The constant going of time has a petrifying effect. It worries me so much I end up diving even more into the dark swallow of inaction where I imagine there are undying puddles of steaming tar that bind me to the nothingness even more.
Then, the cells in my body shout out all at once, do!
The body shoots off the couch, launches into the air landing hard on the floor, knees bent. And in one kinetic motion, I’ve shaken it all out of me.
It’s funny how the passing of time makes us so slow and bored while the coming on of depression alerts us to be quick to the step. It’s all about everyone’s internal panic button.
I continue with the actions because it seems to be working. I write, I work, I workout, I get up and run. I ride the subway.
This is my stop. I tuck my moleskine away. The old 4-train glides to a halt, and I walk a few steps until I see it. It all happens so fast. I look towards the heavy wooden doors leading out to Lexington Avenue, and I can feel the cold wind rush up and tighten my cheeks. It’s persuasive, the wind. Riding in the subway even in the city winters can get hot with all those layers and people on you.
I’ve already caught a glimpse of the room. The magical feeling I felt since the last time I was looking up at the constellations hasn’t worn off. It’s already a done deal, I have to pay a visit. The grand clock standing tall calls my attention. My answer is simple — I walk just a few steps, it seems, but actually I look back from where I came, and I’ve walked the whole corridor. People rushing by me in their own trance.
Turquoise, ahh. I look up to see the aqueous color and feel at ease. My internal writing voice is quieted. Earlier, in the subway, I was full of thoughts that had to hit paper right then and there, but in this room, my thoughts are stealthy. It’s almost like I don’t have any at all.
The room demands my attention and takes any wandering ideas of boredom up to the ceiling in helium filled birthday balloons floating up and resting there right under the majestic curve of blue. They don’t pop — they just rest there.
Here, I don’t have to worry about the going by of time because every moment is chock-full of awareness. Even with the clock staring down at me from its high old position, every moment is as infinite as the pixels of blue above.
Dark. Now, I look up. I’m not where I thought I was. The mosaic is of an ocean, not a sky. The constellations are, in fact, the white foam of cresting waves painted on top of the blue. I feel the warm grainy sand on my stomach, and I plop my cheek right back onto the sweet Barcelona gravel. Close my eyes. Drift back into dreams. This time, it’s not Grand Central, New York. Beams of steel above me, overbearing sounds of harsh clamoring, and cold concrete beneath my feet.
Gare du Nord Train Station, Paris.
Like before, my wandering thoughts vanish.
The endlessness of one fleeting moment hits and I feel alive all over again.
About the Author: Suhail Mandani graduated from The University of Florida, where he studied Anthropology and English and conducted social experiments in entrepreneurship to help solve problems for students around campus. Three weeks after graduating, he moved to New York City on a whim in the hopes of finding a job and soaking up inspiration to write. He currently works on the client leadership team at a growing startup and writes any chance he gets, mostly in coffee shops, on the subway and in Manhattan’s Bryant Park.
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