Insignificance

Each of us thinks of ourselves as the center of the universe. It’s been awhile since I’ve read “The Guide” but I remember about how Zaphod was forced to step into the worst torture imaginable: Seeing exactly where you stand in the universe and how truly insignificant and individual is.

It just makes me wonder how often someone else is sharing the same thoughts as myself. Originality is still out there, but it’s damned hard to find. How are you supposed to combat that?

Staring up at the sky makes you really question where you stand in the world. Most people try to count the stars at some point in their life, but I’ve never really gone in for that. Lack of attention, and all that. But all the stars you see up there, in their uncountable masses, yeah, they don’t even equal the population of North America…well, I guess it depends upon where you live.

I wouldn’t say that my town is anything noteworthy in the annals of Pennsylvania, but it sure throws up a lot of light. Kate always asks why I even bother going outside to watch, and I just shrug and know that I have to. When I was a kid…well, a younger kid than this, I got into those alien abduction videos a little too much and started hiding under the covers of my bed at night since my parents always said that sleeping with a nightlight had bad side effects.

So by the time that I was old enough to be outside when all traces of the sun vanished, I made sure to go out every night and sit there in the dark to prove that there was nothing to be scared of. But it was right about then that I started realizing how bright it stayed with all the streetlights burning all night long. After a few nights of wondering how I’d even be able to see the mothership when it came, I figured I’d try ducking off into the glade.

You see, I live in a town, but not really in the center, more of on the lopsided edge that leads up into the mountains. Well, I guess most people would consider them gentle hills, but they became mountains to me whenever I had to hike up them. It wasn’t really all that deserted there either, there were just more trees.

Kate and I actually met back there one night. She said that she’d seen my outline in the trees for a few nights and she got curious. Whereas the dark was enough to send me fleeing from aliens from another galaxy, nothing seemed to really scare Kate. Well, maybe it did, but I think she liked to be that girl. You know, the one who won’t get shown up by any of the guys. Don’t let her hear that I said that, though. Even today I think she’d still be able to kick my butt if she wanted.

She didn’t meet me out there every night, but she came often enough. And yeah, you might be wondering what kinds of things we got into back in the day, but she was 3 years older than me and usually had more “adult” concerns on her mind. Usually I just wanted to see the sky and prove to myself that I wouldn’t wake up some night to find myself floating upward out of my bed and toward the cold metal end of a probe. Sometimes I still wonder what kind of fun she found in venturing out there in the night. While I pride myself on being a bit mature for my age, I doubt that she would have agreed. Maybe she just wanted out of her house for a bit.

Everything went along like that through my years in high school. I won’t claim that as we both grew up I never gave a thought toward the romantic side of things. In fact, it occupied my mind for about an entire two weeks before she made it clear that there would be none of that back in the glade. Better for the both of us, I’d imagine. After she graduated of course, I only rarely saw her when she came back in for breaks from university. But only twice did I ever miss my nightly pilgrimage to the “woods.” Once because of the flu, and again because of a forgotten history paper.

When I look back at those years, a lot of things happened. But those belong to a different story, one that you’d find in my diary; if I kept one. Looking out from the fogged window of adolescent immortality, it felt like all that mattered was the night, the stars, and occasionally seeing Kate. My world was bound to that place and the days dreamed onward as if they would never end.

Until they did, of course.

How do I combat it? I write. And I pray that I write worth a damn. The above was freewriting. I can’t even begin to understand where it came from, but strangely, I do want to continue it. And perhaps I will. Just need to await a direction.

Ah, but that felt good. Sometimes wordcraft is like bludgeoning yourself in the head while your stomach keeps trying to implode; and others it feels as if the words and the story and the emotions are all there for the taking. Certain moments in life just beg for stories.

But god, if it isn’t time to start actually doing something. As a writer, I hereby vow (and you’d all better slap me if I don’t) to write every day and to send god damned “Cherry, Please” off to a magazine sometime soon. Amen. Or whatever it is that is prudent to be said.