Chapter 2
chapter 1
Two
The wind was gently parting the grass in the same way a child would separate the tall forests of wheat when playing hide and seek in a field and the intensity of the sun was opening the yellow-orange dandelions so much that one might think they were about to fall apart as soon as one of the many busy bumblebees landed on them. The miniature white puffs of the deceased weeds were floating on the gentle breeze trying to find a place to reincarnate their parent-weed and continue the ever going cycle of life and death. The dandelions have always been a mystery to me. I wonder how the dandelion came to be called a weed when the daisy and the black-eyed Susan did not. If you inspect a dandelion, I am sure you can find the same beauty in it as you can in any flower. I suspect that the difference in the name is purely for scientific reasons which in my opinion is a horrible method of naming things. Weeds have a negative connotation that go along with them; when people think of weeds they think of ugly, intruders that kill your garden, but dandelions have an infinite beauty stored in every yellow filament. These dandelions should be named flowers for their beauty, not weeds because of invisible scientific logic.
So, as these bees gathered their pollen from the beautiful weeds, a few different species of aves were competing for pieces of bread thrown on the ground. The California Quails and the Scrub Jays that were munching on this bread were completely unaware of the fact that they were entertaining a couple of relaxing students on a park bench next to them. The students sat there enjoying the Wednesday afternoon basking in the same sunlight that the dandelions were basking in. They talked and fed the birds as other students passed by; both the conversationalists and the passers-by didn't give a second thought to what the other was thinking or saying. They were all in their own little world.
Have you ever sat and observed two people in deep conversation. I have. There is a fascinatingly beautiful connection that is made between the two people. It is almost as though the two people are not two, but one having a conversation with itself. These two on the park bench were being passed by students all on their way to their own destination. Some were going to class, some to their dorm, and others to many other places. Some could be heading towards a date with an individual they are deeply in love with and some could be heading towards a night of solitude in an empty dorm room dreaming of being out with someone, anyone, doing anything. But, these people, the birds and the bees, the grass and the sun, all had one thing in common: they were all within the boundaries of the blank, unfocused stare of Emmet.
Emmet was in Psychology 120 class, well, he was physically in the class, but not at all mentally. His mind had long since drifted off to something else. He sat there lounging in the chair and staring out the window, but at nothing in particular. His mind wasn't on the people or the plants or the animals. His mind was on the most spectacular, unimaginable and unbelievable thing that happened to him the night before. He was unable to believe what he had seen and felt for an instant at the party he attended Tuesday. It was one of those moments where one knows that their life will change drastically because of the events that are taking place. I must say though, that if Mr. Dickens was telling this story, he might say, "It was the best of feelings, it was the worst of feelings." Emmet was churning what he saw in his head over and over and he was unaware to the fact that he was directly in the sights of the lecturing Professor who was about to launch his attack on Emmet.
"Isn't that right Mr. Levicomh?", the Professor said with a slick half-grin on his face. He knew that Em had no idea what the lecture was on, but he was going to use him to his benefit.
Em let out an inaudible mumble as he shrank into his chair and looked down towards the empty page in his notebook. He had know idea what the professor was saying before he got caught daydreaming.
"Daydreaming, Mr. Levicomh, I was speaking about daydreaming and you were providing the class with an excellent and very accurate impression of what it looks like when someone daydreams," the Professor said with a face as straight as a southern republican, "Thank you for that, but you did demonstrate it for quite a long time. You could have stopped after a minute or two."
Emmet departed from the class which he never actually attended and decided to grab something to eat before returning to the apartment he shared with his two brothers, both of which also accompanied him as a student at UCLA. He was not particularly famished, but rather he was in need of some time to sit and think about that mysterious event. So, he mounted his bike and took off. Em still couldn't fully believe what happened; it hadn't completely sunk in. He never used to believe in things like this. He thought it was made up by foolish people, but in actuality he just never experienced this before. He never used to believe in love, not to mention coup de foudre.
Years ago, Emmet was the type of child that never dated that much. It might have because he had standards that were in the clouds or it might have been because the girls didn't find him worthy of amorous feelings. Perhaps, it is most likely that his lack of meaningful relationships, or even meaningless ones for that matter, can be blamed on a combination of the two. He never believed in love, but by no means did he not try to believe. It seemed to him that whenever he gave love a try, the other half left his love unrequited. So, eventually he just decided not to believe in it because it is awfully hard to have faith in something without experiencing it.
Em ordered a coffee at a little café while he thought about his past; he was never one for nostalgia, but he had a feeling that he was going to start doing a lot of new things. His coffee came just as he was beginning to get lost in thought. He wasted no time losing himself again. He was staring at the sunlight reflect off the windshield of a car while he sat at a small table outside the café stirring his coffee as it steamed. He recalled his highschool years. He realized that what he thought was a wonderful social life was not quite as spectacular upon closer inspection. Em had tons of friends, but he had never developed an intense friendship with anyone. He didn't have one best friend and he tried to make up for it by having a plethora of mere acquaintances. He was feeling the feeling that most college students feel at one time or another, but never voice it aloud. The years that he was in highschool were the greatest of his life, and what's even worse, he wasted them. He played his cards all wrong and there is no way to go back and fix his mistakes. Em was a psychology major; he knew this sequestering introspection and self-pity was useless.
And now, as he patiently sipped his luke-warm coffee, he could not stop picturing the girl he had seen at his younger brother's fraternity party. He couldn't figure out what it was about her that struck him so acutely. It was not the shimmering beauty of her hair. It wasn't her radiant eyes and he wasn't about to fall in love with a girl because she had perfect lips. Neither her legs nor her posterior were what caused this possession of his heart. She had all of these exceptional qualities and yet, there was something else; something invisible to his eye was providing Emmet with his puzzlement. He sat and pondered a while about this nameless girl and afterwards he only had more questions about her. He needed to know her name. He needed to know what she liked for music. He needed to know how old she was, how smart she was, her favorite color. He needed to know anything. He needed to know everything.
There was just one tiny problem. Em knew nothing. He didn't know her name. He didn't know her phone number. He didn't know where she lived. He didn't know if he would even ever see the torment of his heart again. Em thought about it. Why am I doing this? I will probably never even see her again? She doesn't even know I exist! With that, Em finished his, now quite stale, coffee and glumly started the bike ride towards his apartment, seven miles away, wishing he never wasted a second thought on that ordinary rara avis.
Two
The wind was gently parting the grass in the same way a child would separate the tall forests of wheat when playing hide and seek in a field and the intensity of the sun was opening the yellow-orange dandelions so much that one might think they were about to fall apart as soon as one of the many busy bumblebees landed on them. The miniature white puffs of the deceased weeds were floating on the gentle breeze trying to find a place to reincarnate their parent-weed and continue the ever going cycle of life and death. The dandelions have always been a mystery to me. I wonder how the dandelion came to be called a weed when the daisy and the black-eyed Susan did not. If you inspect a dandelion, I am sure you can find the same beauty in it as you can in any flower. I suspect that the difference in the name is purely for scientific reasons which in my opinion is a horrible method of naming things. Weeds have a negative connotation that go along with them; when people think of weeds they think of ugly, intruders that kill your garden, but dandelions have an infinite beauty stored in every yellow filament. These dandelions should be named flowers for their beauty, not weeds because of invisible scientific logic.
So, as these bees gathered their pollen from the beautiful weeds, a few different species of aves were competing for pieces of bread thrown on the ground. The California Quails and the Scrub Jays that were munching on this bread were completely unaware of the fact that they were entertaining a couple of relaxing students on a park bench next to them. The students sat there enjoying the Wednesday afternoon basking in the same sunlight that the dandelions were basking in. They talked and fed the birds as other students passed by; both the conversationalists and the passers-by didn't give a second thought to what the other was thinking or saying. They were all in their own little world.
Have you ever sat and observed two people in deep conversation. I have. There is a fascinatingly beautiful connection that is made between the two people. It is almost as though the two people are not two, but one having a conversation with itself. These two on the park bench were being passed by students all on their way to their own destination. Some were going to class, some to their dorm, and others to many other places. Some could be heading towards a date with an individual they are deeply in love with and some could be heading towards a night of solitude in an empty dorm room dreaming of being out with someone, anyone, doing anything. But, these people, the birds and the bees, the grass and the sun, all had one thing in common: they were all within the boundaries of the blank, unfocused stare of Emmet.
Emmet was in Psychology 120 class, well, he was physically in the class, but not at all mentally. His mind had long since drifted off to something else. He sat there lounging in the chair and staring out the window, but at nothing in particular. His mind wasn't on the people or the plants or the animals. His mind was on the most spectacular, unimaginable and unbelievable thing that happened to him the night before. He was unable to believe what he had seen and felt for an instant at the party he attended Tuesday. It was one of those moments where one knows that their life will change drastically because of the events that are taking place. I must say though, that if Mr. Dickens was telling this story, he might say, "It was the best of feelings, it was the worst of feelings." Emmet was churning what he saw in his head over and over and he was unaware to the fact that he was directly in the sights of the lecturing Professor who was about to launch his attack on Emmet.
"Isn't that right Mr. Levicomh?", the Professor said with a slick half-grin on his face. He knew that Em had no idea what the lecture was on, but he was going to use him to his benefit.
Em let out an inaudible mumble as he shrank into his chair and looked down towards the empty page in his notebook. He had know idea what the professor was saying before he got caught daydreaming.
"Daydreaming, Mr. Levicomh, I was speaking about daydreaming and you were providing the class with an excellent and very accurate impression of what it looks like when someone daydreams," the Professor said with a face as straight as a southern republican, "Thank you for that, but you did demonstrate it for quite a long time. You could have stopped after a minute or two."
Emmet departed from the class which he never actually attended and decided to grab something to eat before returning to the apartment he shared with his two brothers, both of which also accompanied him as a student at UCLA. He was not particularly famished, but rather he was in need of some time to sit and think about that mysterious event. So, he mounted his bike and took off. Em still couldn't fully believe what happened; it hadn't completely sunk in. He never used to believe in things like this. He thought it was made up by foolish people, but in actuality he just never experienced this before. He never used to believe in love, not to mention coup de foudre.
Years ago, Emmet was the type of child that never dated that much. It might have because he had standards that were in the clouds or it might have been because the girls didn't find him worthy of amorous feelings. Perhaps, it is most likely that his lack of meaningful relationships, or even meaningless ones for that matter, can be blamed on a combination of the two. He never believed in love, but by no means did he not try to believe. It seemed to him that whenever he gave love a try, the other half left his love unrequited. So, eventually he just decided not to believe in it because it is awfully hard to have faith in something without experiencing it.
Em ordered a coffee at a little café while he thought about his past; he was never one for nostalgia, but he had a feeling that he was going to start doing a lot of new things. His coffee came just as he was beginning to get lost in thought. He wasted no time losing himself again. He was staring at the sunlight reflect off the windshield of a car while he sat at a small table outside the café stirring his coffee as it steamed. He recalled his highschool years. He realized that what he thought was a wonderful social life was not quite as spectacular upon closer inspection. Em had tons of friends, but he had never developed an intense friendship with anyone. He didn't have one best friend and he tried to make up for it by having a plethora of mere acquaintances. He was feeling the feeling that most college students feel at one time or another, but never voice it aloud. The years that he was in highschool were the greatest of his life, and what's even worse, he wasted them. He played his cards all wrong and there is no way to go back and fix his mistakes. Em was a psychology major; he knew this sequestering introspection and self-pity was useless.
And now, as he patiently sipped his luke-warm coffee, he could not stop picturing the girl he had seen at his younger brother's fraternity party. He couldn't figure out what it was about her that struck him so acutely. It was not the shimmering beauty of her hair. It wasn't her radiant eyes and he wasn't about to fall in love with a girl because she had perfect lips. Neither her legs nor her posterior were what caused this possession of his heart. She had all of these exceptional qualities and yet, there was something else; something invisible to his eye was providing Emmet with his puzzlement. He sat and pondered a while about this nameless girl and afterwards he only had more questions about her. He needed to know her name. He needed to know what she liked for music. He needed to know how old she was, how smart she was, her favorite color. He needed to know anything. He needed to know everything.
There was just one tiny problem. Em knew nothing. He didn't know her name. He didn't know her phone number. He didn't know where she lived. He didn't know if he would even ever see the torment of his heart again. Em thought about it. Why am I doing this? I will probably never even see her again? She doesn't even know I exist! With that, Em finished his, now quite stale, coffee and glumly started the bike ride towards his apartment, seven miles away, wishing he never wasted a second thought on that ordinary rara avis.
posted by thosegoldfishes at 7:52 PM
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