Second to the Time

(sixteen and) nowhere to go

"Back when Rodman was a Piston

Mike was losing to Isiah, but soon would get his sixth one"

-HOV

"But there it was—the sweet perfume that aroused a memory, or was it his half-numbed brain remembering forgotten moments?"

-Stefan Zweig

Every neighbourhood has someone who wears size six sneakers to run errands for money—that person knew and could reach anybody. They had quick feet and were liked by everyone. They didn't entirely do it for pay, it was more an excuse to get out the house, and fresh air always smells good. On a related note, home was often where the hatred was, and thus to step off the porch and never return is always in the background of the runner-man's thoughts. Introduce an individual to an escapism and they will lean on it like a crutch wherever they go.

And then there are those with sunbeams hovering over their head. It resembles a spotlight, but stretches all the way to the sky directly above. It would be a halo if it were not so easy to lose and prone to violation. Simply because it is often lost with age does not mean that age makes people lose their sun, but rather the experiences that age carries with it.

Young Valentin was the runner-man of the neighbourhood. Independent of this, his sunbeam was also shining bright. He hardly saw anybody with one. Last time he did was years ago while crossing the street—he was going to turn around to meet the woman, but he risked getting ran over, so he resigned and never saw the woman ever again. Nobody ever came up to him and asked him about his sun; with this proof, he was convinced that hardly anyone had one nor could see one.

The next time he would see somebody with sunlight was when he was delivering factory beads and braids to an old lady. She had a mole at the corner of her mouth, but when she visited Morocco thirty-two summers ago, a local had told her that it was her most beautiful feature. Sunlight hovered over her head, but it flickered and was holding on for dear life. She sat outside a mall in the dry sun on a rickety chair behind a shaky table and would make bracelets and necklaces all day for a dollar a piece; she hardly made money, but the friendly company she received from all the people that approached her shop for cheap authentic jewellery served as confirmation of existence of friendly people, and thus warmed her skin more than any amount of sales in a day could.

At the start, she had her jobless son sit against the wall behind her chair and spend time with her. He would fold his thick arms and grill every customer with a menacing look, pierce every passing soul with his hardened expression. The only difference between a picture of him from two years ago and one from today would be the deep lines now etched in his forehead that spoke of hardship and a newfound nihilist approach to everyday life. Then, one day she slapped him on the wrist and instructed him to begin waking up in gratitude and to hold a minute of silence in the name of reaching self-tranquility every morning before the real day began. Now he sat on a chair beside her and greeted people nearly as eagerly as her. But the etched lines would never fade.

It was late in the afternoon when Valentin passed through the mall, carrying a box in each hand of her supplies, and he witnessed many different types of scenes: a couple holding hands and sharing a smoothie between their free hands, a duo of young boys running out a beeping store while getting chased by security, a group of students still with their backpacks on at the mall cafeteria, a line of people outside a shoe store stretching half a block, people loitering in a mall, homeless people asking anybody for change. Wanderers in their own right trying to attach themselves to something while they were awake.

Every couple minutes, somebody he recognized would walk past him and greet him. One of those was particularly kind to him, a grown man with a pack of wolves tattooed on his forearm, vehemently thanking him for having helped his mother move her belongings into her truck two Sunday's ago. Valentin put his hands together and bowed his head in appreciation, exchanged an esoteric joke with the man that they equally laughed at together, and then continued on their separate ways. A skill that took him years to memorize, Valentin had a personable comment for every person he interacted with more than twice.