I don’t listen to music as often as I should. After being confined to small, noisy places for so long, my ears prefer the quiet. The sound of keys tapping against the background of a soft fan is about as perfect as it gets. I write more often on my phone than I do on my computer, for convenience sake, but tapping on these keys is like being handed the keys to a Corvette.
The most difficult thing about vacation, and yes, there is a difficult part, is the first couple of weeks—the adjustment period. I slept in this morning and did a lot of nothing until around noon, at which point I decided to sit on the front porch in my pajamas and smoke a cigarette. I was home alone, which seems to never happen lately, and having the freedom to sit outside in my pajamas midday and smoke a cigarette was surreal. I felt like I was in some other world. And the summer breeze was blowing, hard at times, and the jungle I hide behind on my front porch went wild with each gust of air. Recently I wrote about small moments that you don’t think are big moments until way later when you think fondly back on one over and over and realize that, wow, I had no idea what a profound effect that moment would have on me for the rest of my life. I don’t recall sharing that thought, though I get the feeling that I shared that same thought a long time ago. Today on the porch in all that wind and green flapping about and blue sky and the cigarette and my pajamas, I knew I was living one of those moments. I knew it and I lived it to its fullest. And then the wind died down and the cigarette went out and my head filled with noise. Leftovers from the year playing their way out of that little release valve that makes funny sounds if you don’t pinch on it a little to let the air out. And my ears hurt. And I begged the wind to come back. But it didn’t. And the moment was gone, and I knew it. So I picked up my phone to write something, anything, because the need was strong. But nothing appeared on the little white screen. Perhaps if I’d had my computer out there with me…
This moment right here, this one with me sitting up in bed in the quiet with the light still on and no one around just yet to break my thought or put a crack in my aura, letting all the juices escape, this one is my new favorite. Or maybe this was always my favorite. It feels so temporary, so fleeting. Like the moment on the porch. Though my trip to that other world on my porch was not planned. That, man, those. I live for those moments. This right here is good, where I am now, but that today, that was the taste of summer. Vacation is feeling real in bits. The noise will stop soon.
I told everyone at the end of the school year, those who asked me what my plans were for the summer, that I was going to hide in the wilderness for several weeks and leave my phone at home so no one could find me. Detach myself completely. But I don’t have to hide. I do a well enough job of escaping the world right here in my room, tapping on these keys and hearing the taps flurry through the air like how a good rain makes the world disappear.
It’s just me and these keys, and you’ll join in too when you read this. I hope you do.