Just a Story: Day 29

[S] Word of the day: Antics (29,530 / 1,000,000)

It’s the summer of 2001, and fat, Texas raindrops patter against the living room window. A dozen or so gangly kids are dogpiled on and around a floral-print sofa, myself among them. We pass around a few plates piled high with Totino’s pizza rolls, and there’s plenty of chocolate milk to wash it down. On the other side of the room, a VHS tape of Disney’s A Goofy Movie is blaring from an old CRT television set. Goofy does something… well... goofy, and approximately eight jets of chocolate milk shoot out from various sets of nostrils around the room. One of us dashes across the room to pause the movie, and insists we re-watch the scene immediately. The motion is unanimously passed. We watch and rewind the same scene over and over again, laughing until our sides hurt, totally succumbing to the zany antics of anthropomorphic cartoon animals.

As far as I’m concerned, nothing of any significance is going on outside of that room. Armed with pizza rolls, chocolate milk, and family, I couldn’t imagine a place I’d rather be. In fact, I’m not thinking about any other place. I’m totally enthralled in the moment - my consciousness has shirked the bonds of self-awareness, and is free to bask in the warm glow of the present moment. It’s a phenomenon that I don’t know to appreciate. Realistically, if I knew to appreciate it, then I wouldn’t be able to experience it in the first place. That’s the way of things, isn’t it?

The rhythmic plinks of rain on glass become less frequent, and begin to lighten in intensity. After just a few minutes, the torrent is gone, replaced by a sunny, cloudless sky. The weather turns on a dime like that in Texas – the ground outside should even dry up if it’s given a few more hours of sunshine. The movie ends, but we re-watch the ending scenes a few more times, hesitant to return from our journey into that whimsical realm. As if on an unspoken cue, the amorphous mass of siblings and cousins suddenly splits in a move which resembles a sports team breaking after a huddle. Downstairs, the other occupants of the home immediately become aware that this has occurred, as the previously quiet house is filled with a stampede of thunderous footsteps.

Like water filling a vessel, we disperse and fill every nook and cranny of the home with chaos and antics. The big people mimic tall monuments, or maybe trees, with rivers of motion flowing around them. They seem to move in slow-motion, if at all, compared to the flurry of activity that flows around and past them. They appear to us statue-like, and yet one of them is always somehow within arms reach when one of us nearly knocks a vase over, or attempts a brave leap from too high a height. One stern look from an aunt is enough to quail our mischief, but the serious gaze always softens to one of love and… reminiscence? There was a time when they too were zipping around underfoot, sowing chaos and (minimal) destruction in their wake.

With life, as with all drugs, the first highs are always the sharpest, and a user will spend the rest of their time chasing that first, sweet taste of pure ecstasy. In fact, one could argue that the use of all drugs is really just a meager attempt at recreating that high of life as a kid. With enough of the right chemical, one can taste a tiny hint of chocolate milk and pizza rolls; but it’s always just enough to tease, never enough to satisfy. There’s no way to bottle the vibrant energy of youth.

I’m in a different time now, and a different place. The evening is warm, and I’m reclined in a lawn chair on a back patio. There’s a grill going a few yards away, filling the air with the sultry scents of charred meat and smoke. There’s a frenzy of activity happening in this time and place too, but it’s different from before. For one, the dozen or so kids are replaced by only a handful. The number never mattered though, only the ties between them. Another difference is that I’ve found myself stuck in a slower time stream. I find that I have petrified (by choice) into a statue myself, as a blur of mischief and antics swirls around and past me. A small smile twists the corner of my mouth. I’m sure to meander over when one kid pushes another too high on a swing, or a particularly curious one gets too close to the grill. These are my blood after all, I can’t let them hurt themselves on my watch.

In a quiet moment, I can’t help but recall the look of love and reminiscence that was often aimed at my compatriots and I all those years ago. I know that the same look is on my face now, and I appreciate the connection it provides me to my elders. It’s easy to think of aging as a curse – a cruel joke played on us by our creators. As we age, time seems to accelerate around us, while we simultaneously slow down. But, in this moment I appreciate the slow pace of my mind – my lack of presence. It connects me to my past, it allows me to appreciate the time I had in that state, and it warms my heart to see others experiencing the pure joy of youth. Even now, with many years and thousands of miles separating myself and my elders, I wonder if they were to see me now, if they would feel another hit of nostalgia. If they were to see the look on my face in this moment, they would know that I’ve once more experienced what they experienced many long years ago.