Stars, Cigars, and the Imagination

John was an ordinary name for an even more ordinary man.  Hist lifestyle was predictable and safe.  Seldom did he meet new people, spontaneity was not in his English vocabulary, and every day he would bitterly claim to have no imagination.

This was until September.  September held a particular event that forever changed John's life.  September was desperately needed in order to wake his imagination from a long, lethargic slumber.  The month started with a sympathetic invitation from his roommate, Alex.  Though John would never admit it, he was tremendously jealous of Alex.  He hated Alex for everything he was yet wanted to be just like him.

This jealousy was not rooted in a car, good grades, good looks, or even a girl - but in a personality.  John was jealous of Alex's sense of adventure, his ability to make friends, his confidence to wear something "different", and most of all his creativity. 

"There are two kinds of people in this world, " Alex frequently proclaimed.  "First, there are the 'why' people.  They ask the world 'why'.  'Why would I want to do that?  Why would I want to try something new?  Why would I get a new haircut or go to a sushi party or dance like a mad man when no one is around?  Why, why, why?'  Then you have the other group of people.  They are the 'why not' people.  They look at the world and shout, 'Why not!?'  They are the ones who meet crazy people and they know the appropriate time to be whimsical.  They are the ones who learn about themselves.  They truly realize that they are only human - this is why they are able to learn from their mistakes.  They are the idealists and the pioneers and the innovators of society.  I am a 'why not' person.. Who do you want to be, John?  You always reject my invitations; please go with us.  Just give it a try, man.  Why not?!"

Alex was going on a bigfoot hunt with his friends.  The trip would last the entire weekend and he knew that John would greatly benefit if he would go.

"Bigfoot hunting?  Alex, you're 21 years old.  You don't mean to tell me that you really believe in bigfoot?"  

"It doesn't matter," responded Alex.  "We don't go on bifgoot hunts with hopes of catching a bigfoot (yes, there are more than one).  We go to experience nature.  We go to embrace life in its fullest.  Have you ever scared your friends and yourself while sitting around a camp fire?  Have you ever experienced the painful sensation of campfire smoke blowing in your eyes?  The smells of roasted wieners and marshmallows, the sounds of crickets as they chirp, the frightened emotions that arise in the pit of your stomach as you hear something walk around the trees next to you (even though it's usually just a squirrel or a rabbit), the sound of the trees as their crooked branches sway up and down and left and around in the cool Autumn wind, and the feeling of that same Autumn wind as it blows across your face to say 'hello'.  Please, John, tell me that you've experienced what I'm describing."

"No", John responded reluctantly.  

"Well", said Alex, "Let's change that.  Go along on our bigfoot hunt!  We're leaving after everyone finished their classes on Friday."  

John thought for a minute.  A smile began to take control of the left side of his mouth.  He tried to subdue the overpowering smile but it was nothing short of futility; it eventually had endearing control of his entire face.  "Okay, you win.  I'll go on your hunt that's not an actual hunt."

Due to the anticipation of the upcoming weekend, John could hardly concentrate in his classes.  He hadn't been so excited in years.  He tried to remember the last time he has felt such emotions - it was Christmas of 1992, but that's another story altogether.

Friday finally came and it was determined to begin John's transformation regardless of whether or not he was ready.  Alex's friends were some of the most unique people John had ever met.  The questions that arose from Alex and his friends made the 2 1/2 hour drive an incredible time.  These people were thinkers and the knew how to think outside the box.  Their questions ranged from motorized unicycles to Hitler's childhood to colors and even trying to discover what was in the briefcase in Pulp Fiction.

John sat in amazement.  He wanted so badly to contribute to the conversations but he felt intimidated.  Fortunately, Alex and his friends weren't going to let him sit in silence the whole weekend.  They asked him about himself.  They inquired about his goals and what he was studying in college and even his favorite memories (John told them about Christmas of 1992, but that's a different story altogether).

The weekend was filed with wonder, amazement, and of course... fear.  They scared themselves on the first night.  They told stories of the infamous bigfoot.  they told "facts" and "records" of grizzly bears with broken necks, deer with crushed spines, and hunters who were never seen again.

Their second night was a night that John would always remember because it was the night that he found a new name.  It was the ideal night for star gazing.  John had never before seen such an innumerable amount of stars.  As they looked up in complancency and awe, alex pulled several cigars out of his bag - one for each member of the party.

John had always wanted to try a cigar. he often fantasized of the notion of being a business man in a pinstriped power suit with a cigar in hand.  "Why not?"  he said.  This was a phrase that was thrown frequently between Alex and his friends and they were glad to hear it leave John's lips.

Something happened to John as they stared into the magnificent sky with cigars in hands.  His creative soul arose from the dead.  It started in the pit of his stomach, made its way up towards his heart, and erupted into the world with ferocity like a volcano after decades upon decades of dormancy.

John was no longer a noncreative, timid college student.  He was a conqueror and a warrior.  he imagined living back in the old days... way before cars, cell phones, television, showers, air conditioners, space exploration, and computers.  He imagined that he lived in the late BC era and he was on an epic journey.  he was no longer named John, he was Timbernook and he wasn't enjoying a cheap grape flavored cigar from a gas station, but a nice pipe filled with home grown tobacco.

Timbernook, exhausted from his day's journey on horseback (which is not a luxurious way to travel), stared into the sky in awe.  "What is a star?"  he thought.  "What is the moon?  Obviously, it's impossible to reach - no man can travel there."  Tibernook continued to stare into the speckled abyss and finally said out loud to the amazement of his friends who still knew him as John, the uncreative spectator:

Mysterious lights that cover the horizon,

How I wish to learn the truth.

Speckled lights bringing contemplation,

Answer me this, what are you?

As I smoke my pipe, I sit and proclaim,

Oh, you are such magnificent creations!

Keep me safe tonight as I dream dreamy dreams,

I only ope you provoke more inspiration.

Lightening and Snow

Lightening

Lightening flashed across the gray, wet horizon.  This brought a roaring thunder so loud and immense that the people in the library jumped out of their seats as they kept their noses hidden in the uneventful pages of their text books.  Roy ran across the room in a fit of anxiety and tripped over an inconveniently placed step-stool.  The people attempted to subdue their laughter but it was all in futility.  Roy turned red.  A nearby spectator found the answer to her question: the brown and purple bruise on Roy's left fore-arm was from a previous event filled with clumsiness and catastrophe.

Snow

Kimi steps inside the crystal palace in search of an answer.  Because she is wearing a heavy winter coat, she immediately begins to perspire.  The crystal palace has the heat cranked up due to the snowstorm.  The windows in the crystal palace show nothing but bitter and glorious white nothingness.  Kimi takes off her mittens as she approaches the nearby jeweler.  She pulls a large crystal stone of great clarity and value out of her messenger bag, hands it to the jeweler and asks, "How much?"

Staci's Aspiration

(So this is more of a creation of a character than anything else, but here it goes.  Enjoy.)

"It's so bizarre", thought Staci.  "I'm 22 years old and I have been styling hair for three years now.  I have a home, I pay my own bills, and I grocery shop every week.  I feel like I've been in the real world for quite some time now.  However, all of my friends are just now stepping into the real world.  They have big dreams and they are determined to fulfill those dreams.  They are moving to big cities.  They are marrying the loves of their lives.  They are moving on while I am staying behind."

Historians with glasses, high school teachers with cardigan sweaters, business men with power striped suits, graphic designers with crazy hair, and accountants with... well, accountants don't really have distinct qualities.  Anyway, these people were now her friends.  They were no longer college students and they were no longer able to stay up until 3:00 am or go on lovely mountain hikes on Monday afternoons (these hikes used to help ease Staci's immense hatred of Mondays.)

"I don't know what I want anymore!"  Staci felt she had chosen an anti-climatic road - a road of complacency... maybe even emptiness.  "I don't know what I want to do right now.  I just know that I need to move to a big city."

The thought of moving to a big city raised her spirits tremendously.  This was all Staci would think about; it became a distraction.  She no longer listened to her clients as they chatted with her (and that is an important part of being a hair stylist).  Staci used to be such a good listener.

New York City seemed like an appealing city.  The honking of car horns were perpetual.  The streets were painted yellow by countless taxi cabs that were driven by foreign men with incomprehensible names.  Around every street corner came captivating smells from vendors who sold hot dogs, roasted nuts, and falafel.  Unfortunately, the sidewalks were covered with used bubble gum, too dark and old to distinguish the flavor.  Pigeons invaded the sidewalks in abrasive searches for food; they were close enough to touch (though no one would ever want to).  With the realization of the faults and vices of New York City, Staci escaped her dream world as she was styling her client's hair.  "No thanks," she said out loud.  This confused her client.

"Chigaco!  What about Chicago?" thought Staci to herself.  Oh, how she loved the thought of endless art exhibits.  The notion of walking down the halls of so many different museums was absolutely enchanting.  The temptation to reach out and touch the exhibits was irresistible, especially with the oil paintings.  The rough layers and the intricate brush strokes sent tingles down her spine.

Then came came the realization of the weather in Chicago.  Chicago is near the Great Lakes - which would make it incredibly cold and windy.  The thought of messy hair blowing arbitrarily in all directions was mental anguish.  "I'm a hair stylist," said Staci (bringing again, confusion to her client).  "I can't tolerate that.  No thank you, Chicago."

Philadelphia, Los Angeles, Austin, Boston, Miami, Atlanta, Baltimore, Cleveland, and St. Louis... every major city seemed both terrific and dreadful.

The anxiety that was rooted in unanswered questions grew stronger by the day, until Thursday.  Mrs. Rost had an appointment on that Thursday.  She was a kind, middle-aged lady who always smelled like freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.  She was a beautiful women with freckled skin, and long red hair.  Her most noticeable flaw was her distinct laugh, and the fact that she used it when it was completely unprovoked.

Her laugh was an ear piercing "cackle" followed by hard inhalations that were determined to hurt the back of her throat.  (It seemed as though she had asthma.)  Completely unprovoked, Mrs. Rost laughed at her own mundane question.  "So, how has life been treatin' ya' sweetie? (flem) bahahah (gasp) ho (gasp) ho (gasp) hee!"  This was the first thing she said as she approached Staci's chair.

Regardless of her silly laugh, Staci loved her.  They had known each other for years.  Jimmy, Mrs. Rost's son, had been friends with Staci since the 4th grade.  "My Jimmy is leaving me," said Mrs. Roast in an almost facetious tone.  "He's going to study abroad in Italy.  He'll be there for an entire semester."

"That's it, that's it, that's it!" thought Staci.  "Europe, I should move to Europe.  Why not Scotland?  It's filled with magnificent castles.  Oh, I love castles.  I don't mind the rain and I won't even have to learn a new language.  Scotland just sounds... magical.  I guess I should get a passport."