Of Cycles, Erosion & Gravity

Blip on the Radar

I've a very nice teal bicycle. As the name implores, it is fixed with two wheels that work the magic of advancing from point A to point B. The maneuvers seem simple in their words, but between point A and point B there are adventures and obstructions and glorious tales to be told that make the mountains move and the sea fall. I've a story for you, actually, if you'll bear with my tittering (of cycles, erosion, and gravity) between two points.

Years back in time, the universe set the collision betwixt me and a rather cacophonous old man. He carried with him a basket of non-related trinkets that jangled and clattered and pinnacled atop each other, making a mysteriously collective and in-tune racket that could be heard from precisely one squat building away-- under normal circumstance. At this day, however, the circumstances were slightly shifted from normal.

On a normal day the sky would be a soft hued blue. Little steamboat puffs of ice crystals would trolly along in the air, and birds chatted to their neighbors amongst the gutters. Mr. Wakahisa would be stationed on his moldy bungalow porch, specifically with his bum in a whicker chair and his left calve propped atop his right knee. As I would predictably amble by, he would predictably thrust a hand in the air to greet me (often mistook for a heil to Hitler) and shout, very predictably, "Koketsu ni irazunba koji wo ezu!" I've not the slightest clue what it means. We'd depart offering each other clownish smiles that would pinch my cheeks after approximately 55 seconds. Only then would I drop the painfully radiant grin.

Massaging my face, I'd hike a good quarter of a mile through a draping of ancient trees, all the while smacking away gnats and mosquitos. Do Dads and These Thats would forage among the foliage, occasionally constituting a raggedy human whom I've never looked in the eye for more than 23 seconds. He always skitters off before I can reach 24. It's always seemed peculiar to me, but we all need a certain dosage of peculiar. I've named him Argus for his argus-eyed demeanor. He's not frightening, he's simply curious of my comings and goings, and that's nothing to feel fright over.

To finish off my usual trip, I slap the Stop (voldemort) sign as if I'm providing a hearty high five for its daily achievement of keeping people from going. Not everyone needs to go all the time. Stop signs like the Stop Voldemort sign keep people from feeling like time must always be moving, and they even encourage the stoppage of evil dark lords. I've got a thing for stop signs, and local law enforcement must have a soft spot for this one in particular, because no one has yet attempted to clean the Voldemort graffiti away from beneath it.

By now I'll have made it into town, where a small gathering of buildings and people mill along the brick sidewalks, shielding their eyes from the reflection of the sun off the morning bay. The smell of the sea is another sense to me, almost like I could take control of the pacific, almost like I am gravity, a puppeteer, pulling the water back and forth against the coast with my strings. A flock of birds rush over head, and the wind hastens over me, whipping my sweater here and there. The breeze ruffles the feathers of my town, ol' Chestnut Bay, and it leans into a comfortable groan.

I'd only ever seen this place. It wasn't often that someone left town, mainly because we had everything we could ever need right here. It was homely, welcoming, and beautiful, a type of place that nobody has ever heard of except those who have lived to tell the tale of our story. And most of those people stayed here anyways. There is, however, one notable exception.

That exception appeared the day everything was not quite as it usually was-- the day my life shifted like the earth's crust.

That odd morning, I left my small home in a hurry, having woke late. I was only a few seconds later than usual, but a few seconds were enough time to change everything. The sky wasn't blue today, it was a wan gray, and thunder grumbled off the coast. A bit put off, I yanked out my head phones from my shoulder bag and slapped them over my head, tugging on my sweatshirt because the impending storm's cold front carried a crisp wind. My galoshes squeaked as I walked.