent Night

Riding home from a night of drinking had always been a pleasurable pastime. In fact for Scott it was more fun than the earlier part of such nights.

            He was getting loud and causing a ruckus, just really enjoying his simple machine to the fullest extent of its capability. This particular night was no exception, hollering nonsense like a homeless crack head he played the part.

            Riding down 10^th street towards the train and on towards home was a regular enough ride, the pretty houses stop at Broadway. Beyond Broadway began what would be considered the slums if their were any such in the city. It is not like they were real slums you may see in the third world, just as his therapist would say it is a place of “lower socio-economic status.”

            Scott grew up in a privileged family in the suburbs, a short train ride away. His father a Banker and mother a homemaker although she loathed the title. It was something that the modern era has deemed improper or in some crowds downright misogynistic.

            The night was lovely and crisp and Scott was enjoying his usual nonsensical drunken poetry at the top of his lungs. The time was just past two in the morning, damn how he hated the early bar closure in this city.

            Taking the sidewalk on the bigger streets a man of similar sobriety is seen on the sidewalk. Passing him nearly grazes the man, they each great each other in loud drunken fashion.

            Getting off the main road an taking a smaller side road the yelling nonsense continues. A woman from her porch yells but makes no more attempt to mute his creative gibberish. There is a traffic light ahead with multiple cars blazing down the street, the first cars seen since he left the bar.

            Stopping at the light and pressing the “walk” button he waited. A tabby cat was across the street watching the intersection in a calm protective manner. The light eventually turned red and only one truck waited perpendicular to his own course. Proceeding clumsily through the intersection he swerves. On his right he hears the waiting car rev its engine intimidating him.

            Hearing the car race off the line and feeling only pain he seems to fly. Landing ten feet further into the intersection the truck is now stopped. Not being able to see only hearing a man get out of the vehicle. The man rummages through his jacket and bag taking Scott’s wallet full of cash meant for the bar. The man says in a thick accent “Fuck you and you family!”

             Hearing the man and his truck leave he feels safe, legs both surely broken he is crippled lying in the intersection battered and bloodied.

The stray cat comes by to lick his wounds and purrs softly, no one else around the night is silent.

Habitual Technology

            The other day I was waiting for the bus to Boulder. Usually this bus is packed and there will be a long line waiting for the bus by the time I get to the station. This day was no exception.

            Having to wait for the bus to put my bike on before getting in line, I waited facing the enormous line.  90% of the 30 people or so where staring at their cell phones, tablets, etc. for the 10 min or more that we all waited for the bus. What impacts are these screens having on us?

            Being of the first generation to experience cell phone use and “tablets” as well as remembering the good times without them. I feel we have a unique perspective on the mastery of the public by the all powerful touch screen.

            Something that has never been experienced before our generation is now felt by almost everyone. People spend more and more time staring at screens and interacting with them. In the past we would interact with real live people. When I feel uncomfortable or bored in a situation I take out my six year old cell phone and I check the time without really perceiving the time. It is just a distraction for myself, a comfort for the awkward moments.  What does this do for our social skills?

            Like any drug we use our devices and social media outputs as a crutch. Like a drug we become to depend upon it and begin to lack in certain areas of our life because of it. When feeling uncomfortable or awkward we should really be talking to the stranger next to us. Grow some skin and make a move.

            Our devices are trapping us in addiction and causing a lack of social skills. Can you imagine the differences of a child born today and growing up in this society of comfort and instant gratification? How will this child be different from one born only a hundred years ago?

            The real question is how do you feel about this? Is our technology going to save us? Or are we falling into a continual trap of apps and talking with our thumbs?

Knock at the Door

Lying alone in an unfurnished apartment. The clock ticks on the wall, tick tick tick tick. The loneliness  is unbearable.

As I walk into the kitchen for a glass of water I hear foot steps at the door. Skipping to the people to see a new face but there is none. A door is heard slamming down the hall but nothing can be seen.

Back to the room, I say “room” because there is only one in my small studio apartment in the city. I lay on the freshly vacuumed carpet, next to my drawings and journal and I stare at the textured ceiling, faintly I can hear two people making love. Quietly and infrequent, I here the grand finale. Finally some quiet.

Waking up to the sound of knocking I hurry to the peep whole. I can see someone fleeing down the hallway just in the corner of my view. Opening the door to step out but the chain lock is on and slows me down. I step out and can no longer see the stranger.

I resume my position holding down the floor. I stare at the ceiling and imagine that my powerful gaze is the only thing supporting the roof and the ceiling above me. This power I have come to develop over the last three days. Waiting for furniture to arrive from the old place could take up to a week.

Being in a new town was bad enough but now being in an entirely different city was even worse. Not knowing(or not wanting to know) anyone can become very lonesome. But not lonesome enough to pursue a relationship, even a friendly neighbor kind of relationship. The kind of neighbor that gets the mail and waters the plants when the other is on vacation. This seems like a simple enough relationship that it would seem manageable, but not for me.

Another knock wakes me from my thoughts. Hurrying to the door this time I see and hear a door slam across the hall and down one. 

Walking  quietly, the short distance to the neighbors door I here inaudible voices coming from behind the door. Quietly listening as I press myself against the wall near their door. I try to control my breathing to remain undetected. I can make out slight laughter in conversation. I assume they are laughing about me. I hear a door open down the hall and sprint back to my room.

I wait watching as the intruder walks past my doorway and on down the hallway. I wait another minute and return to the neighbors door, quietly and undetected. I am close enough I can here the voices again. Thinking about what to do next I knock on the door. Trying to sound as angry as possible in my knocking a perfect Ostinato reminding me of the Omen of Spring by Stravinsky. My abrupt knocking resounding like the percussive strikes of the stringed instrument. The neighbors replying in a woodwind giggle and conversation lowered.

I knock and knock. No answer to the door. Infuriated I open the door with a slam!

No one in sight. I search through the house, this was the much larger two bedroom model. Looking through each room, each closet, and every  space in between there was no one and nothing in the apartment. It was even more empty than my own yet unfurnished apartment. Feeling a strange sense of urgency I run out of the apartment leaving the door ajar. I make it to my studio, slamming the door, my apartment, my safe haven, my refuge.

I resume my roll holding the ceiling in place while keeping the flooring properly secured. I think about how nice it will look with furniture in it, how comfortable it will be, where it will be arranged.

I awaken to the sound of the clock: tick, tick, tick… there is a knock at the door. Immediately I run to the peep hole and the sight of the neighbors door slamming… across the hall and one door down.

Brand New

Thought I needed a space to write and maybe someone will read it.