Nighttime Calling

It is June 9 2007 and I am 16 years old. It is a brisk summer night that I am enjoying as I walk about the suburban neighborhood. The stars are illuminating a lustrous shine; it is beautiful. In this nighttime walk I indulge in thought and achieve an inner tranquility through the walking process. The sustained silence only made possible by the sleeping civilization creates an atmospheric stillness that is complemented by a smooth whispering wind. As I look up to the sky and gaze at the stars and the few opaque grey clouds that pass me by I think of all the things that need to be done, of all the things that need to be changed, and of all the things that I need to think out to ease my restless mind. I have always loved the nighttime ever since I was child going for walks with my parents observing the life that thrives in the dark, but now I am old, much too old mentally to remember fully the entailments of my childhood, the events that took place, but yet I am young enough to reflect upon the major events that have shaped me into who I am. Humans are a creature of habit, and I am no exception as I slowly pace myself around the laid out pavement I have treaded across so many nights before. I don't understand human existence and the psychology behind the majority of the population, I contemplate my existence and question the sanctity of life as I pass by the fenced in backyard of an old neighbor. I count out all twenty seven fence post slightly laying a touch on each one as if leaving behind a piece of myself. I continue my walk along the paved walkway up until I reach a crossroad that leaves me at a decisive point. I stop for a moment and further indulge myself in the present and the peacefulness that only nighttime can provide for me, and as the wind lightly tussles my shortened blonde hair I go over the things that I still have left to give a conclusion to in my mind. After a checklist-like runthrough I determine that I have created enough resolutions for the night and it is time to head home. Although it is one in the morning I am in no hurry to return home so I slowly take a left at the crossroad leading me in the right direction.

I pass by three more houses as I look at the ground marveling the cracks in the sidewalk with vegetative life sprouting, begging to grow free of the modern suppression. I pace my feet one step at a time, and attempt to resolve a final issue in my mind before taking a last left turn. The financial situation of my family is ever present on my mind and I attempt to quell that worrisome final issue with calculations of bills and the amount of money I can make this summer, all up until the moment I arrive on my front lawn. I walk over the beginning to dew grass towards the side of the brick laid home to the wooden gate and unlatch the connecting hook and proceed into my backyard. The backyard of my home is small in width, but the length is of ample size to allow our dogs to exercise properly, and give enough space for a sidewalk to run adjacent to the building. I walk alongside the brick laid outer layer of the home, running a finger along the side feeling the roughness of the brick and the solidity it exudes. I arrive at the back glass doorway and turn around to take one last look up at the night sky and inhale a deep breathe of the crisp air. As I exhale out slowly I put my mind to rest, slide the glass door to the left, and take a step inside my home. Walking up the thirteen cold metal stairs to my bedroom doesn't remind me of anything, it does however puts a further emphasis on my meticulous nature that makes me who I am.

It is June 14th 2007 and I am hospitalized experiencing the final stages of an inoperable cancer. The doctors project I have one day left to live, and at my request I have told my parents to say their goodbyes and leave me to myself in my final hours. It was tough for them, but the projected life I have lived has been one of a loner, apart from any parental guidance, so it only seems proper it shall end like this. It is three P.M. and I am expected to live for only nine more hours. At first diagnosis I did cry, I wept alongside my parents for hours at the loss of life I will endure, that they will endure, but now I am settled and ready for the next step. I have never understood the purpose of humanity, the mundane routines, so it only seems natural that one who does not fit in shall be taken. I contemplate my final thoughts and ease myself into a morphine induced slumber.

I am awoken to darkness, to which I check my watch and find that it is one A.M. and I am still alive unable to sleep. I attempt to get out of bed and walk around the room to the window, but I am too tired. I am always tired. I slowly press the call button for a nurse to appear, and when she arrives I beckon her to open the blinds and the window. " I am sorry", she attempts to explain, "but windows on the upstairs don't open for the sake of protecting the patients" I am mollified by this statement, and ask her to open the blinds at least and leave me be. She does this out of job requirement and leaves the room in a steadfast pace. As I glance out into the nighttime I am reconnected to the moments I so much enjoyed. The being captivated by the night stars, the walking around the neighborhood while all the rest of the world was asleep. I shed a tear for the losing of those moments, of losing of all the moments I could have taken advantage of. It is June 15th 2007 I am sixteen years old, and tonight I die staring out into the one thing in this world that has always brought me peace. As I slowly begin to feel myself slip away I am brought back to the smell of the wooden fence, the feel of the fresh dew on the grass, and crisp nighttime air, and the last final breeze of whispering wind that tousled my shortened blonde hair, that one peaceful night. What's done is done I think to myself as I press the doctor given trigger putting myself into a final morphine induced sleep.