There was this special, singular moment in Lucy’s life, that probably has a corresponding time in everyone’s life, she reasoned, that she realized with much anticipation and fear, that she would not make it out of this life alive.
For others, such as her parents, middling in every possible way- middle class, middle-aged, placid and resigned with the bland middle-ness of their lives, assuming an apathetic, middle-of-the-spectrum-of-emotions stance on the mildly interesting things that happened in their lives- this was called a mid-life crisis. That moment in bed, when Mrs. Tiffany Coleman’s spoon lathered in soggy oatmeal hit the floor with a half-congealed smack, her glass of skim milk left raised, trembling before her prepared and pursed lips- that momentous moment when she sat there and her brain began to explode, crying out, “I do not want this oatmeal! I want a warm, crisp-on-the-outside, melty-on-the-inside, spicy-in-a-sweet-sugary-way, cinnamon bun that may add pounds to my already loaded love handles, but I want one anyway! James!” James I used to call you bun, like cinnamon bun honey, oh where has the sweetness gone? It was that moment when Mr. James Coleman raced into the room, his tennis polo crisp and raised, aloof, around his neck, his muscular legs rippling in the joy it took from the physical activity of rushing from their bathroom where he had been combing his hair to the room down the hall where his wife enjoyed breakfast every morning- it was this moment while staring at her pink lips crusted with off-white oatmeal, breasts spilling lopsidedly and unrestrained beneath her ratty pajama tee, that his epiphany tied his shoe-laces to each other and tripped him up altogether- I do not love her, he thought. What a car-wreck of an ex-debutante. How would her high-school cheer outfit fit those mountains and caves of a body now ?I feel pity and sympathy toward her, yes, but there is no passion because there is no mystery. .I who have maintained my form… I am a great man of a husband., I cannot love what is beneath me.
For others, such as her neighbors, they had their own realizations as well. Owen, the boy from the window lit in the third-story left-most window every night until every morning, realized his life was busy-work, and the track his life had been following was comparable to a treadmill track.. around around around around and going no where, until one’s sneakers were not only worn through but so was the track. Owen jumped out this third story window the moment he realized this, half out of exhaustion, depression, and absolute self-defeat of this realization, half out of the hope he had kept kindling inside him that someday he would fly. He did not fly, and instead landed in his sister’s new sleek and red Audi A4 convertible, and because she had left the top open, his unfortunate landing got blood on the seats. Owen survived, and lived to see the day when he would be forced to buy his sister a new convertible for the blood he had so stupidly shed on it. No one knew he had jumped out the window. No one saw but Lucy.
For others, such as her classmates, there were other types of epiphanies. Gazing in the mirror for her fifty-first minute that morning, Kara realized not only that she had the most perfect bone structure she had ever seen, was so lucky to have straight hair unlike her ugly twin, and was graced with teeth that would never need railroad tracks-I mean, braces, she thought, giggling to herself at her twin’s misfortune- but also that her habits in front of the mirror were the reason she was mysteriously late to school every morning. Who woulda thought, hehe! Standing outside of the locked door waiting to grab the special floss her dentist had given her to reach around her difficult oral-wiring, curling a frizzy tendril around her finger, Sarah the twin thought whimsically of the deep, mysterious, suicidal boy who now walked her home every day from school, and realized how if there was one thing others should think about the relationship between her and her twin, it would be that Sarah should be jealous of perfect Kara. Yet Sarah also realized there was no rhyme or reason to their relationship, for it was Kara who was the unlucky one. There is no such thing as anger, meanness, or cruelty coming from a happy place within someone, she thought to herself. Kara is so mean because she must be so jealous of me and Owen, hehe!
There was the epiphany of the eye-doctor who lived in the next town over as he peered into the big round ovals of his thirteenth patient that day. He loved his job, for who wouldn’t love to peer into the windows of the soul for forty hours a week? He loved the varying shades of irises, the timidity of some blinks or the piercing brightness of some people’s stares. He loved his control over them too…I CAN MAKE YOUR PUPIL OPEN WIDER OR CLOSE, MY PRETTY, WITH THESE LIGHTS OF MINE I HAVE COMPLETE POWER OVER YOUR PUPIL, LENSE, AND RETINA!! Staring into the soul of one particularly beautiful patient, he had a realization inside a realization. He realized first he was staring into her soul, and he liked it. Then he realized, conversely, she could stare into his. For as many hours as he soul-sifted through patient after patient’s windows, I mean eyes, they had a clear view into his. Oh, how frightful! The optometrist also realized that he would never, ever, never ever have the chance to see out of anyone’s eyes but his own. He grasped his head in his hands, shook with sobs, and gave the office his two-weeks notice.
All over the soggy, drizzling streets of Greenwich, London, a thousand unique and brilliant epiphanies lit up like sparks and wrought searing flares upon the lives of the city and its inhabitants. Realized the elderly owner of Royal Teas- Some of my young customers will never be as rich as they imagine, and instead find their dreams crushed, owning a small, dinky café like mine. They will be infinitely happier than their previous plans for life. Realized the kitten curled in the window of Royal Teas- meoooow! Mow mew REEow. Realized the wasted girl at the downtown nightclub as she threw up for her sixth time onto the corner of the sidewalk outside- I truly know none of these friends that I came with. Our foundation, our relationship is built off of drunken heart-to-hearts. Where is the vulnerability of humans locked away when they are not under the influence? Realized the candle-stick maker- My candle scents of Christmas Cookie, Warm Vanilla, Vanilla Cupcake, French Vanilla, and Buttercream all smell exactly alike! Realized the aspiring mathematician in his office- E=mc squared! Realized the anxious, pacing patient inside his psychologist’s office- My psychologist is absolutely psycho! Realized the psychologist- My patient is one helpless psycho… Realized the writer, reading the latest news of the outcome of the Mai Lai massacre and the nearing end of the Vietnam war, with his feet up on his wooden-dinner table and the tea he just gulped in surprise scorching a streak down his gullet- We are all psychotics.
All of these moments of divinity, flashing before a thousand eyes of a thousand different lives, occurred simultaneously with Lucy’s shattering realization. She shivered, slipped off her slippers, and padded in a gentle and self-possessed manner to her front door. The handle was cold to the touch, and then she bolted away into the city’s infinite cloud of newly-grasped insights.
For others, such as her parents, middling in every possible way- middle class, middle-aged, placid and resigned with the bland middle-ness of their lives, assuming an apathetic, middle-of-the-spectrum-of-emotions stance on the mildly interesting things that happened in their lives- this was called a mid-life crisis. That moment in bed, when Mrs. Tiffany Coleman’s spoon lathered in soggy oatmeal hit the floor with a half-congealed smack, her glass of skim milk left raised, trembling before her prepared and pursed lips- that momentous moment when she sat there and her brain began to explode, crying out, “I do not want this oatmeal! I want a warm, crisp-on-the-outside, melty-on-the-inside, spicy-in-a-sweet-sugary-way, cinnamon bun that may add pounds to my already loaded love handles, but I want one anyway! James!” James I used to call you bun, like cinnamon bun honey, oh where has the sweetness gone? It was that moment when Mr. James Coleman raced into the room, his tennis polo crisp and raised, aloof, around his neck, his muscular legs rippling in the joy it took from the physical activity of rushing from their bathroom where he had been combing his hair to the room down the hall where his wife enjoyed breakfast every morning- it was this moment while staring at her pink lips crusted with off-white oatmeal, breasts spilling lopsidedly and unrestrained beneath her ratty pajama tee, that his epiphany tied his shoe-laces to each other and tripped him up altogether- I do not love her, he thought. What a car-wreck of an ex-debutante. How would her high-school cheer outfit fit those mountains and caves of a body now ?I feel pity and sympathy toward her, yes, but there is no passion because there is no mystery. .I who have maintained my form… I am a great man of a husband., I cannot love what is beneath me.
For others, such as her neighbors, they had their own realizations as well. Owen, the boy from the window lit in the third-story left-most window every night until every morning, realized his life was busy-work, and the track his life had been following was comparable to a treadmill track.. around around around around and going no where, until one’s sneakers were not only worn through but so was the track. Owen jumped out this third story window the moment he realized this, half out of exhaustion, depression, and absolute self-defeat of this realization, half out of the hope he had kept kindling inside him that someday he would fly. He did not fly, and instead landed in his sister’s new sleek and red Audi A4 convertible, and because she had left the top open, his unfortunate landing got blood on the seats. Owen survived, and lived to see the day when he would be forced to buy his sister a new convertible for the blood he had so stupidly shed on it. No one knew he had jumped out the window. No one saw but Lucy.
For others, such as her classmates, there were other types of epiphanies. Gazing in the mirror for her fifty-first minute that morning, Kara realized not only that she had the most perfect bone structure she had ever seen, was so lucky to have straight hair unlike her ugly twin, and was graced with teeth that would never need railroad tracks-I mean, braces, she thought, giggling to herself at her twin’s misfortune- but also that her habits in front of the mirror were the reason she was mysteriously late to school every morning. Who woulda thought, hehe! Standing outside of the locked door waiting to grab the special floss her dentist had given her to reach around her difficult oral-wiring, curling a frizzy tendril around her finger, Sarah the twin thought whimsically of the deep, mysterious, suicidal boy who now walked her home every day from school, and realized how if there was one thing others should think about the relationship between her and her twin, it would be that Sarah should be jealous of perfect Kara. Yet Sarah also realized there was no rhyme or reason to their relationship, for it was Kara who was the unlucky one. There is no such thing as anger, meanness, or cruelty coming from a happy place within someone, she thought to herself. Kara is so mean because she must be so jealous of me and Owen, hehe!
There was the epiphany of the eye-doctor who lived in the next town over as he peered into the big round ovals of his thirteenth patient that day. He loved his job, for who wouldn’t love to peer into the windows of the soul for forty hours a week? He loved the varying shades of irises, the timidity of some blinks or the piercing brightness of some people’s stares. He loved his control over them too…I CAN MAKE YOUR PUPIL OPEN WIDER OR CLOSE, MY PRETTY, WITH THESE LIGHTS OF MINE I HAVE COMPLETE POWER OVER YOUR PUPIL, LENSE, AND RETINA!! Staring into the soul of one particularly beautiful patient, he had a realization inside a realization. He realized first he was staring into her soul, and he liked it. Then he realized, conversely, she could stare into his. For as many hours as he soul-sifted through patient after patient’s windows, I mean eyes, they had a clear view into his. Oh, how frightful! The optometrist also realized that he would never, ever, never ever have the chance to see out of anyone’s eyes but his own. He grasped his head in his hands, shook with sobs, and gave the office his two-weeks notice.
All over the soggy, drizzling streets of Greenwich, London, a thousand unique and brilliant epiphanies lit up like sparks and wrought searing flares upon the lives of the city and its inhabitants. Realized the elderly owner of Royal Teas- Some of my young customers will never be as rich as they imagine, and instead find their dreams crushed, owning a small, dinky café like mine. They will be infinitely happier than their previous plans for life. Realized the kitten curled in the window of Royal Teas- meoooow! Mow mew REEow. Realized the wasted girl at the downtown nightclub as she threw up for her sixth time onto the corner of the sidewalk outside- I truly know none of these friends that I came with. Our foundation, our relationship is built off of drunken heart-to-hearts. Where is the vulnerability of humans locked away when they are not under the influence? Realized the candle-stick maker- My candle scents of Christmas Cookie, Warm Vanilla, Vanilla Cupcake, French Vanilla, and Buttercream all smell exactly alike! Realized the aspiring mathematician in his office- E=mc squared! Realized the anxious, pacing patient inside his psychologist’s office- My psychologist is absolutely psycho! Realized the psychologist- My patient is one helpless psycho… Realized the writer, reading the latest news of the outcome of the Mai Lai massacre and the nearing end of the Vietnam war, with his feet up on his wooden-dinner table and the tea he just gulped in surprise scorching a streak down his gullet- We are all psychotics.
All of these moments of divinity, flashing before a thousand eyes of a thousand different lives, occurred simultaneously with Lucy’s shattering realization. She shivered, slipped off her slippers, and padded in a gentle and self-possessed manner to her front door. The handle was cold to the touch, and then she bolted away into the city’s infinite cloud of newly-grasped insights.
