Shade vs. Sun

Last week, on a warm day, clear blue sky, no hint of clouds, even on the far reaches of the horizon, I sat in the sunshine on a warm bench and talked about the Internet. And, on the way back, I walked past a few benches nestled in the shade of unidentifiable trees. The people on the benches were reading books, casually flipping through the pages of magazines, or pausing, the fork poised before their mouth, as if considering whether to continue.

I work on a college campus. Ergo; the vast majority of people on the campus are currently in various poses of relaxation, and in various states of undress, as if they are in the cult of Helios. And, as I was walking back, with my sun-reddened face, I peered through the light and into the bits of shade where people flipped pages of books.

The point is: I found myself wondering what the hell those people were doing in the shade? Why would a person, who has been cold for months mind you, willingly choose to spend their precious time out of the sun? Perhaps they just really enjoy being cold, but I couldn't understand it. I thought about tracking them down, maybe smacking on the head with a rolled up magazine and saying, "You see that fiery orb in the sky? It's good for you." And then dragging them with me out onto a blanket and maybe kicking around the hacky sack or whatever college kids do these days. I resisted though.

Conversely, I found myself wondering why people were lying in the sun and taking it in so gloriously. I nearly flagged down someone with a bullhorn, so I could tell them all about the dangers of the sun. I'm thinking of starting a campaign with pictures of elderly folks that says: "You'll all have wrinkles." Kind of an awareness program for youth. And aren't those kids being selfish and foolish, indulging in the beauty of their youth without considering the consequences? Foolish youth, only concerned with the moment. I thought about creating an enormous sun shade and planting it down over all those kids, so they could see how what was really fun, was that we were all together united in this thing, and that the sunlight was really immaterial to our enjoyment. And that perhaps I'd taught us something with my sunbrella, that it's a good thing to live in community. Sadly, my fourth grade science fair project was just a bunch of ill-formed clay dinosaurs. I couldn't even get together one of these easy but flashy volcanoes that all the kids who got blue ribbon prizes did. I don't remember if I got a consolation prize or just a thanks for entering ribbon, but who really gives a crap. I didn't win. I blame the judges. Clay dinosaurs are awesome. I probably could have been the next Michelangelo with just a little more encouragement.

But then I started to think that perhaps the selfish ones were sitting in the shade. Basking in all that shadow, trying to save themselves from the ravages of aging. I secretly began to suspect that they were the ones who needed to be witnessed to, so I began to recast my posters writing things like "seize the day," and "et tu brute" on posters because I couldn't think of anything else.

And I wondered just what the heck my relationship was to the sun. Not really, like my relationship per se. It's pretty one-sided. But just why I'd spent the day on the bench rather than in the shade. What that might have said about me. Because that's the sort of thing that people do, they start thinking about other people outside of themselves and then they stop and think, what the hell does that have to do with me? Mainly because that's what it means to be human.

Finally, I took down all of my signs and stopped worrying about the kids reading books who will be really sexy grandma's and all the young people who will one day have creases in their brow. And I just considered the fact that maybe some people don't like being hot and sweating, and maybe some other folks just like their skin to be warm. And that I should probably stop thinking so much about why people do the things that they do and just do.

Fiction (Cont)

“What the hell was that back there?” she asked.

I stared at her stupidly. “I passed out.”

“Your breathing was too even for that,” she said. “I swear I saw your eyes flick open.”

“I believe the phrase, not dignify with a response is in order.”

“You’re probably right,” she said, locking and unlocking the door.

My actions seemed beyond reproach. I haven’t spoken with her in weeks.
When I arrived back home, I turned on the television in order to distract myself. However, I was distracted by a small white object nestled into the neat carpet fibers. The sheen of it reminded me of the stories of white gold pulled from the tusks of elephants and of my own childhood, spent looking for never found treasures. When I bent down and peered closely at the carpet, I saw that what I beheld was a small human tooth.

I know that I’m paying you, but you’re doing an admirable job none the less. Stay just like that. It makes this whole thing easier. You know, even just this one side of your face is the sort of thing that men cross seas over with malicious intent.

I’d like to point out that any of these extrusive details could amount to, at the very least, a connection to the event that had happened years earlier in my life. I’m using the word extrusive incorrectly here, though I feel that its application provides an apt metaphor for the relationship between these two events. The prior event had remained largely submerged in my adult unconscious until the night of my black out. And that next morning, the events of the former came back to me in the manner of a Biblical flood. And I saw, or let’s be honest, thought I saw where things had gotten off track for me. Isn’t that the sort of thing we all look for at a certain point in our life? Some external reason or moment that discolored everything to follow? a Waterloo of sorts.

I lived in Santa Barbara at the time and was dating a girl named Katie.

Continue there. No. The whole scene is immaterial don’t you see? Like a red herring. We’re going to get to the real meat now. I avoided the fist fight, and inevitable beating at the cost of remembering this thing that I’d tried so hard to forget. Does that satisfy your yearning for closure? that what I felt most clearly was this vast calm that one usually associates with vistas overlooking swaths of forest or sitting in front of ocean waves? That as I sat in the dark flipping channels, watching strangers I think I know, running my tongue over the ridges and valleys of my teeth, that I was so thankful to be me. Not someone else for once, not a celebrity or athlete. No, watching the extreme physical pain being inflicted upon Jerry, looking at his tooth in my hand brought me a profound, near monastic level sense of connection with myself.

Is that so wrong? The tooth, incidentally, was unquestionably a bicuspid.