first love never die

| Four • Emma O'Brian |

| Chapter Four ~ Emma O'Brian |

It's easy to allow certain memories to fade. To let the workings of time chip away parts of it; making them harmless to look back at, becoming borderline irrelevant. It can work on even the strongest, most vivid of events. They become markers; signposts from  a map of a road you merely glance at while driving along. You know they're there; you know they took place. But if you maintain your current speed you can move right past them, without having to delve into any ounce of consequence.

It isn't sad, nor is it a bad thing. It just...is. The trick is to not mind it, like most people do. Most people are only somewhat aware of this occurance. They go through life, going from signpost to signpost, all the while not thinking twice about why their brains have selected those particular memories to tweak, keep, or discard. Others, alas, can't help but dream and focus on the signs instead of keeping their eyes on the road.

For those of us who can't; those who need to understand why some things get to be discarded while others are kept, it is almost impossible to see the road, for our signposts grow larger with each passing minute, threatening to block the view of the horizon most absolutely.

"Professor?" a student asked, quietly, and I realized I had been staring out the window of the classroom long enough for everyone to notice that I wasn't really there.

"What? Sorry, Anna." I said, shaking my head in an effort of forcing my mind to fucking cooperate.

"You were talking about Heidegger? His concept of death and time?" Another student reminded me.

"Of course," I said, still somewhat unsure. "Yes, right. Where was I? Did we discuss the three dimensions yet?" I asked the class, and I could tell they knew not what the fuck they were, which was just as well because it was a class on Heidegger after all.

"Alright. Well...past, present and future. These are the three dimensions that are simultaneously open to man. As they favor one of the three, that dimension determines—and to an extent modifies—the remaining. The future then is that which is projected towards the being. Once the being projects itself towards the future, it returns to that which it already is. Embracing the fact that it is finite."

As everyone took note of what I had said, Simon, looking rather nervous, entered the classroom. On any other day, that fact, in and on itself, would have little to no meaning. Simon had always been a nervous person, and I suppose I'd never seen him stand still in all the time we've been working at Magnolia together. He was just one of those people who were constantly on edge, and I understood that—somehow better than I wished. In any case, whether he was playing with his messy red hair or biting his nails in anticipation as his black-framed glasses threatened to fall off his thin nose, those were all acts conducent with his personality.

The bell rang, but no student paid any attention to it. Instead, they all finished writing and went back to looking up to the front of the classroom.

"So, there you go. Next week we'll still focus on these dimensions, but I think it's time we start discussing Heidegger's approach to death, don't you? In so doing we will need to understand his notion of anguish and care. To that end, I'd like you guys to try and read chapter fifty-three so we can discuss it further in class," I said, then I leaned on the table that was pushed against the white board, which was full of my writings on theoretical philosophy, before adding: "I promise I'll be a part of said discussion."

They all smiled and began to gather their belongings, and I watched as Simon made his way over to me, holding something that looked like a post-it in his hands and having this rather vacant expression etched across his pale face.

"Thomas..."

"What's up, Simon? Don't tell me Christian is going to ask me to cover for him again. I can only talk so much about physics before the students realize I know like, two theories."