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American Drama Contemporary

This story contains themes or mentions of substance abuse.

Sometimes I wonder what could have happened if I never grew up. What could have happened if I never went to college or became an engineer. Maybe I would have never had children . I would never have broken my ankle falling of a bicycle. This is a question I often think about and dream about. Especially when the days become grey and the nights feel cold.

A river runs as well as it can go, it runs free and wild. It will continue to run until it meets an obstacle. A stone, a mountain, a log on the road. Of which it hits continuously and without ceasing until it finds a weak spot and keeps going cutting through, never stopping. I am not a river and I can not run anymore these days.

How often I want to be a river, maybe I will stop thinking about the things that haunt me. The roads never taken. The memories that still linger of the trips and places I could have gone to. The journey of life can sometimes be very cruel. It can corner you and trap the life that you want with the life that you have. Most days, the two are not the same. How I long for the freedom of being young, unchained and carefree. 

How often I spend my time just thinking about all the beautiful things that young people can still do. All the hope that still burn in their eyes, all the dreams that can potentially materialize. With no bills, no bosses, no mortgages nothing just freedom. 

It’s often said that the old reminisce of the young, and the young envy the life of old. Both walk in shoes of each other all to switch places at a time where each knows how or when it happened. They wish they could be more stable. More dependent. They could have more money. It’s never a fair trade, but you never know until you have some of the things you wish for. Everyone wants to be somebody else, usually no one wants to be themselves. 

When I think about my life, I’m often reminded of the friends I used to know. All the Joes I used to hang out with. All the weed we used to smoke, the cigarettes passes and the little shot bottles. I am not a smoker but I smoked a lot back then. The times were different and we lived like we were in Paris. Every household had an ash tray and somehow it seemed so much fun. Until you hear Carol died of lung cancer at forty three. Then you start to wonder what happened. Am I next in line? You ask yourself. 

Then everyone starts dying. So many have also died but from many other causes. Tears come flowing every time I remember the ones I have lost.  At least the ones I wished I could see again. One last hurrah, a precious soul lost too soon.

Patrick, oh my dear Patrick. He died fifteen years ago, but it still feels empty without him. He was the first one to go. He left quietly and fast. I remember the Saturday afternoon when I heard the news. I drank so much my tongue was numb for two days. It was brain cancer that got him. Dave and I called him the luck one. At twenty nine he was married and had a little boy, Marcus. It was so sad when he escaped to the beyond, especially he being the only one who was responsible.

I still see his posts on Facebook from time to time. Its funny how people leave traces of their lives in the vast media. Someday people will say the same about me. I saw his wife psoting Marcus had just started college, recently. Only if he could se them today, I’m sure he would be proud. But time flows forward and never backwards, only in pictures can we see the past.  

Billy was the second on the afterlife ride. His was a colorful life that transcended Elvis, Whitney and the best hall of famers. He got a signing studio and record label on the way. But life had other plans for the upcoming rockstar. An ending to be expected by many in the business. At twenty three, he was found in the bathroom of some Hilton in Miami. His mother never forgave us. Billy was his only one. Billy was always a fun, loving guy. He took us to places we have never been. Introduced us to people we would never ever meet, never, even in two life times. 

Yes, so many more I can remember for the paper to be full. Some by car crashes, freaky accidents, child birth, and so many more that just died. And some die because you stop talking to them anymore. They become different people, and you think it's better to consider them dead. Like Bob Mitchel the bastard. He is serving time for raping his own daughter. He has so many sexual allegations that I personally think he is better being dead. He was such a decent guy in school and now he became a monster.  

the Bob Mitches become just as good as dead, because it’s not like you miss them or you ever want to talk to them. They simply drop off the path of life you are on, and you want them to remain out of it. You never want to hear about them, so they might as well be dead. 

I know this sounds very sad and dramatic, but sometimes we all make choices in our lives, and most choices are what we become. And where we end up with those little choices can turn into lifestyles and before you know it you are just a different person. 

Some habits like what we love to eat can lead to dire consequences. Three years ago when I got to my primary, he mentioned something about my diabetes markers being up. And then again another fork on the road. And before you know it you have diabetes type two, and you make different choices. Choices that can help you cling and fight to keep the life you hate. You have a disease that needs you to stay on track, you have medications, and check ups and everything else. Nothing is ever is the same as I used to know it. I can not run as I used to, nor jump nor fight like I used to. 

I wake up with children screaming in the background. My hair line is so far back I cannot see where it stops. Sometimes I want to cry but even if you want to, you cannot. Why you ask? Obviously, other people will see me cry and my children will see me cry and then crying no longer becomes mine because I have to share it with others.

Growing up is not fun, but we all have to do it. Sometimes the only little fun you get is knowing that, I , like many was once part of the young. And all of these things I did, are not a distant dream but a memory. A memory of an amazing life that I once lived. A memory of a golden time where I could run, jump and fight. A memory of old ghosts that once share a beautiful life with me. A mirror of the past self to be cherished and appreciated. Something I keep, preserving the company I had, and it's laughter and what it was like to be when I was young.

March 25, 2023 03:54

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