My slight brush with death yesterday afternoon leaves me tossing and turning under my blankets. The stranger grabbing the hood of my jacket and pulling me back from the curb, milliseconds before a screaming ambulance flies by had barely saved me. I had looked at death in the face, and now have the feeling it won’t be soon until I see him again.Like a skipping record, the memory replays over and over again. I’m thinking about death. My death. My eyelids quiver from side to side.All of a sudden, they flicker open. In that instance, I fling myself forward and sit up from my bed.My scream finds its way from my vocal chords out through my mouth. The only light is the glowing blur from the night-light in the hall escaping under my door.Nobody responds to my scream.I am alone, quivering in the blackness with the covers still over my legs.Its only 5:00 a.m. and the city is already awake even though the sun is not.A sensation comes over me.Someone else is in the room with me, even though there is no one but me and my thoughts. It clings to my back, creating goose bumps on my arms.A shiver climbs up my spine but I shake it away with a grumble.I suddenly have the urge to get out of my apartment. The air is stifling and I feel trapped within my room. I throw on my jacket and walk out the door. In the grey streets the paranoia does not dissipate.What is following me? I can feel it still, clinging to me, sucking out my serenity. My mind is racing with thoughts of yesterday’s incident. Amazing how quickly your life can change in one instance. Amazing how quickly your life can end in one instance. Walking downtown, I proceed underneath a scaffolding. As I exit, a hammer falls in front of me, missing my head by a couple feet. A construction worker above swears and yells down to me, “ARE YOU OKAY? CHRIST, I’m so sorry! That the first time I’ve dropped anything in 15 years! ” I peer up to the man positioned high above, shocked as to what had just happened. My heart is racing so fast, I cannot speak. “There is no such thing as coincidences, no such thing as luck. Things happen because they’re supposed to happen,“ my father once told me.” This never seemed truer than now. I nod to the man. The construction worker proceeds to keep yelling down to me, affirming my response, but I just keep walking. As I continue downtown, the intense feeling that someone is following me strengthens. I keep peering over my shoulder but no one is behind me. Finally I reach the coffeehouse. As I open the door, I glance at the window.Time stops. A horrific face stares back at me in the reflection that is not my own. Dark circles underneath empty black eyes, pasty pale skin, and a crooked nose. The face burns into my eyes, leaving me frozen, paralyzed, “Hey, MOVE IT!” A businessman yells from behind me. I snap out of the trance. Silently picking up my coffee I try to sit still but cannot calm my nerves. My trembling hands nearly spill the coffee. In the bathroom, I splash cold water onto my face. As I drag my hands over my eyes and peer up into the mirror, there it is again. An empty, treacherous feeling tumbles inside my stomach. A twisted version my own reflection. My own pale, drained, face. I sit down and pick up a newspaper lying on the table. Unfold it. Scan through the daily news. Below the cartoons is the horoscope and quote of the day. The quote reads, ‘To live is the rarest thing in the world, most people exist, that is all.” Have I not been living? Have I been too obsessed with living that I have forgotten to live at all? At this moment, I look out the window. Past my own reflection there is the bustling city, the walking people, the honking taxis, the towering skyscrapers. “You can learn a lot about someone from their eyes,” my Dad used to say. I look into my own eyes, this time unafraid to face my demons. I see someone deprived. I see uncertainty and fear. But a faint light shimmers in my eyes. Is that glimpse of hope? There is nothing I can do but wait and see. I walk out the door into the sunshine. At a curb, I begin to cross the street, simuntantely looking to the left. Clear. I look to the right and am met by a honking, speeding car. Dead.
I’m thinking about death. My death. My eyelids quiver from side to side. All of a sudden, they flicker open. In that instance, I fling myself forward and sit up from my bed. My scream finds its way from my vocal chords out through my mouth.
The only light is the glowing blur from the night-light in the hall escaping under my door. Nobody responds to my scream. I am alone, quivering in the blackness with the covers still over my legs. Its only 5:00 a.m. and the city is already awake even though the sun is not. A sensation comes over me. Someone else is in the room with me, even though there is no one but me and my thoughts. It clings to my back, creating goose bumps on my arms. A shiver climbs up my spine but I shake it away with a grumble. I suddenly have the urge to get out of my apartment. The air is stifling and I feel trapped within my room. I throw on my jacket and walk out the door.
In the grey streets the paranoia does not dissipate. What is following me? I can feel it still, clinging to me, sucking out my serenity. My mind is racing with thoughts of yesterday’s incident. Amazing how quickly your life can change in one instance. Amazing how quickly your life can end in one instance.
Walking downtown, I proceed underneath a scaffolding. As I exit, a hammer falls in front of me, missing my head by a couple feet.
A construction worker above swears and yells down to me, “ARE YOU OKAY? CHRIST, I’m so sorry! That the first time I’ve dropped anything in 15 years! ”
I peer up to the man positioned high above, shocked as to what had just happened. My heart is racing so fast, I cannot speak.
“There is no such thing as coincidences, no such thing as luck. Things happen because they’re supposed to happen,“ my father once told me.” This never seemed truer than now. I nod to the man.
The construction worker proceeds to keep yelling down to me, affirming my response, but I just keep walking. As I continue downtown, the intense feeling that someone is following me strengthens. I keep peering over my shoulder but no one is behind me.
Finally I reach the coffeehouse. As I open the door, I glance at the window. Time stops. A horrific face stares back at me in the reflection that is not my own. Dark circles underneath empty black eyes, pasty pale skin, and a crooked nose. The face burns into my eyes, leaving me frozen, paralyzed,
“Hey, MOVE IT!” A businessman yells from behind me. I snap out of the trance.
Silently picking up my coffee I try to sit still but cannot calm my nerves. My trembling hands nearly spill the coffee.
In the bathroom, I splash cold water onto my face. As I drag my hands over my eyes and peer up into the mirror, there it is again.
An empty, treacherous feeling tumbles inside my stomach. A twisted version my own reflection. My own pale, drained, face.
I sit down and pick up a newspaper lying on the table. Unfold it. Scan through the daily news. Below the cartoons is the horoscope and quote of the day. The quote reads, ‘To live is the rarest thing in the world, most people exist, that is all.”
Have I not been living? Have I been too obsessed with living that I have forgotten to live at all? At this moment, I look out the window. Past my own reflection there is the bustling city, the walking people, the honking taxis, the towering skyscrapers.
“You can learn a lot about someone from their eyes,” my Dad used to say. I look into my own eyes, this time unafraid to face my demons. I see someone deprived. I see uncertainty and fear. But a faint light shimmers in my eyes. Is that glimpse of hope? There is nothing I can do but wait and see.
I walk out the door into the sunshine. At a curb, I begin to cross the street, simuntantely looking to the left. Clear. I look to the right and am met by a honking, speeding car. Dead.