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by
Ian Brazee-Cannon
It was a painted sky. The kind of
work of art that only mother nature could produce. A purely
natural
sight that felt unreal. The dark purple clouds highlighted orange
by the setting sun. Wisps of darkening clouds faded into the
dark-blue
backdrop. Brush strokes of air and cotton, put there by a brush
in
the hands of a master painter. The beginnings of a perfect sunset.
I watch as the orange glow slowly fades
from the western edges of the clouds. More and more the trails of
cotton fade into the evening sky. The deep purple of dusk soon
turning
to the grey of night.
I can't recall having seen such colors
in the sky since I was so much younger. They must have always
been
there, but I guess I have just not had the time to notice them. I
haven't
had the time for so many simple pleasures lately.
I stand alone on the plastic-coated metal
platform that is part of a prefabricated playground setup. Most
of
the sections are pure plastic, heavily scratched by so much use.
Some sections of wall have writing on them. Not the graffiti of kids
with
nothing better to do, but machine made words that lack any creativity
in
their design. There are several pieces that try to be
educational,
as if a child would stop playing and learn all about the planets just
because
they were listed on a section of the playground. My favorite is
the
rules of the playground, which among other things, states that the
playground
is for children ages 5 to 12. That means I'm 15 years too old to be
playing
on them. Once more I wonder what genius thought kids would read
such
a thing while playing. And if they actually paused that long, would
they
even care to follow those rules? The whole setup felt store
bought.
The kind of thing that belongs more in a backyard rather than a park.
Something about them had always felt colder
than the simple painted metal playgrounds of my youth. I remember
three story tall spaceships, that resembled bird cages. My
favorite
had always been the super-doper slide. It rested on the banks of
a lake close to my grandparent's house. It was made up of several
of the rocket ships, with at least four different slides coming out of
it from all sorts of angles. The ramp that led to the higher
rocket
had been worn down so much that it too could be used for a slide.
It was something magical and unique.
Often I wonder if it is just me.
When did I stop seeing the world through
the eyes of child? At what point did I enter a toy store and no
longer see the magic in the simple plastic bubbles of toy packaging? I
remember them being set a glow by the morning sun breaking through
every
obstacle just to give those packages that extra shine. The action
figure isle would become so alive at such a moment.
Life seemed so much simpler then.
'If I only knew then what I know now,'
I suppose I would have had a very depressing childhood. I never
really
understood that saying. There is a reason you don't know anything
as a child. Knowledge kills innocence, at least that is the moral
of the tell of Adam and Eve. It seems like we grow up so fast at
times. Although if you study history, several hundred years ago
they
had to grow up even faster. So I guess we're lucky to have as
long
of childhoods as we're allowed.
I recall it was in junior high school when
it seemed like everything became about growing up. Of course I
never
did fit into that way of thinking. I wanted to hold on to my
childhood.
I recall all the bleak walls covered with quickly handmade banners
telling
the popular students what they needed to do in order to stay
popular.
Those signs were not meant for me or my friends. The few times I
attended those events and tried to fit in, it was obvious that I was
never
suppose to think I was even welcomed. There must have been a aura about
me that they could read before I ever came close to them. I never could
make myself into what they all seemed to think everyone should be
That really is where we can find the most
basic of human nature's problems. When innocence is lost it seems
we start looking for reasons to not get along, and those can be more
childish
than any baby's tantrums. At some level we all seem to look for
something,
anything, that makes us different from those we don't like. We
then
take those reasons and turn them into stereotypes. Anyone who fits even
slightly into the stereotypes then become our enemies. This of
course
leads to wars and murders and other crimes in the name of those simple
difference that in the end really don't even matter.
Although it must be important to
someone. The way the plastic-faced news anchors tell us how bad
things
are around the world or how many have died for whatever reason, it
makes
you feel that we should hate someone. Yet who are the victims of
it all? Who are we suppose to hate?
Although for me things got better in high
school. We all broke more into our groups and were given the room
needed to avoid those we didn't care for. We were able take
classes
that better fit our interests. Of course this was also the time I
had most of my girl problems, which in some ways made it all the more
harder
to bear. During the time when you are suppose to start learning
who
you really are, you are the most venerable. It is amazing that so many
of us survive those first eight-teen years of life.
Here I am, being called an adult just
because
of my age. In some ways my future is more unclear now than it was
at eight-teen. I have had the chance to try several paths.
I have learned so much. There are moments like these when so much
of your life comes into perspective.
"Have you made a decision yet?" Comes
the
voice from behind me. I know this voice well. Once I
thought
it just a voice from my subconscious. I could swear I have heard the
voice
since I was a child. Giving advice or making small comments about
the choices I had made. Then it became real. Too real in
the
end.
If he is here, then it must be close to
midnight.
I can feel the glass marble in my
hands.
I have been holding it tightly since he gave it to me this morning.
"Come midnight you need to break it," he
told me. "Then you can choose."
"Choose what?' I had asked.
"To be able to relive your life, of
course."
He said that statement with the attitude that it should have been
obvious
to a new born child.
"Why?"
"Think of how you could change the world
if you knew what was to happen next."
Once more the only question I had was,
"Why?"
"Why you? Because. Is that not a
good enough reason?"
"How do I know this is real?"
"You don't. Come midnight I will
return. You will then have to break it and decide."
I spent the rest of the day walking
around
aimlessly. I'm still not sure how I ended up here at the
playground.
It is the park I grew up around, but it's nothing like it was when I
was
a child.
I had spent the day really noticing how
much things had changed. Practically nothing in the area was the
way it was when I was young. The whole landscape of the world has
changed around me.
All in all I like my life. I am a
happy man. I have made decisions, both good and bad ones.
Now
I have a chance to go back and do everything from the start.
Could
I make my life better? The thought makes me wish I paid more
attention
to sports. I could make a fortune placing just the right
bets.
Of course I would have knowledge of what companies grew fast and would
be worth investing in.
I also wonder what I would lose.
What pieces of my life would I lose that I would truly miss? I
believe
I'm a good person and that the life I have lived has helped to shape me
into the person I am. If I got a second chance what kind of
person
would I become? I worked so hard and lived through so much to get
to this point in life. Do I want to have to go through all that
again?
But do I give up the chance to be young and free again?
"What happens if I don't make a choice?"
I ask.
"When you break it, you will make a
choice,"
He replies. "You may not know what that choice is, but you will make
it."
I look at the marble. It is
glowing.
I've not looked at it since it was given to me. I can see myself
at various ages in its smooth, perfect surface. I really don't
want
to break such a beautiful object.
"The time is near," he says.
"How do I know any of this is real?"
"How do you know anything is real?"
I look to the sky. The painting has
long since vanished. The clouds have all faded away. A
simple
smile of a crescent moon hangs above, surrounded by the pinpricks of
stars,
barely visible through the light pollution. I think I can make
out
the dim path of the Milky Way.
I break the marble.
"Will I remember any of this?"
"Of course you will," comes his reply.
"What choice did I make?"
"You will learn when you wake up."
Then the world goes to black. I'm
not sure if I am dreaming or if I have ever had a dream in my life.
I open my eyes and I see light.
Now to be brave enough to see what choice
I have made.
