The Next Step Forward


What happened. What happened to my brother coming home from his late night shift, bearing his weekend annual gifts, "Little Debbie" Donut sticks, two liters of syrupy and  sugar rich sodas. That Friday and Saturday night delight, where the only light was offered up by the TV’s changing flashing glow, and the only sound came from the rattle, rang and ping from the graphically designed guns, and the crinkle and crumble from the shrink wrap wrapped snacks that lined the floor. We giggled, chuckled, snickered and shrieked  to the point where I could feel a six pack coming on.

What happened to the involuntary urge to grab all the clean sheets from the linen closet, and pin them up on the walls, make a kingdom of cloth and then on paper write about the stories the kingdom had seen, what happened to our only cue for sleep being when our eyes became too difficult to keep open. What happened to the football games that lasted all day, mindless of exhaustion, mindless of thirst, of scrape and scab, we played as long as the sun allowed.
What happened to the Avatar marathons that held every fiber of my attention; whereupon six continuous hours of watching, I thought maybe, just maybe I was the Avatar in another life. I thought maybe if I stomped on the ground at the right angle, with the right force that a little rock about the size of a basketball would fly out in front of me.

What happens when I’m not ready for the next step, what happens when instead of filling out college applications, I’m still practicing my earth bending form. What happens when I’m still not ready to to give up the poked punctured and prodded sheets, the micro-sized holes that contrast in the walls paint, the countless succulent  Little Debbies that were consumed by involuntary lip-smacking. What do you do when time passes and you remain standing still.

You change by staying the same.







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