Tuesday, November 09, 2010

The Line

 And The Fly

I was standing in the line when the little girl from no where crawled and tapped my feet. She, raising her head over a tough, good ninety degrees, looked at me. I might have looked like a monster holding a brown bar in my hand. I dropped it, the chocolate making a splatter design on her cute little frock. She crawled away. I lost my spot and had to restart the hope of reaching that first step to the fly.

I rejoined the growing line; the line now looking longer and bustling with cries of joy, hope and anxiety. Just behind me was a plump old man. Worried? Well, just wait a little longer. Son, this is my first time too. I guess you aren't alone! He gathered the conclusive expressions from my face shooting evident quirks.

The guy in front of me overheard the thoughts talking to me. This isn't my first time but that first step you take to fly has to sport a meaning, an explanation to our wait, a justifying statement to pain incurred through years of wait, he said. He looked young, anxious to experience the journey ahead, again, something that he would eventually do. But he meant a world in that one little sentence. I turned around to ask the old man a question - What made you wait so long? to this replied - It took an infinite amount of clock ticks to wait for this day. I dreamed a great deal but my obsession for 'the fly' gathered constant deceleration thanks to other factors that make up life. I tried tagging this process-on-the-side with my obsession but it was the fight for survival, fight for the buck that kept building hurdles. And here I am, accompanied by my gray hair, matured mind and the memory of the struggle. I tell you, it might well be an experience!

It took a while before the line granted another person a wish. It did take an awful amount of time for it to stamp its approval and grant that excitement. I began to think - What if I could give some of the wishes that meant a little-nothing to the man in front of me to the man behind me? Would the wish work the same way it did to him than it did to the other? The man behind me had the meaning, an explanation and the justification. Yet, he was on a track of hope that trailed. Why is 'the line' there to grant what I wish to have? Why would it make the wait only longer by making us wait, with questions that shoot like arrows of Jade? 

When would all this question-hope concoction dilute the anxiety and concentrate the fading and dying hope and make a perfect solution? As my eye rolled down a tear, the little girl looked up and gave me the candy-pop in her hand. I took it with a renewed sense of hope only to see the line getting longer and then vanishing from the scene. 

The flight of stairs ahead transformed to a painful spiral. The fly flew.

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