To
Find Korea
The suitcases are
scattered in an unceremonious pile. They are thrown on top of each other,
slightly askew, but perpendicular enough to one another that it is still
obvious that they have been lain with at least some care. As far as the ritual
of packing goes,
Noah has done the bare
minimum possible. He has made it his prerogative to travel as light as
possible, which goes against his better judgment. In his opinion, agonizing
over each of his possessions, which litter the bookshelves in his room, would
be both a waste of time and bring about unnecessary melancholy. If he did pack
in a traditional manner he would spend a day, or maybe several, dissevering
treasures from trash. When he finished, his suitcases would probably be filled
with the same tokens they carry now, only he would be days behind schedule.
Noah’s attention shifts
from his luggage to the door, when he hears a gentle rapping on the other side
of the wood. The hand on the other side of the door is distinctively feminine,
he determines from the clink-clink of
an engagement ring against the metal frame.
“Enter,” responds Noah.
It’s not an invitation, but rather a statement.
The door opens, and
four pairs of feet enter the doorway with coy reluctance. The apartment is
filled with the sound of scrambling as the two people try to kick off their
shoes while remaining balanced. They enter the living room where Noah is
resting with his hands behind his head, and his bare feet resting upon the
coffee table.
“Noah,” the female
voice calls out, with a sing-song melody.
“So sweet,” Noah thinks
to himself. He turns, to gaze upon her, not with romantic intent, but simple
fascination. He shifts his vision to the man next to her, whom has become one
of the most influential figures in his life over the years.
Noah
smiles, more to perpetuate the social paradigm of being an inviting host, than
out of elation. “Thank you for coming. . . Jacob. . . Elizabeth,” he utters.
Jacob
takes a seat next to him on the couch, while Elizabeth—whose hypocoristic name
has become Liz—places an angelic hand upon his left shoulder for comfort.
“Have you found it?”
asks Jacob. Noah opens his mouth, as if to respond, but isn’t quite sure of the
sentiment he would like to pass.
***
The year 2000 might
have passed like any other, had it not been for the unique rolling of digits it
brought, as the new millennium unfolded. Even at seven years of age, Noah has
already begun to develop an understanding of continuity. People seem to enjoy giving
meaning to certain days or years, as it allows them to easily keep track of
time so they can converse about how quickly it has passed. The concept of time
does certainly seem to act as an efficient scapegoat in conversations between
two unique people who do not care to get to know each other further, but who
don‘t enjoy sitting with silence between them.
After the initial
excitement of New Year’s Day, and the evident outcome of the world in fact not
ending, life went back to way it always has. School started up again and
January came and passed. February thus far has been particularly mild, but
children do not tend to notice such things, as they have fewer years to compare
than their adult counterparts.
Noah looks up from his
desk, at the calendar at the front of the classroom, just as the bell begins to
ring. A series of pink hearts circle the entire week, signaling that it is the
week of Valentine’s Day. Such a date means little to Noah, but he has begun to
notice an increased frequency of pink bows in their hair of his female
classmates. In fact, the girl seated in front of him has had pink lace tying
back her blonde hair since February first. Two days ago she asked if he would
be her Valentine. Unsure of what that meant, he smiled shyly and dropped his
head. He still hasn’t responded properly.
Noah is late leaving
the classroom, all of the other children are already outside frolicking through
snowbanks by the time he makes it outside. His boot laces are tangled together
and it isn’t until the teacher offers a helping hand that he is finally able to
solve the Gordian Knot.
The outside world is
grey, bleak even. The sky is filled with a silvery mist that acts as a blanket.
The rain is so subtle that there may not be any precipitation at all, just
humidity which builds against the skin. The snow, which only a week ago was
piled high, is now crumpled into lonely looking drifts. Behind the school there
is a baseball field, which is currently covered in about three inches of slush.
Kids from all grades are out on the field. The boys push and shove each other
in a competitive type of playfulness. The girls watch from afar, giggling to
each other and acting aloof enough to keep the boys weary of the secrets they
whisper.
Noah takes a reluctant
footstep into the water and ice mixture, before hearing his name called. He
swivels his head, surprised and timorous. He locks eyes with the girl with the
pink lace in her hair. She is standing in a group of six girls, some of which
are in his class and some who he‘s never met. He holds her gaze, expecting her
to finish her thought, or at least provide insight as to why she called him. If
he was expecting resolution, he finds none. She turns back to her group of
friends and pretends as if she didn‘t say anything at all. Noah is thoroughly
confused, and continues to amble by the group of girls until he reaches the far
side of the field.
There is a hill by the
outfield fence, which is about three times as high as Noah is tall. It isn’t by
any means a shear drop off, but now that it is covered in snow some of Noah’s
classmates dare each other to jump all the way to the bottom. Some of the kids
jump halfway down but none of them are foolish enough, to jump all the way to
the lowest point.
Noah stops when he
reaches the edge where the other kids are standing. He watches Jimmy Haus, a
kid from his homeroom class, who resembles a blown up beach ball, tumble down
the side of the hill.
“Noah will do it!” Tony
Gray yells.
“No he won’t,”
rebuttals Alex O’brien.
“Do what?” Asks Noah.
“Jump to the bottom! Nobody’s made it
all the way down yet.” “Is it safe?” he asks with sly consideration.
“Of course it’s safe,”
responds Alex.
“Then why hasn’t
anybody tried it yet?”
“Because their all
chicken!”
“Why haven’t you tried
it yet?” Noah asks.
“I am waiting for
somebody else to go first. . . ”
Noah scans the bottom
of the hill, trying to judge the best landing spot. He backs up to the edge of
the fence, to get as large a running start as possible. He takes in a deep
breath. A leap of faith—he will take a leap of faith. He lets the air of his
lungs, takes two steps to the edge of the drop-off, and for a second he is
airborne. He can feel his legs flail under him, desperately searching for a
solid surface. It feels like he is in the air for a disproportional amount of
time, and he wonders if the ground will ever come. It does.
With a crash, the
tingling, weightless sensation disappears and he is left with a new feeling. A
feeling of something being amiss. . . His right leg is twisted beneath him at
an awkward angle, and the snow around him starts to become dyed a crimson red.
The kids at the top of the hill shout in disbelief, still talking about how awesome Noah’s leap was. But then, their
chattering becomes serious as they realize what Noah has done. He did not land
in a fluffy white snowbank, as they had planned, but rather the edge of a
concrete storm drain which has sliced through a six inch section of Noah’s leg.
The children yell for
help, they run back to the school to find a teacher to give them guidance. Two
of the kids stay with Noah, awkwardly trying to comfort him, and holding back
tears. Noah isn’t in any pain, at least not yet. He feels. . . Satisfaction. He
has no regrets for the leap he has taken.
***
“Noah, what are you thinking?” asks Jacob.
“I think. . . It seems. . . Somewhere
along the way I forgot how to leap.” “What do you mean?” asks Elizabeth with
concern.
“I’m
not sure exactly. . . But it seems somewhere along the way I grew
complacent—comfortable— and I stopped trying to grow. I am accustomed to always
taking the easiest path. And I hate that.”
“Noah, you are just
doing the best you can. That is all any of us can ever hope to do,” responds
Jacob.
***
The hats fly up in a
sea of blue, before falling back to earth in a mismatched cluster of tangled
tassels. Noah, however, does not partake in the ceremonial paradigm, instead he
holds his cap in his hands, and nervously runs it through his hands, secretly
wishing to leave this place. Amongst a sea of cheering and smiles, he is left
pensively brooding. He desires deeply to dive into the joy that surrounds him.
At this graduation
there are individuals who will go on to be some of the greatest minds to ever
bless their fields of study. They will go to college, with full scholarships,
and spend the next decade of their lives in study. There are others here who only
received notification of their graduation a week previous. They squeaked by
with academic averages only a sliver of a percent above a passing margin. But
they are happy. . . All of them.
Noah falls somewhere in
the middle, not a genius, but smart enough to know there exists more to this
world than what he has yet to see. He feels unfulfilled. In a couple months’
time he will be leaving for college, a grand experience in its own right but
the decision feels stereotyped. Perhaps he will continue his studies for no
other reason than it is what he ought to
do.
He feels a hand on his
shoulder, and he turns around to be met with the gleaming grin of his English
teacher, Mr. O’Brien—a man who he can say with great confidence was the most
influential teacher he has ever had. He gives his congratulations and wishes
Noah all the best in his future endeavors. With a handshake, their
student-teacher bond is broken and it’s as if they never met. As Mr. O’Brien
walks away, his teaching assistant gives Noah a nod and smile which he returns
shyly. She is a woman with dark brown hair which curls gently below her ears.
She is in the last semester of finishing her education degree, and this moment
must been as monumental for her as it is for Noah. Now that she finishing her teaching
practicum she will be thrown out into the real world.
Noah silently wishes
her a long and successful career. Perhaps his yearning for this woman to be
happy is systemic from the small crush he developed for her over the course of
the semester. Or maybe it’s simply a mirroring of the kindness he knows she
holds within her heart. “We made it!” Exclaims Alex, the same Alex who was with
him at the hill when they were both seven. They have been close friends ever
since that day but now it seems their paths are destined to diverge. It’s funny
how influential somebody can be in your life and then, almost instantaneously,
they are gone forever.
Noah continues the
exchange of goodbyes and felicitations until he has spoken to each person he
has made a connection with throughout the years. He exchanges a hug with Rob,
who was his best friend for a significant portion of junior high, but who he
has since drifted apart with. He shakes the hands of Joseph and Devin, two
friends who never missed an opportunity to partake in witty banter. He says
goodbye to Stephanie with a kiss on the cheek. She is the girl who wore the
pink lace in her hair ten years ago. She has since grown into a beautiful young
woman, and a friend.
“Will you be my
Valentine?” asks Noah, with a wide smile.
“Always and always,”
she responds. And then they part.
Noah’s last goodbye is
with the young woman who he was romantically entangled with a mere week ago.
Now however, they are two separate beings each ready to walk their own paths.
The goodbye is quick. He wishes her a good life too.
At the end of the day,
Noah takes the long way home. He stops by the lake about five minutes away from
his home. He stares across the glassy surface. Two young ducklings swimming
though the reeds cause the only ripples. Noah thinks of his friends who will
disperse across the continent by the end of the summer. He is happy for them,
he truly is, but he can’t help but feel a pang of resentment. He will be
starting at this lake for at least the next four years. As beautiful as this
lake can be, there is an entire world of ponds and streams to explore. His
heart feels nondescript, it beats a regular rhythm. He is neither sad nor
overjoyed. He’s just there, sitting alone, by the lake.
***
Jacob leaves the
apartment, upon remembering that he forgot to put coinage in the parking meter
next to his vehicle. Liz stays with Noah and the two of them converse in a way
that only a man and a woman can. Although they have never expressed romantic intent
towards each other, there is an unspoken attraction between the two of them
that neither of them would ever dream of acting on—for the bond they share is
worth preserving.
“You’re running from
something,” she states.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“What would I be running
from?”
“You are trying to
escape.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are a terrible
liar.”
“I’m a great liar,
you’re just good at reading faces.”
She smiles. He’s glad
he made her smile, sometimes he thinks she doesn’t do enough of that. “It will
follow you. You know that right?”
“I—”
“You cannot run from your heart.”
***
To an optimist, today
would be a good day indeed. Winter finally appears to be alleviating and the
last traces of snow are disappearing. However, a pessimist may focus on the
rain or the fact that their feet are doomed to be soaked. The sun may be
shining, but it’s hard to tell exactly where it resides since it seems to be
hiding behind a thicket of clouds. Noah lets out an exasperated sigh as he
exits his last class of the day.
He is three months away
from graduating from his undergraduate degree—a push into the real world. He
can’t help but think of the teaching assistant he had in high-school and
wonders if she was successfully in making her way in the world. Noah’s heart
feels as unresolved as it ever has—he is searching, ever searching for meaning.
No, he is waiting. He is waiting for divine meaning to be thrown upon his lap.
What is the cure? Is it
love? Is it peace? Is it wealth? Is it success? He lets out another sigh as he
saunters past the garden behind one of the older buildings on campus. He lets
himself rest on one of the benches, next to the flowerless lilac tree.
This
garden has been somewhat if a saviour for Noah since his college career has
first began. This simple oasis is more than a collection of plants and stone.
It is his temple, his church—the basis of his religion. Whenever he outthinks
the capabilities of his mind this sanctuary immediately seems to bring relief.
There seems to be at least one chickadee permanently infused within the
confines of the surrounding trees. No matter what season Noah resides here,
there is always at least one gleeful hymn.
There are three kids
playing on a snowdrift in the distance. Where most of the snow has melted, they
have found the one perpetual snowbank that will last nearly year round, behind
the rink. They fight for supremacy at the apex, and shove each other down to
the bottom.
“C’est la vie. . . ”
Noah mutters beneath his breath.
There is a guard rail
behind the snowbank that divides the parking lot from the grassy hill behind
it. The kids stop their game of king of the hill, and at least momentarily all
three of them reside on the paramount peacefully.
Noah gazes upon them in
amusement until it occurs to him what they are considering. With a flashback of
his own winter misfortunate, he considers rising from his seat and warning them
that it isn’t safe to be playing so close to the metal divider. He raises to
his feet and hesitates; his internal dialog attempts to convince him that their
blood will be on his hands if they should slip and fall. He sits back down and
helplessly watches as the first child attempts to catapult himself across the
gorge. Noah bites down on his lip hard. A leap of faith. One by one all three
children clear the gap. A leap of faith. . .
***
“Noah,” the voice is strong and stern. It is Jacob.
Noah is unsure exactly when he returned, but he is here now.
“Noah, your taxi is
here.”
Jacob offers him his
hand, to help him rise from his seat but Noah remains stationary with a glazed
over look in his eyes.
“This is what you want,
isn’t it?” Asks Elizabeth.
“I. . . I don’t know,”
he says. A more honest sentiment could not possibly be expressed.
“Do you want to take a
moment?”
He appropriately
answers with silence before clearing his throat and beginning to speak. “I. . .
I’m not sure exactly what I am looking for, but I know that it isn’t here. I
don’t know where I’m going to find it or how long it is going to take. But I
know that I can’t live another day without it.”
Elizabeth
rubs his arm and coaxes him to stand. “Are you sure, Noah? Are you sure that
it’s not with you already?”
“I. . . am. . . Not
even remotely confident either way.”
“Well it’s time,” says
Jacob. “It is now or never.”
“Now or never? Are the
literal paths I must walk so clearly defined that there is no inbetween? Now or
never. Reside or leave. What if I stay, and a year from now I realize that what
I was looking for all along is make-believe—that what I have been chasing after
is a fairy tale?” Neither Elizabeth nor Jacob have an appropriate response.
“What if I leave today
and I find that I made the worst decision of my life? What if I can’t find what
I am looking for and spend the rest of my years plagued with what-ifs. What if I wake up each morning
assured that I made the wrong choice and have to live knowing that it can never
be undone?”
“We can’t make this
decision for you. It’s up to you.”
Noah
drags himself to his feet, with Liz helping him for support. He ambles towards
the living room window, to gaze upon the world below.
“Somewhere along the
way I stopped jumping off snowbanks. I stopped taking leaps of faith.”
“We all grow up, Noah.”
The taxi outside honks
impatiently and Jacob steps outside to explain the delay. Noah turns to Liz and
stares through her eyes. He appears so distant and expressionless that she
cannot meet the gaze for more than several seconds.
“My friend, what would
you do if you were I? Where does your faith lie? I fear mine may lead me
astray. You know me best, the ins and outs of my heart—the caverns of my mind
that I do not dare explore. You opinion is gold in my eyes. I give you all. I
give you the very essence that is me. Elizabeth. . . Liz. . . Stephanie
Elizabeth Moore, am I making the best decision of my life, or am I making the
worst?”
“I. . . I. . . ” her breath has been
taken, there is no answer she can give, and he knows it.
I forgot how, so I tried again--adverbially, apprehensive. I couldn't remember how--I never knew--so I broke down, became again. One more time, of wishing when. These are just words, and I don't know how to write a poem--so I'll give it a go, seeing the moment within, forgetting the wordslips, and ignoring the inability to conquer a logical thought.
Winter, the deathly touch on flesh,
