John woke up. It was half past nothing. He knew what the time was but what was the point of time. John was trapped in time. Caught between the meaninglessness of it all and the need to find meaning within the meaninglessness. The sun shone through the windows, again. The same bird that appeared on his window sill, everyday, appeared again, like an endless re-run of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. He opened his window and spoke to the bird. The bird had such a sense of confidence that it did not move. In fact it continued to cheep right in his face. ‘Cheep.Cheep,’ went the bird. ‘Fuck you bird,’ said John. ‘Cheep.Cheep,’ said the bird. John did not move and neither did the bird. John admired the bird. Not visually but literally as it cared for nothing in this world. At that point it flew up and circled around a few times more than birds usually did as if it was showing off. ‘I know. I know. Look at me I’m so free.’ He closed the window just as his girlfriend walked in.
‘Good morning honey. It’s a beautiful day don’t you think?’ She emphasized the ‘don’t you think’ bit knowing it would wind him up. She was one of these endlessly cheery types whose glass was always half-full. To which John would always respond by drinking the contents of what ever was in her glass out of spite. Now that drew him pleasure. ‘Now it’s empty.’ He would say. He took pleasure in seeing the miniscule look of disappointment on her face but she would retaliate with a big kiss, and ‘I love you John.’ And John would find it hard to bury his happiness and joy at being with such a beautiful woman. John pulled back. ‘I’m surprised you’re not a Christian. How can an atheist be of such a cheery disposition knowing full well the finality and pointlessness of it all. Jenny got up and grabbed her jacket. ‘And you the spiritual seeker caught in an endless paradox of seeking. Unable to enjoy any of it.’
She pulled on her jacket and grabbed her satchell. John smiled within himself and a surge of, ‘dare he say’ love, rose within himself, and he sighed, but only to the side. She went to leave the bed room ready to go to work, and he knew what she was going to say. And she said it.
‘Don’t forget to stop and smell the roses on your way to work.’
How the hell did she manage that everyday. He tried not to think to much about who he would see today. He had been counselling for over fifteen years and he had heard about every tragedy possible and every whine possible. Keeping a smile on his face was what he had to do. It was understandable that when he got home his default mood would be abject misery while Jennifer went to work and did creative stuff. He too grabbed his coat and headed of to work.
It was a cloudy day. John stood and observed the clouds. He looked for funny animal shapes but couldn’t discern anything. He nearly found one that looked like a whale but looked again and saw a rabbit. He walked to the bus stop trying his best to notice his surroundings. The houses were a mixture of pre-fabricated dwellings that were unashamedly American Dream suburbia. They admittedly bought theirs when they were both in the early throes of love. As if the purchasing of a property would somehow cement, seal, and make definite their love. John had avoided marriage so far knowing full well that would be the end of their love. Jennifer diagreed. Marriage was what nurtured the love and made it sacred even though she did not believe in God. John disagreed stating that love can only exist without boundaries and confines. It had to feel free. But maybe his love and her love were two different things.
John noticed a flower growing on the ground by the bus stop. He wondered about the flower and its purposeless existence. He dreamed himself as a flower growing towards the sun. The seed taking root. The root shooting up out of the earth. The petals unfurling, reaching towards the sunshine. Feeling the warmth of the sun. Feeling the rain. Being the sun. Being the rain. He imagined other people passing him by and marvelling at his flower beauty. ‘If only we were all flowers’, he thought to himself.
‘Maybe we are all flowers’, he thought again.
(There was an issue with transition in this story but I thought fuck it.I’m so impatient sometimes)