The Day I Met John Jones

Down the crowded sidewalk, I ran, with desperation and commitment on my face and in my soul. The traffic of faces walked opposite to me, staring with curiosity as I passed. They looked so depressed. So discontent in their lives. Like they desired to jump out, but were bound at the feet. Although, I paid little attention to them. I bumped into many, crumpling my pristine suit, which I had worn for the interview that happened to be my destination. It would give me a chance at a very prestigious position, which would earn an exorbitant amount of money. It would be possible for me to purchase whatever I wanted. But I couldn’t think about that now. I needed to get there first.

When I arrived at the bus stop, I was met with the ghastly sight of the shuttle driving away. I exclaimed in anger and cursed, for without the bus, I would most definitely be late. I had missed my chance.

Little did I know, John Jones had heard my cry.

I sat down on a bench under the covering of the bus stop in my gloom. Just then, it began to rain.

“Of course,” I said, my overall feeling of disappointment almost overflowing out of my mouth, causing me the desire to yell out in pain.

The rain fell onto the cover of the bus stop. It descended from the sky only to make contact with the roofs of the gigantic skyscrapers above, subsequently falling onto the top of the bus stop, completing its journey. I thought of these drops of hydrogen and oxygen atoms bonded together to form this interesting molecule, which is crucial to our survival. Yet, we are always running away from it, like we are made out of delicate sugar. I also thought of how this journey of rain reflects our own lives. How we are on our trek until interrupted and changed in the direction of something we may or may not desire. We are the water droplets.

It was the rain that encouraged my thoughts that day. Or at least I thought so. All this curiosity and confusion over my temporary thought-illness is because of my aversion to thinking. I am not an avid-thinking person. My opinion of thought was that it exposed the fearful parts of life. The fearful parts of the universe. So, whenever the gears inside my brain started to turn, I would normally make them rust and come to a halt, because I absolutely loathed the feeling thoughts gave me. The feeling of mystery in the universe. The feeling of questions being left unanswered. The feeling of something so simple as fear and survival instinct, multiplied exponentially to be so much worse than it normally is.

Yet, I found myself under the cover of the bus stop, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain falling upon it, thinking. I was thinking. And for the first time in my life, I actually enjoyed it.

Just then, I was interrupted.

“Hey, are you alright?” Said a stranger, his voice filled with genuine concern.

I had not seen him yet, but based on his voice, I imagined this person as a man, tall and skinny in stature, with dark brown hair that is cut short, a thinly shaved beard, and a thin neck.

“Dude, are you alright?” the stranger said again, expelling me out of thought.

I looked up and saw the man who the voice belonged to.

He was standing right in front of me. Now that I could see him, I knew that my prediction of his appearance was tremendously far off.

The man was of average height and very muscular. So muscular, it was obvious that he had a gym schedule. His hair was the color of black, with it waving down to his shoulders. He had no beard, and his neck was quite thick. I had completely misjudged how this person looked. I began to infer more about this stranger, but I stopped myself before I imagined anything too rash. My thoughts were already getting the better of me. My liking for them still did not waver.

“Yeah… I’m okay.” I said, obviously not okay.

“Missed your bus?” He said curiously, pointing toward where said bus had been previously.

“Yeah, the crowds were crazy today,” said I, lying. For that was not why I had been late.

The man stared at me for a moment, sensing my falsehood. He eventually chose to say nothing about it, and so our conversation carried on.

“Where were you headed?” He asked.

“You’re very talkative,” I replied, obviously not buying whatever I thought he was trying to sell.

“Ha! Yeah, I get that a lot” He added, chuckling and not trying to sell anything.

“So,” He continued, “Where were you headed?”

I sighed, “I had a very prestigious job interview that I needed to make. But that’s not going to happen now.”

“That certainly is unfortunate. Do you think you would’ve gotten it?” He asked, already knowing what my snarky reply would be.

“Of course! Why? Do you think I wouldn’t have? Why would I try if I didn’t think I’d get it?” I snapped back.

He did not flinch or falter.

“That I bet you would’ve.” He replied, calmly.

I swallowed whatever words I was expecting to say next, for I didn’t think his reply would be that of a calm one.

“Where is the interview at?”

I told him the address and his eyes lit up with excitement.

“Dude, that's perfect! I need to go past there anyways to get to where I’m going.” He said with excitement.

“Why is that perfect?” I asked, confused.

“Because I can take you there! In my car! It’ll take no longer than the bus, if not shorter!” He answered with even more excitement.

I was coming to realize that this man always seemed to speak with an aura of excitement, happiness, and curiosity in his voice. The opposite of me. But I was not going to let that change my determination to get this job.

Even though I had my doubts about this stranger, I accepted his offer.

The rain started to pick up.

“Alright. That sounds good. Where’s your car?” I asked, raising my voice to talk over the rain.

He pointed across the street to a black sedan, which was becoming increasingly more difficult to see as the rain continued to gain intensity. It quickly became a wall of grey, followed by a few occasional booms and flashes of light from the fight in the skies above.

“Holy sh-” I attempted to say when I noticed that I had to journey across a busy city street, while simultaneously being pummeled by giant water droplets in my precious suit and tie. But I was cut off when I stood up and exited the bus stop cover, becoming immediately overwhelmed by the deafening sound of rain falling on concrete and asphalt, which drowned out my cursing.

The man and I quickly ran up to the street and waited for there to be an opening of traffic. While we waited, we easily became drenched. I turned to him.

“You aren’t some kind of axe murderer, right?!” I yelled trying to speak over the rain.

“What?!” he yelled back, not hearing me.

“I said: ‘You. Aren’t. Some. Axe.-’” But I was cut off once more by the man grabbing my arm and pulling me into the road. There had been a traffic break, and he had taken the opportunity to get across the road, which was why he had grabbed me. I hadn’t been looking. That made me think again. It made me think of how many things we don’t notice in our day-to-day lives. I imagined one day in my past when I had been playing in the playground as a child. I was on the swings, feeling as if I was an airplane flying through the sky. A crash sounded behind me. Two cars had collided in the road facing my back, one going excessively over the speed limit. Although, I had not noticed it until now. I then continued my euphoric thoughts, remembering many instances where I had not noticed something important. It felt as if the clouds had parted and the sun was shining.

But they had not, and I was thrown back into the real world as quickly as I had left it. The clouds swept over the beautiful sun, and I was cold and miserable once again.

After our jaywalk, we made it to the man’s car. He fumbled for his keys, and once he got it, he unlocked the driver's door and opened it. Once inside, he unlocked the rest of the doors. I hastily ran to the other side of the car and opened the back right door. I quickly threw myself into the seat, the car shielding me from the bullets of rain.

I then shut the door, and he followed suit.

We then just sat there for a few seconds, catching our breath. The man shifted to put the key in the keyhole and started the car, which roared to life with the sound of the ignition. The heat immediately turned on and filled the car with its pleasant touch. I already felt my clothes drying.

The man then turned on the windshield wipers and put the car in drive, pulling out of the parking spot and getting onto the road, which was in a constant state of start-and-stop traffic.

The man immediately initiated small talk.

“So what’s your name?” He asked, politely and with exhaustion.

“Paul,” I replied. My name is not Paul. “What’s yours?”

“John Jones,“ he said, happily.

John Jones. That is to be a name that I will remember for the rest of my life. Every single time I ever hear a “John” or a “Jones” I always think of him. John Jones.

“Nice to meet you, Paul,” John said politely.

“Nice to meet you too,” I said, still questioning John’s authenticity.

Silence consumed the car for the next few seconds. Neither of us knew exactly what to say or what to talk about. I, of course, did not want to speak. The silence was eventually broken by, of course, John.

“So, what was your employment before this cool job opportunity?” John asked, happily.

“Accounting,” I replied, obviously not wanting to talk.

“That’s pretty cool,” John replied, not listening to my cries for silence, “Not really though, it sounds really, really, really boring, but whatever you’re into, man.”

I nodded.

My thoughts then started to take over again as I became curious about John’s background. And so I asked my first question.

“Where do you work?” I asked, obviously forcing myself to do so.

“Oh!” He said, chuckling, loud and with surprise, but also in a happy way like he wanted me to ask him a question, which he of course did, “I am a therapist. I specifically help people who deal with trauma from their past.”

“Ah,” I said, attempting to sound interested, but not doing a very good job, “That sounds pretty fun. Not really though, it sounds really, really, really boring, but whatever you’re into, man.” I said, mocking John.

He laughed, and I even slightly joined in.

Even though I had only slightly joined John in his laughing, it still felt euphoric to just laugh with another person. I hadn’t experienced that in a while. It felt nice.

The rain continued to fall, getting even heavier as I looked out the window.

Out of it, I saw a group of homeless people sitting in tents along the road. I looked around to see who else was near. I could see nobody who was affluent. Only those who are all the same. I imagined a bubble was around those homeless people. Of which, others avoided, for they thought these people disgusting or violent. I, for once, did not. I saw these people, and how lonely they were, and I just wanted to go up to one of them and hug them. I then thought of how the rain reflected these impoverished people. How these people were like the water droplets who had flowed off of too many rooftops, only to end up in a place that they had little control of. Their water droplets fell in the wrong place, while the people avoiding them fell in the right place. They were dealt a bad hand of probabilities, and like how a raindrop is controlled by nothing but probabilities, theirs had caused them to be in a place they didn’t want to be. Like an unlucky raindrop.

I continued to look and think about the things that the car passed by when John spoke.

“Do you ever think about people?” He asked.

“What?” I asked back, flabbergasted that he somehow asked a thought question.

“Do you ever think about people?” He continued, “How they all go through their lives, but not one of them question the reality they are in. I mean, of course, some do, but most don’t. They just walk around in their lives, only caring about what step goes where, what thing costs what, and what person is who. Never do we think of why we are here. What our purpose is. And those who do, find out who they truly are, and become happy.”

We sat in silence for a second. I eventually mustered up the courage to express what I wanted to say ever since he uttered the word: “think.”

“I don’t normally think about things,” I said, blankly.

“Don’t be silly,” He said, “You’ve been thinking this entire ride.”

“No, I have not.” I shot back.

“Yes you have,” He said chuckling, “I could see it in your eyes. And anyway, even if you weren’t, which you most definitely were, thinking is a necessary part of life! Of the human condition!”

“I seem to be functioning fine without it,” I say, snarkily.

He paused.

“Dude, It’s quite obvious that you’re not. I’ve noticed it ever since I first saw you.” He said, affirming my suspicions that he had known how I truly felt all along, “You should think more. Like I said, it’s a part of the human condition. We think to both exercise our ability to take in stimuli and break them down in ways that are easy for us to comprehend, and also to understand the world around us. Without thought, we are just mindless zombies letting the world boss us around. Letting it have control over us. Just taking in anything that happens without putting up a fight. But that is not how the world works. Not if you understand it, and to do that, you must think. You must understand the world around you. To think. To imagine is the human way. Those who rule against thought, do not survive.”

I was silent. For the first time in a long time, I fully accepted my thoughts. Many topics entered my brain. Those of what John had just communicated, my past experiences, the outside world, the universe surrounding me, and all infinite stimuli. My brain felt as if it had been locked its whole life, holding back the pressure of all my thoughts and emotions, but it had just found the key. Now the floodgates were open.

I shed a tear. It was beautiful.

I felt the clouds part and the storms stop. The sun shone on the grey skyscrapers which now appeared to be full of color. It continued onto my face and I felt its warmth for what seemed to be the first time.

John chuckled, seeing my star-stricken face. He was happy as well.

The car then carefully broke.

“Here we are!” John said, joyfully.

I turned to him and smiled. One more tear went out of my eye and down my cheek, eventually falling onto my lap.

“Thank you, John.”

“And thank you, Paul.”

My smile slightly faded and I turned to open the door. I reached for the door handle but did not yet turn it.

I turned back to John and looked at him once more.

“My name isn’t Paul,” I said, regretfully, “It’s Scott.”

“I know,” John said, smiling.

I then smiled back, not even questioning how he had known my name, opened the door, and stepped out. The sun shone on my face even more while outside of the car, I then closed the door and waved at John, who smiled and waved back, his face of contentment being the last thing I ever saw of him.

I then stepped away from the car and watched it drive down the road, which was visible for about a thousand feet.

I then looked at the building which housed my interview.

I looked at my watch. It appeared that I had gotten there just in time.

I then looked down the road to get one last glimpse of John’s car.

But strangely, it was gone.

I did not question it, for whatever was the fate of John Jones, I would never know.

What I would know is the lasting impact he made on me. Not only did he drive me to where I needed to be, but he also helped me learn how to think. How to feel. And for that, I am forever grateful.

I then looked back at the tall office building that I needed to enter, but I decided against it. I did not want to spend the rest of my life behind a work desk moving money for people with even more money.

And so I breathed in the warm city air and down the sidewalk I went. Away from what could’ve been my new job, and toward untold new possibilities.

For now I was a thinker, and I continued to contemplate this world as I walked down the sidewalk, the cold rain pouring onto my unlocked head. Courtesy of John Jones.