The Stork

The street slithered along the lampposts and the dirty sidewalk. Up on this hill, I could see the myriad of lights lining up by the street. I was precariously balanced on a ledge, my arms spread out like Jesus, wondering which way I should fall.

Slither and slide, water is slippery. Hold on tight, to anything near. Don’t look back, and close your eyes, for nausea will take your sight.

I could have easily slithered down this cliff into oblivion. I wondered where the stork could be. A stork would be able to fly off this cliff and never die. But, it was all a myth. Santa Claus never was and would never be. Life wasn’t full of life, it was full of death. That was why I was on this hill, precariously perched on a cliff, my arms outstretched like Jesus.

Did one life take precedence over another? Was one life more precious than another? Why do we cheer when a villain dies but cry when a hero falls? Do we put more value on one life over another?

I was up on this hill because a stranger had pulled me out of the way of an oncoming bus; and now he was somewhere else, buried under six feet of dirt. As I sat down, I knew for certain that the stranger would never have been I. Why should I throw my life away for a stranger? Someone did, but I couldn’t. People did every day, all over the world. Not I, though.

Was I a coward?

A pair of headlights came my way, and three people emerged from an old car. “Hey, someone’s here already.” I heard a female voice call out. “Maybe we should go somewhere else.”

“No,” I said. My urge to leave this earthly plane had passed. “I was leaving anyway. You can have this place.”

“Hey, we don’t mean to kick you out. It’s a public place. Are you partying?” This time, the voice was male and high-pitched. It sounded very young to me.

“Partying? No, I was just musing…”

“Musing? What kind of word is that?” a different female voice asked. 

“I have to go.” And I started to walk away. They had been standing behind the lights so I couldn’t make out their faces. But, as I passed the car, one of the women said to me: “you can come back if you get bored.”

The truth was I never left. My curiosity overcame my dignity and I wanted to know what they would want to do. Smoke a joint? Smoke crack? Shoot up heroin? So, I pretended to walk away, but took a trail that curved back behind a wall of bushes near where I had been. I wasn’t sure what I was trying to accomplish here—even if they did drugs, I wouldn’t call the police. Butterflies sprang up in my stomach, suddenly.

I could hear their voices clearly for the night was still and windless. Sure enough, first they took out a joint and started smoking it. The warm, sedate smoke wafted over to me and I had to stifle my cough. Then, they took off their jackets and laid them on the ground. It was a warm night.

When they sat down, it happened. I wasn’t prepared for this. I thought such things only happened in movies. The two women started kissing and undressing each other right over the man. He kept on smoking the joint and kissing each woman in turn. Laughing and giggling, the two women started to undress him. And I started feeling a bit strange. I wasn’t expecting this. I thought they were about to do some hard core drugs.

My head felt light for a second because of the shock. I thought to myself, this is something they'll never teach us in kindergarten. I almost laughed out loud. A few minutes into the scene, I left. This was a private affair and I felt that I was doing something wrong. Strange how presumption always makes you wrong.

What about the stork? It’s a myth. There never was a stork. And we can’t keep secrets from children.