Analog [Part 2]

“All truly great thoughts are conceived while walking.” - Friedrich Nietzsche

 I crossed the streets headed towards West Boulevard. I waited patiently at every crosswalk; seems I hit every single orange blinking hand that night.

I reached down into my pocket, and felt the smooth plastic of the cassette case. I know why I was heading this way. I should just swing by quick and drop this off.

Right here, at the stop sign on the corner of Kansas City Street and 9th, I started to have an open dialog with God.  I asked him to show me some kind of sign. I would settle for anything right now. I could feel the cold grasp of depression and negative thoughts starting to seep their way into my capped head. I talk about that sense of slipping… knowing what comes next and not being able to talk yourself out of it.Many people wouldn't really consider myself religious, including myself, but I've found a firmer grasp on my faith lately. Going through this... brain shit. 

So I focused on the shuffling of my feet.

I started analyzing my gait. I compared myself to other people around me and their motions. I studied the running children, chasing parents, even the slightly drunk locals doing their version of ‘parkour’ off of city benches and trash cans. They must have thought I was drunk; having an open conversation with myself in public like I was.

Measuring it against my shallow, tired, dragging steps; I started to notice more of the world around me. The sidewalk was clean and new at the start of my journey, but as I made my way towards the residential area of West Boulevard I noticed cracks. Small and cosmetic at first, they quickly turned into potholes and apparent mantraps. This pavement had seen its fair share of traffic. Old, almost ancient, crumbling concrete stretched out ahead of me. Overgrown bushes and weeds sprang out like miniature jungles out of the neglected yards.

I forgot where it was exactly, but I noticed something right below my shoes, one word.

TIME

‘Time’ is the word that triggered this fire. Click. Deep in my chest something came to life. I walked past it at first, but quickly doubled back. It was spray-painted in nearly neon green. Must have been hastily tagged, there was obviously no stencil used. It wasn’t clean or pretty, but it said what it said. I slowly moved toward on the path and the idea began to resonate with me. You must have had that feeling before; when you’re almost asleep and you jolt up with a start like someone punched you... or that unmistakable feeling of falling backwards. Oh? Just me then.

What purpose would someone have to put that word right there? Was this the big guy upstairs having a laugh? He must have enlisted some hoodlum to place this in my path the previous night. At first, I chalk it up to coincidence. It can’t be some sign; that’s stupid science-fiction stuff. What does this one word mean anyway? The thought didn’t go away though. It persisted and I couldn’t shake it. Again, I reached into my pocket. I was going to drop this tape off dammit. It’s why I came this way… right? It had to be.

I made my why to my destination and opened up the box. It was the middle one, ‘C’ I think, I dropped stuff off here before. Off-shade of white, tannish colored mail boxes were in front of me. I sat here for a minute, staring at the stupid tape in my hand. I ran my thumbs smoothly across this analog thing like it was made of cursed silver; or some fictional jewelry fated for a one-way trip to Mt. Doom. (There’s your weekly geek reference.)

Time.

I shrugged this idea off again and placed this bit of plastic neatly in the center of the box. I turned to walk away, but that same feeling hit me in the chest again. I doubted making this action. (*See Brett’s ‘gut feeling.’)  I took the tape back and tucked it safely in my back pocket.

I started a one-sided conversation again. I swear that little kid across the street thought I was nuts.

[ Next: http://bwtbd.blogspot.com/2013/08/analog-25-interlude.html ]