Leaving It

 

                The dust particles swirled within the sunshine pouring through his front window as Alexander absentmindedly stirred his oatmeal at his dining room table on the opposite side of the room. He woke that morning feeling remarkably rested and thrilled at the forthcoming enjoyment of his short walk to work, though not exactly encouraging, the view of so many homes that had long been abandoned, left him dreaming of buying one and remodeling it to its former glory.

                  His second alarm sounded, reminding him that he had fifteen minutes to finish his breakfast and begin his walk to work. His third alarm sounded as he stepped onto the front steps of his apartment building, accompanied by the slight chill from the early fall day. He had been walking the same route to work for the past six months, developing a routine of greeting his elderly neighbors, the few homeless people who lived on the sidewalk downtown, and avoiding the ever-growing flock of pigeons that seemed to harbor some form of animosity toward him.

                  His warehouse job, while not the most exciting work he had ever experienced, paid well enough and kept him active, fit, and comfortable enough in a safe home that met his needs. He completed his shift and made the decision to walk home on a different path, wondering about the state of those parts of the city he rarely, if ever, visited. The sun was close to going down as he weaved through multiple abandoned neighborhoods, many with once beautiful homes in a sad state of partial decay.

                  As he walked, he jotted down the addresses of those homes that he found most appealing, some in better condition than others, doing the math that would make the initial purchase possible and the subsequent and necessary remodel work that he would thoroughly enjoy accomplishing. Returning to an empty and relatively cold home, he slid two pre-made pizzas in the oven while he sipped on an IPA.

                  He found a map of the city in the front of the phone book and placed red stars on the addresses he had earlier identified as potential purchases. Days turned into weeks, and he so badly wanted to share his ideas and dreams with someone but having no one of like mind at work and not knowing his neighbors, he got into the habit writing down pretend conversations, accompanied by measurements, costs, and time needed to buy and remodel one of the once beautiful Victorian homes that continually tugged at his imagination.

                  Enjoying his new path to and from work, his dreams and plans vacillated between one home and the next and the next and the next, each house having good points and bad, and he knew that eventually he would need to make a decision. Several more months passed by, and he finally arranged a showing with a real estate agent, settling on three different homes, all of them beautifully remodeled and restored in his mind. As he and the agent walked through each home, he took pictures, took notes, and felt a particular weight of disappointment when he came to realize just how deeply each home had degenerated.

                  The exterior of all three was poor but not beyond restoration. He returned home well after dark and scoured over his notes, his photos, his drawings, and the volume of work each one would need, wondering if any of his plans would actually come to fruition. The sale prices of each of them were remarkably low with accompanying low property taxes.  Because all three neighborhoods were basically abandoned, he knew that interacting with neighbors would not be an issue, as there practically were none.

                  A full week passed by, then a full month and with the arrival of winter, he looked forward to the coming spring, working hard to convince himself that it was with the rise in temperature that he would make an offer. He struggled to ignore phone calls and voice mails from the real estate agent, knowing that the man was desperate to make a sale. This was a conversation in which he did not want to engage, with spring so far away.

                  Spring came and went, summer arrived with its blistering heat, and once again fall arrived, with Alexander walking past all three homes, cursing himself for being so indecisive and unwilling to take action. Each day as he walked his now no longer new path, he watched the three homes with which he had fallen in love continue to decline. It was with the arrival of graffiti and squatters that two of three homes completely lost their appeal, knowing that squatter’s rights would make a purchase extremely difficult and disagreeable.

                  The third home and much to his surprise, the one like he liked the most, remained untouched by spray paint or homeless people. He watched himself continually decline in health, in strength, in age, and in motivation. “This is a pathetic image of myself and the house, each becoming poorer, uglier, and further from restoration,” he thought. He knew that if he simply had someone with whom to speak about his plans, he certainly would have made a decision and purchased the home years before his present moment.

                  The seasons continued to roll by and after the fourth winter of indecision with the arrival of spring, he walked past the house one more time, to see the home had become the latest dilapidated location for a large group of homeless people and stray pets. Cursing himself once again, he made the decision to not walk this way again, knowing that his heart would only continue to be crushed and disappointed at his failure to act.

                  The real estate agent had long before stopped calling or leaving messages, so he returned to his original path to work. Two more full cycles of seasons continued past him, and he ached to know how “his” house was doing. It was a Wednesday that he decided to walk past it one last time on his way home after work. He rounded the corner to the side street that held “his” house to see nothing. “His” house, the surrounding houses and every sign of life had disappeared. The only thing that remained was a hole in the ground, leaving an emptiness in his soul at the lost opportunity.

                  His glorious visions of restoration were now without substance or possibility. As he drew painfully close to his sixtieth year, he knew that the labor of remodeling was beyond his ability, despite his desire to recreate and restore something beautiful from a previous century. Living with empty regret, a lost opportunity, and the solitude of a small apartment with no friends or family. The only thing that remained for him was to distract himself with beautiful remodeling plans that would never take place. As his years continued past, he spent more time at the library looking through home remodeling magazines, antique furniture websites, and photo collections of Victorian and Arts and Crafts homes.

                  Just past his seventy-fifth birthday, he finished his home delivered Italian dinner, turned off his television and went to bed, feeling himself growing colder and colder as the long winter night continued on. His first alarm sounded, then his second and then his third but he heard none of them. The late morning sunshine crept through his living room, but he failed to see that as well. His phone began to ring at eight, then again at nine and again at ten.

                  It was when fire department broke into his apartment to find him cold, stiff and unresponsive in his bed with his cat sleeping on top of his motionless form. Within twenty-four hours, the landlord had removed all of belongings, donating them to the local secondhand store and his neighbors watched as a young couple moved in before the end of the week. Alexander had ceased to be with his dreams of greatness disappearing as well, with seemingly no one who cared or even knew him or his passions.

Stasis Rather Than Climbing

 

The reflection looking back at him was not an appealing sight, a roll of fat hung over his belt, his three chins mocked him for even considering taking action toward their removal, and his moobs no longer resembled anything even slightly masculine. Liam had rehearsed this conversation in his head nearly every day for the last three months, determined to make changes in his life, to bring back the fit and toned body that he had enjoyed in his college days.

He slipped on his t-shirt in an attempt to hide the morbid flabbiness that he now called his reality, but his stomach roll remained visible just below the bottom edge of his shirt. Feeling somewhat covered and slightly appeased at the minor improvement in his appearance, he walked out onto his deck to look at the multiple, jagged mountain peaks that lay just behind his apartment building. His workday hadn’t started yet, with forty-five minutes before he needed to leave for his office job downtown.

He sat down alone at his kitchen counter and ate six maple bars with a large mug of coffee, to then waddle to the bathroom, brush his teeth, and begin his drive in to work, enjoying the silence of the drive before being immersed in the busyness of his shared office space. He sat down behind his computer monitor to remove a sticky note pasted to the center of the screen, an invitation to join his two friends Matteo and Gabriel to watch a series of short films about rock climbing that evening. Letting out a long breath, he leaned back in his chair, knowing full well that he had no other plans and rejecting the offer would only result in insistence from his friends.

The day crawled by as he spent the majority of his time coding and sitting through two short meetings, wondering why he had been invited to either of them. At his two o’clock break, he sent an email to Matteo, confirming his intent to join them that evening but only after getting dinner first.

Filled up to the top of his neck, or that is what it felt like, Liam sat with his two friends in a small, locally owned movie theater to spend the next three hours watching short, independently produced films about rock climbing, a subject in which he had no interest but figured he could at least spend this time with his friends rather than sitting at home alone with his overweight and typically sleeping dog, Arturo.

The series of shorts finally ended, and Liam climbed out of Matteo’s car to trudge up his short sidewalk to climb three flights of stairs, as the lift was currently out of order. Still painfully full from his massive dinner, the exercise of walking so many flights of stairs left him with the urge to vomit, sweaty and pasty as he finally reached his door. The sound of snoring from Arturo was the only thing that greeted him as he crossed his threshold. The combination of wanting to shower but also of wanting to sleep, left him in a conundrum, so he collapsed on his bed still in his clothes and promptly fell asleep.

                  He woke the next morning to the screeching of his alarm clock to a room full of the combined smell of BO and feet, forcing him to open his bedroom window, trusting that the sharp smell would soon dissipate. The morning progressed like it always did on a typical workday and he dropped himself behind his computer monitor to once again see a sticky note pasted to the center, informing him that Matteo and Gabriel had signed the three of them up for a rock-climbing excursion the following weekend.

                  The three friends spent that evening at the local sporting goods store, spending far too money on equipment that Liam knew he would most likely never use. He pulled himself from bed the following Saturday morning to find Matteo and Gabriel parked in front of his apartment. He dropped his equipment in the trunk, dropped himself into the backseat and tried to picture how the next several hours would progress, knowing full well that he would be hard pressed to heave his corpulent frame up a rock face.

                  Matteo parked the car, and they walked to the agreed upon point of ascension, to meet a young woman, stunningly beautiful and remarkably fit. They all introduced themselves and listened to a brief explanation of the steps they would need to perform to begin their progress up the mountain side. Liam offered to begin his ascent last and as he watched his friends perform their steps exactly as they had been instructed, he, instead, began to wander around the base of the mountain, chatting with other climbers and pretending to be a climber himself.

                  He knew the lingo, the equipment, and had the cheery, chatty demeanor to pass himself off as one who knew things and was more than happy to offer advice and instruction to anyone willing to listen, but his swollen, flabby frame exposed the lie, which many recognized as a blatant and willful attempt at deception. Every other weekend was the same, as he watched his friends ascend to greater and greater heights, while he wandered around, telling the same stories, giving the same advice, and receiving the same curious looks and responses from other climbers.

                  Despite his deep seeded desire to join his friends, he simply did not have the willpower or the energy to do so. His life of deception continued to eat at him, slowly withering his soul with a disappointment that he could not put into words. While he knew that everything he was saying and teaching was true, he also knew that his actions were a lie. He had no way to answer those who silently judged him for his hypocrisy, hoping that someday he would find a way to take that first step and become the climber he claimed to be.

                  As the months continued to pass by, he became more and more depressed with his ongoing deception and failure as a human being. He had been lying to his friends for the full duration of their time “rock climbing”, until one day at work he finally admitted to the failure and liar he had become, to receive encouraging words from Matteo to seek advice and help from the climbing instructor. He swallowed his pride and the following weekend, he made the effort to begin a conversation with her, explaining the horrible place now found himself.

                  She offered some direct and easy advice, suggesting that he start very small, climbing mountainsides that required no gear or extreme exertion. She directed him to three different locations to consider, and he followed her advice, eventually giving up his days of wandering and teaching around the base of the mountain. He spent the next three months following her direction, to begin to see his weight drop, his motivation build, and his endurance increase. After six more months, he began to actually climb, starting back to where he, Matteo and Gabriel had started so long ago, finding a sliver of joy and satisfaction at finally making some progress.

                  Committed to his newfound success, he vowed to wander and teach no longer, focusing on his own improvement and progress. A full year passed, and he stood in front of his bathroom mirror, marveling at the much smaller frame that now faced him, motivating him to continue, to press himself harder, and to be the climber that he had formerly claimed to be.

                  Over time, he found himself drawing the attention of women at the office, at the pub in the evenings with Matteo and Gabriel, and at the mountainside, a glorious combination of success and attention that built his confidence and hope that something good would come from his new social interaction, trusting that one day he would no longer be alone in his small apartment with his overweight dog, eating mac and cheese, tv dinners, and tubs of ice cream.

                  Looking at Arturo that evening, he vowed to himself and to Arturo that the two of them would begin taking walks every other evening. He watched his own endurance continue to improve and Arturo began to slim down as well, snoring less and becoming more active around the apartment, chasing the tennis ball that Liam would toss on occasion.

He and Arturo looked back on their lives prior to his decision to begin being what he claimed to be and became more and more driven to continue on this path toward overall excellence and honesty.

Time to Live New Things

 

The morning started like it always did with the gentle strains of solo piano from his cell phone alarm clock, waking Min-Jun from a glorious, beautiful, happy dream. Cracking open one eye, he saw that the clock read 6:01, a painful, radical shift from peace and harmony to the reality of having to rise from bed to take the train to work. He sat on the edge of his bed for a moment, relishing the joy he felt in the presence of the lovely, blond Scandinavian woman in his dream, certain that he had never actually seen her before, convinced that his mind had created a sliver of happiness to counter the general drudgery of his everyday life.

Hanging onto this bit of fabricated happiness, he ceased all motion, waiting until the images and memories had faded. His shower was tepid and short, and he could hear the coffee pot calling his name as he dried his hair and rubbed lotion into his face and neck, wondering if he should wear black or brown today. The train ride to work was typically uneventful, surrounded by strangers and avoiding eye contact until he entered the office, being forced to interact with his co-workers, with most of whom he had nothing in common.

The first four hours of work passed by quickly and he sat outside in the direct sunshine enjoying his gimbap and hot tea, watching pigeons come and go to the edge of the water fountain a short distance from his table. He returned to his stand-up desk to immerse himself, once again, into his work, trying not to be distracted by his co-worker’s chit-chit and laughter. “Happiness is an easy thing,” he thought, “as long as you set your standards incredibly low, being willing to be content with mediocrity.”

With the arrival of two o’clock, he walked to the coffee kiosk in front of the office building and ordered a white chocolate mocha, needing a small kick to refocus. Life was an unending cycle of normalcy: sleep, a train ride, work, lunch, work, a train ride home, dinner and a few hours of reading. As he thought about his daily and weekly routine on the train ride home, he wondered what life was like for all others. “Probably more of the same inanity that is on display at work.”

He sat alone at his dinner table that evening, eating his noodles and pork, finally coming to the realization that his life only consisted of him, his interests, all of which seemed like a selfish, empty, and pointless existence. With enough daylight after his evening meal, he waited a short bit and went for a walk, hoping to see something that would motivate him to make a change in his reality. He had moved no more than four blocks from his home when he saw three black SUV’s stop in front of an office building, which made him pause as he watched seven young Korean men, smartly dressed, emerge from the vehicles surrounded by bodyguards.

“Now there’s a reality most people don’t enjoy,” he thought, “while their lifestyles may be easy and comfortable, at least they’re making a great number of people happy, even if those people are teenage girls. Who do I make happy?” He lingered at the corner until the crowd dispersed and the SUV’s drove away, to then continue his walk until he watched the sun disappear behind the cityscape to his left. On his walk home, he could hear shouting from a nearby house, revealing a vulgar, dirty, foul-mouthed middle-aged man kicking a dog in the side yard.

Feeling a rage build up within him, he picked up a moderate size rock from the gutter and rifled it across the yard, making direct contact with the back of the man’s head, dropping him to his knees and then to his face. The rage then subsided to be replaced by joy at his selfless act of helping one could not help himself, which also stirred up within him an idea to take this simple act to the next level.

He returned home, pulled up his credit card account online with its spending analysis tool, which allowed him to see how he spent his money, to see his focus in life, and seeing the possibility of redirecting some of that frivolous spending into something good. After a generally routine dinner, he finished his latest novel and went to bed early, feeling rather spent after boring day and an exciting evening foray with a rock. A sudden flash woke Min-Jun from his dark and empty sleep informing him that 1:37 am had rolled upon him. The image of the angry neighbor man immediately came to mind, as well as the cowering, whimpering dog, giving him the idea to go for another walk.

Dressed in all black, he used back alleys and avoided streetlights, to return to the home of the sad dog with its angry owner. He crept over the back fence, released the dog from its oversized chain and carried it home for a much-needed bath and a good meal. “If a dog could smile, that would be it,” he thought. After the bath and the meal, he spent the next hour creating a good relationship with the sorry beast, deciding to name it “Gi”, for it bravely withstood the anger and abuse from its former owner.

Gi clearly understood what was taking place as they spent the hour together until Min-Jun turned off the lights and returned to his bedroom, to be followed by the now safe and content dog, who immediately joined him on the foot of his bed. A gentle snoring created a peaceful form of white noise as he drifted into sleep, working to devise a plan for caring for the dog while he was away each day. A bathroom run for Gi immediately after his shower, was a new addition to his typical routine. He cleared out the second bedroom, creating a safe and comfortable space for Gi, making sure he had enough food and water for the day.

Feeling happy and satisfied throughout his day, he decided to find a reputable non-profit organization that helped children who suffered from abuse, knowing that a few hundred dollars a month for donation would slightly diminish his current level of comfort and entertainment.

Three years had passed, and each month reminded him that many children across the nation were faring better, and were being taken care of, because of his realization of selfishness and a proper response to that realization. Every night when it was warm enough and light enough, he and Gi would go for a walk, deliberately avoiding Gi’s former home. The dog now emanated a happiness that gave more meaning and depth to Min-Jun’s life. While it wasn’t normal human interaction, he found that he resonated with animals in a way that he didn’t with people.

He finished his work week to receive a phone call at the end of the day from the child abuse organization, asking him to stop by the office for a brief meeting. He agreed and arrived at their office just before five p.m. to receive a box full of thank you letters, arts and crafts, and a formal letter from the president of the company. “Your generosity has changed the lives of hundreds of children, Min-Jun,” the VP told him. “We believed that you would find great joy in seeing the response from the children and from our President. We wish that there would be more people like you who truly care about others. Thank you for your support.”

Min-Jun sat on the train ride home, holding his box and looking forward to the excited response he received from Gi each evening when he returned home. He let himself in and immediately began taping the artwork to his refrigerator, feeling fulfilled and happy at the impact he now had upon so many others, rather than just himself. Feeling like splurging, he ordered take out for himself and Gi.  Three sushi rolls for himself and a sixteen-ounce steak for Gi. The two of them sat down together on the couch after their dinner arrived, to enjoy the latest episode of his favorite anime series.

“The reality of living for others now feels normal,” he thought, the idea of which pushed him to find some other way of making an impact, as his life was still reasonably comfortable, while he knew that so many others did not enjoy that luxury. “Let’s see, here,” he thought, “orphans, homeless people, the elderly, who else needs help?”

Self-Inflicted Destruction

Lord Robert sat with his four knights, suppressing the urge to explode after hearing their idiotic and feeble justifications for their failures in battle. The kingdom of Ubernacht, of which Robert was overlord was smaller than all of those around them, while sitting on the largest veins of gold in their singular mountain that stood just behind the castle. Ubernacht was one kingdom among many, of which King John of Aquitaine ruled, usually with much patience but often with high expectations.

Lord Robert’s kingdom stood at the edge of the King John’s land, partially surrounded by others faithful to King John but his western border backed up against the kingdom of Altrecht, ruled by the remarkably cunning King Luxor, a man with the incredible gift of monolog, dialog, and wordsmithing, one with whom no one wanted to interact as he had the ability to twist and contort the words of his opponents, often manipulating the words of King John to seem as if the two of them were in agreement.

Lord Robert rose from his seat, cleared his throat and called for the room to be cleared, needing several moments to document all that had just been told to him, needing silence to grumble to himself, and form a plan on how to respond to King Luxor’s latest attack against his western border. Knight Justus had described the battle between him and army against King Luxor and what seemed to be a collection of knights and lords from kingdoms further west. He argued that the top knights that worked directly with King John were at the battle, merely observing it seemed.

As the door clicked closed behind the last knight to leave the conference room, Lord Robert paced the space between his library and his throne, grumbling and confused as to King John’s possible rationale for simply allowing the enemy to oppress them without response. “This makes no sense,” he said to himself over and over, beginning to consider the possibility that Knight Justus had merely fabricated a story to cover his own laziness and lack of military prowess.

He dropped himself into his throne to be immediately interrupted by a messenger bursting through the main door, shouting about the sighting of a dragon on the western border. The young man, breathing heavily, swore with everything in him that he personally had seen the creature drop down from the sky at the edge of the western forest. “Send in another messenger,” Lord Robert shouted, “I need to send a message to King John.” The young man hurried from the room to be quickly replaced by another, carrying a small scroll, a writing utensil and an inkwell.

The new young man sat down at the table and noted everything that Lord Robert said in his message. “King John, I have just received a report that a dragon has entered our land, crossing the western border, please send help immediately, your faithful servant, Lord Robert.” 

              “Go, young man, hurry to the king’s castle, we have no time to waste,” he said, “a dragon loose among our villages is nearly impossible to stop or defeat.” The young man pocketed the inkwell and the writing utensil, blowing on the scroll as he hurried from the room, running north as fast as he dared, not wanting to exhaust himself too quickly, as he had many miles to cover before arriving at the king’s castle.

              As soon as the messenger departed from his presence, he called for another to gather all of his knights into the town square, in order to prepare for the confrontation that would probably happen sooner than he thought. Within the hour his entire military had joined him on the steps of the castle, all knowing why they were there but fearing for their safety and the safety of their loved ones scattered across the land of Ubernacht. Lord Robert began with clarifying the reason for the meeting was obvious, as a dragon had entered the land. “I will be calling on all of the men in the land of Ubernacht to join you in this fight, for without enough weapons in able hands, we will surely lose this battle. I have sent a request to King John to send more help and am still awaiting an answer.”

              Messengers were dispersed as Lord Robert and his mediocre army waited on the steps of the castle and within four hours men from across the kingdom began trickling into the town square, to be almost immediately followed by a messenger from King John, bearing a disappointing and deflating message. “King John has spoken,” the messenger said, “he will be sending no assistance to you in this matter, for you have never proven yourself faithful or able in any matter he has requested of you. You must put to use the skills and tools that he has provided over the many years to win this battle yourself.”

              The messenger then quickly departed through the northern gate through which he had just entered, leaving Lord Robert and his army in disbelief. He looked over the ridiculously small army before him, as well as the even smaller group of men from throughout the village, knowing full well that victory would not be theirs to enjoy, as a dragon was a threat that few could address. He motioned for Knight Justus to approach and entrusted him to draw up a plan with the few men that were available.

              Overcome with despair, he watched his army, and the handful of locals disappear through the western gate with a considerable cache of weapons, very little armor, and a few horses. He called for another messenger to work through the land and bring everyone from the surrounding villages and farms into the main city, knowing that women and children would be helpless in the face of invaders, if and most likely when his army failed in their confrontation of the dragon. He knew within his bones that King Luxor was the source of this invasion.

              The first day passed without report from the battle, then the second day and the third day, until finally a messenger arrived from Knight Justus that the dragon had been wounded, no longer able to fly, as Knight Justus himself had severed one of its wings. He also reported that over half of the army and nearly all of the men from the village had been killed or terribly injured.

              Lord Robert then gathered the few teenage boys that were scattered throughout the main city, arming them with bow and arrows, swords, and spears, trusting that the walls of the city would provide enough protection for when King Luxor’s army was sure to arrive. Frustrated at his now hopeless situation, he drafted another message to King John, rife with complaints, disappointment, and pleas for help to be sent. Three more days passed by, and he received no response, grumbling to himself that the mightiest king in all of the lands on this mighty continent failed to fulfill his duty of protection.

               Three more days passed, and messengers arrived from the western border than King Luxor had slaughtered the remaining few knights and would be at the castle before nightfall. Lord Robert gathered all of the women and children into the castle, barricading all of the doors and windows, gathering as much food and weapons before the arrival of the pending destruction that could not be stopped. He spoke words of encouragement to the handful of teenage boys who guarded the three entrances, who stood atop the wall, armed with the little they had. He could see the terror in their faces, knowing that he was asking far too much from those who had no experience in warfare.

              As darkness began to fall, his queen pulled him to a side room, and severely chastised him for his failure, his lack of foresight, his refusal to learn from his previous mistakes, and his stubborn response to the use of the tools and knowledge given to him from King John. He admitted to her that she was correct in her assessment of him, and that she needed to go among the women and children and encourage them as only she knew how, while he stood at the window watching the army of King Luxor overpower the young boys and break through the main gate.

              It was only a matter of thirty minutes before he watched everything that he had proudly worked for come to an end, with flames devouring it all, sickened at the thought of what Luxor’s army would do with a castle full of women and children, knowing the destruction and enslavement would be their reality in the next hour.

Peering through the small window looking out over the town square, he could hear the castle entrance being breached, the screams of the women and children, and the door of his private chamber knocked from its hinges. Overpowered by four Luxor soldiers, he watched himself be dragged from the building to be tied between four horses and slowly pulled into five pieces, a slow, agonizing dismemberment, as each limb was slowly pulled from its socket, to then be ripped from his torso. At that moment, the only thing he could think of was the inevitable enslavement that his wife, his daughters, and the women and children from the village would face. He breathed his last with a prayer for lives to be, at the least, bearable.