King's Castle

When I was in high school, I began to think that I was king of the world. Interestingly, this phenomenon is not at all uncommon. Not to say that this might not occur to you at an earlier age, but the fact of the matter is that as you are given more privileges, you feel that you can do as you please. Of course, there are countless exceptions to this rule, and I am not contending that this is a standard by any means. Now, as you get along in high school, senior year eventually rolls around. By this time, the senior class is king. Top of the social hierarchy. This fact is indisputable. Obviously, what you do with your kingship is your business and the way that you rule your subjects is inherently correlated with that of how much respect you hold among your subjects. But there is always that curveball. That one thing that just completely turns your head. And I’m not referring to some girl, although they too have a similar effect on males. No. What I’m talking about is something entirely different. A little unorthodox to some degree, but for lack of a better phrase, please, my loyal subjects, listen to this proclamation.

First off, don’t be getting the thought into your heads that I am some religious fanatic. I just believe that things do happen for curious reasons. And it isn’t until you take a little look at them do the experiences mean anything at all.

So as I was saying, that one thing that turns your head can be just about anything. It can be small. It can be large. Either way, it holds the same degree of significance in life. Maybe it’s just a little something to be learned about humanity.

Now, my subjects, you may have heard about the two week service project that all seniors partake in. Undoubtedly a fantastic experience. You just go out and learn about society. A chance to walk in someone else’s shoes for two weeks and really figure out how the world works. Ahh, yes. You may ask, what are the means of transportation to the service project? By car of course! Unless you are like me and you sadly do not have car. For the sake of the story, I reveal to you the fact that I had to ride my bike. Clearly, the site was close enough for this to be economically (i.e. how much sleep I conserve) and physically achieved. There was this one hill that was absolutely deadly on your quads. And this was for two weeks! To the site and back! Now, I wasn’t riding in the most fantastic neighborhood. It is predominantly Latino and the poverty isn’t as bad as it could be, but some stuff still goes down from time to time.

My subjects may not know this, but riding bicycles on the sidewalk is actually illegal. You are supposed to be on the street. However, with the crappy condition that the Milwaukee streets are in and with the crazy drivers, it’s significantly safer on the sidewalk. As I was leaving my service site, on my bike, I saw a man walking towards me on the sidewalk. The man was wearing a plaid shirt and had fairly frayed jeans, but his hair looked washed and combed over to his right side. He had a baby carriage that he was using to carry grocery bags filled with stuff and was taking up most of the sidewalk. Enough of the sidewalk that I would have crashed had I continued. My first impression was that he was a homeless guy walking around picking up garbage and putting it into his bags. I cursed at myself because now I had to move over onto the grass and try to jump the curb to the other side of the street. I looked over my shoulder and a car was coming down the street. And, of course, I had to stay where I was or I would have to face the risk of getting hit by a purple minivan. By this time, the guy on the sidewalk had caught up to where I was stuck on the grass. He smiled one of the biggest smiles I had seen in a while and he said to me, “Thank you, brother, for moving over. I would have moved over for you first, but you beat me to it. Bless you and have a good day”. All I could do was force a laugh and mumble, “No problem”.

Now, like I said, I’m not a religious fanatic. But, hey, it feels pretty good to be recognized for doing a good deed, no matter what religion. Then I got to thinking, I was moving over instinctually. He was in my way. I didn’t belong on the sidewalk. Homeless people scare me. A combination of these things forced me to the grass. None of which I can truthfully say I take pride in. I mean, the guy misinterpreted my actions as though I was doing something spectacular when, in fact, I was violating my own moral code. Trust me. I am all for the advancement of all races, genders, etc. I am what you would call a leftie, or, as labeled by the Left, a progressive. I fight societal injustices and stereotypes with every ounce of energy I have within me. I learned that this occurs under one condition. Only when it comes to argumentation and debate amongst my peers. Outside of that, I realized, I was a hypocrite. I reflected on this the entire bike ride home. The twenty minutes it took to get home seemed to take a split second. In retrospect, riding home while reflecting on your moral character is not the safest thing to do in the world. I distinctly remember cutting across a busy street without really looking at all. But, perhaps, this was the head turner that I needed. A little humility never hurt the king. If anything, it emboldened him. In turn, his subjects could look to a king of honor and integrity. The kingdom, now strengthened, could prepare for future attacks outside of the well fortified castle.

Wicker Chair

It’s been so long since I’ve written to you.
My hands have been much too frozen.
Cold and clammy, they can’t hold
My pencil to the blank white paper.

And now I finally have the time
To warm my hands over the raging fire
In my brick fireplace.
I’m being careful
So as not to burn myself
In the hot ashes.

As I sit in the wicker rocking chair,
I hear your laugh and see your face in the flames.
The logs crumble as I remember your tears.
And the sparks pop as I reminisce about you.

A lover’s story played out
In the most stereotypical way.
The metaphors and symbols
Are so obvious that it’s almost pointless to listen.
But the story is undeniably universal.

The room is warmly lit, casting shadows
As the darkness slowly encroaches.
And all I’m left with are fleeting memories,
Coming and going with the crackle of the fire.

Silence is deadly and makes things worse.
Pushed play on the CD player to try to forget.
Yet, everything reminds me of you.
I can only fall into my wicker chair and weep
Like a little child at his first day of school.

As the fire dims and dies,
I slowly slip into a deep sleep.
And there you are again.
You are my waking thoughts
And unconscious desires.