Picture this. A girl is sitting at her bar, eating some quality fried chicken on a Monday night. She is flipping through a packet of stories. She is fully aware that she needs to shower after her game because she smells like something died. The only issue is, the stories are pulling her in. Something in the uncensored struggles of these kids are taking her attention. Glancing at the clock, it reads 10 PM. Eh, “Wait until 10:15” she thinks.
The next night, the same girl is in a building at 8:30 PM. She is listening to her hitting coach tell of the importance of a full load in order to generate more power in her swing. These words are usually relaxing. A reminder to load, and unload. But something is different. The words have nothing to calm the flurry of nerves and thoughts blurring her focus. Nothing has felt right, or complete in a long time. Not the feeling of a big block in the championship game of the tournament she won, or the rush of a solid hit off of her favorite bat. But, when he asks “Hit another bucket?”, the answer will only ever be “yes.” Unload.
10:13. Now she’s sitting her bed, wrapped in blankets, typing away for who knows what reason. “Take Care” by Drake is blasting through her earbuds, drowning out her barking dogs and brother yelling at his Fortnite bimbos. Rihanna sings the line “I’ve loved and I’ve lost.” She almost, ALMOST sheds a tear. Something is holding her back.
This feeling came a while back, before school started. Time is a nuisance, and one of her fears. In case anyone was wondering who I am, I’m her brain. Her mind. Her inner thoughts. And for your pleasure, I made a special guest appearance on this blog post. Light up a marquee and call the paparazzi, you are gonna wanna see this one. Much like how Death narrated The Book Thief, I’m just chilling here. Back to time. What is time? My good friend Google says: “the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole.” Time is seen by her as a slide show of memories. The happy. The sad. The good, and the bad. How did we get here from reading the diaries of the Freedom Writers?
This thought came as she read about the growth of the kids to adults. How time had changed them, for the better. For some reason, this isn’t seeming realistic. Now, “Sweet Nothing” by Calvin Harris. Florence Welch belts out “We both know that words are empty air.” How is it possible for people to say “Take your time”, when we all know darn well that you can’t. She had seen people’s time cut short, for no reason. Time is scary, because you never have quite enough of it. How do you know how to spend your time? And if you know this, how to spend it wisely is another question. Her mind races with the uncertainty of the future and the fear of screwing up everything she has worked for. She, as well, sees words as empty air. Words haven’t seemed so valid anymore. Words have sent her to places she never, ever wanted to be in. Words took time, and time is not her friend. Time determines how much longer you are in high school, how much longer you see someone, how long you live. Is that scary, or what? So, how do we solve this? How she views time will have to get better, but know, she feels a lot better about her thoughts being released.
As for me, her thoughts, her dreams, her desires, and her fears, I’ll always be here. It’s a life long commitment. But, at some point, we will all find our way to the right place. It’s funny, how words tie in with time, but words have calmed her. Words have, in fact, set her free.