Will. Wake up!
Wake up Will!
Why you won’t wake?
She shook him, slapped him, poked him, prodded him, but Will wouldn’t wake. She spilled the glass of water he would take his pills with, every night, before they would make love, fight, make up.
What came next, no one imagined, Will woke up. But Will was gone
In the world, Will was no longer there. He was cold. A shell. His brainwaves were slowing down.
His body lie on the bed, his hand draped on the floor. She was crying. She had long since dialed 911, and the paramedics were on their way. Will was gone.
But Will was just waking up to something new.
The trees were larger then he had ever seen. Green, as green as the gardens that would grow in the spring time by his grandma’s house. The garden’s that were toiled in the fall, sown, and harvested. Every year the flowers would come up, and his grandma would tend to her garden. His grandma worked hard at the garden. But Will never seemed to take it into consideration. That garden was the thing that she spent her time on. It was her thing. Her sanctuary, raison d’etre, whatever you want to call it. But Will never noticed, or quite cared that much. In truth, Will didn’t care about many things.
Will, did appreciate this though. The large trees. The sunshine poking through the clouds, and the sound of birds, tweeting slowly, in rhythm. Incessant, but not annoying. Almost meditating on each note, Will could see things as they came to pass, the insects slowed down. The heat from the summer sun seemed to penetrate him, like a sword, and the beams seemed to fill him up.
Will kept walking.
His terribly worn shoes looked new. His torn jeans were hemmed. His ratty hair was sleek. His dusty jacket turned into a royal blue jacket. His white tee shirt was stained, neatly pressed, buttoned. A tie adorned his collar. His eyes were no longer faded, but seemed all of a sudden to have that thing in them. That thing, one might call awareness, togetherness. Will was on point.
His brokenness and emptiness, all gone. His caved-in mind was healed. His shallow, self-centeredness all used up. His ugliness, worn out, fatigue, turned into stealth confidence, stoic, ironclad, marksmanship, machismo, whatever you want to call it. Will, was new.
In one world, Will was done.
In one world, Will was waking. And he realized in that world, that he had everything. And because of that, he began to believe he could do anything.
Will always seemed to fall short. That last time, he had fallen hard on his luck. Maybe this time would be different. Will was a thinker. A dreamer. And in one world, he was very dead to it. The other one, he was alive, but he didn’t know both worlds existed, or could exist.
How could you be dead in one world, and so alive in another? One world was vibrant, and the gardens brought Will constant reminders of his grandma, toiling in the garden. Another, that same garden, was very much gone. A memory in a used up world. Somewhere there must have been a happy middle.
Will could feel a slight wind hitting his face, pleasant, mild. He could see the most beautiful girl in the distance riding through a basket on her bike, one of those old style bicycles. There was her white sundress, long curly hair, and a straw hat. Her smile, so radiant, so bright. Her smile, just amused, not gleaming. But her eyes, they had a playfulness, a beauty he could have only dreamed of. He felt like he knew her.
She rode past him, and smiled. And he watched her leave. Right into the sun, the garden, the trees, the birds. And the fragrance of sweet perfume past with her. Strawberries.
He hoped that he could one day see her again. He kept walking.
To be Continued…
Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly. His new book is Train of Thought.
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