CHANCE
“This place is so damp, so dark and so creepy! How long will we be residing in this hole?” Jordan stared at his shoes, now encompassed by the murky, swampy soil that seemed to thrive on this part of the world. Longing for his answer, he looked up at the sky, seeing the first star of the night shine as bright as it could. He seemed to drift away from his path, just thinking about why this world couldn’t be perfect, or at least close to it. The star his only guiding light, other than his conscience, he suddenly woke up from his dream of conditions, at the sound of his companion, educating him that they were now lost. Strangely calm for this sort of situation, his peace of mind came from his understanding that without modernization, man would have probably been lost, like he was now, but on a more permanent basis. Clessidra Avenue, one out in the wilderness and particularly close to the ocean, was only home to a few residents, and these were mainly the people who had a knack for adventure, and more importantly, loved it.
Jordan, after quite a few hours of idleness, took out a compass from his backpack, and start marching on the path originally intended. Ironically, Nick, the only friend in this part of the world did not say anything about his late wisdom. It seemed like the rest was well needed, especially because they’ve been walking for more than half the day. The moon was out now, and he could see quite clearly, as he was nearing civilization. Street lights now loomed in the distance, and he and his friend carried out quite an entertaining conversation.
“Nick,” he said, “why do we change?” “I really don’t know, Jordan, I don’t,” came the reply, not exactly what he was looking for though. An hour or two later, they approached a dusty door belonging to a large, large house. After a series of weary knocks, the door opened with a creaky groan, revealing the shadow of a lady. A muffled “welcome ‘ere, boys, what’s taken you so long?” came in the disguise of a crispy, unpolished tone, just like that of the door. After settling in, sitting on the edge of the bed of Jordan’s room, there was another knock on the door, this one more easy, and untroubled. “Come on down, children,” said the lady of the house, a Mrs. McKrason. There stood in the doorway, illuminated by a beam of moonlight, a man dressed in black. “Here,” resonated the crisp voice of Mrs. McKrason, “Is your brother.”
After what seemed like hours, but actually only a matter of minutes, of staring at each other, observing each little detail that took form of either the clothes they wore, or the shape of their faces, came a whisper. “Hey…. I guess I’m your brother,” was a crunch voice, belonging to Jordan, strikingly resembling that of the woman standing in the shadows. He was answered with a nod, and taking a few steps forward, he shut the door, and proceeded up the stairs into the deserted room by the balcony. After a silent debate, in which the motion was whether to follow him or not, he gradually ascended up the stairs, to the room on the left of the staircase.
He entered, to see his brother, by the name of Cliff, sitting on the bed, staring at the clock. “A stoic, are you?” asked Jordan, hoping this answer wouldn’t be unanswered like many of his others. “No, just tired,” came the answer. “Yeah, me too,” replied Jordan, and he walked a broken walk back to his room.
He lay on his bed, and reminisced the thoughts of the day’s incidents, carefully placing his brother in his list of priorities. “You know,” came Nick’s careful voice, “your brother was never like this. I’ve known him for quite some time now.”
All the tiredness that once enveloped Jordan suddenly vanished, and in a tone of angry alarm, he shouted “And you never told me? Why? Why?” Unlike other times, he didn’t want an answer, but was unavoidably followed by one. “I didn’t know he was your brother until now. I didn’t, really. I’m sorry, but I didn’t. I hope you don’t remain angry at me for a very long time, but he was one of my really good friends in school. All of a sudden, he changed, drastically, and he never spoke to anyone convincingly since.” Jordan stared at the floor, observing the carefree movements of the ant, seeming to be in a hurry. A tear rolled down his face, and a disgruntled “no” escaped from his sticky mouth.
The night rolled away like a movie, and the sun dawned, drying the stains of Jordan’s tears. The sunlight penetrated his eyelids and woke him up, arresting him in a state of consciousness. It was time to make his way back, and as much as he regretted not talking to his brother, his every-weekend vacation had inevitably come to an end, and he packed his bags, drawing the two twin zips together, securing safety.
He sat down at the table, and picked at his breakfast. A plate of eggs and bacon, it provided no entertainment for this day, or refugee to his previous night. His brother cut away from his bed sheet, and made his way to the table. He sat beside Jordan, and muttered something that sounded like “Sorry.” Jordan looked at him, swallowed what he was chewing, and said nothing. He finished eating his breakfast, and after his relief of nourishment, he made his way back up the stairs to collect his belongings.
The clouds started to unroll, and the day grew darker. His bag in his hand, he sat once more on the edge of his bed, in the confines of the four walls he wasn’t so used to seeing. Staring at the floor he WAS used to seeing, he decided that this world couldn’t be perfect, not with the existence of man. Mistakes are easily converted to habits, and that’s how it is. The rhythm of our lives is our Faith, without which this world would seem nothing but empty. Our world revolves around the sun, not us, and it never will. His words seemed full only to himself, and the sun beat on his head through the glass window in the corner of his weekend room.
He stared at the floor for a few more minutes, and got up from the bed. Suitcase in hand, he walked down the worn out stairs now so familiar to him. The base creaked under the added weight of his suitcase, and the door opened without a sound. He stared at the sky, waiting for answers to questions he hadn’t asked yet. His eon long venture into the depths of the house now behind him passed in a matter of days. The strangeness blinded him in the form of the rays of the now overhead sun.
A thought suddenly struck him, and he ran back into the house. He ran up to the balcony-suite room and banged loudly. There came no answer. He banged once more, ignoring the confused shouts of Mrs. McKrason below. The door opened silently, led by a hand that belonged to Cliff. He stared into his eyes, and Jordan suddenly asked, “Why do we change?” Cliff stared back at him, and then looked at the floor. After a few minutes of careful thinking, there came an answer.
“That’s the question I’ve been asking for years. There is no answer. There is no answer.”
With that, he closed the door, and Jordan made his way back on to the pastures of mud, seemingly peaceful.
A few hours later, there came a sign. It read, “Thank you for visiting Clessidra Avenue. The ever-changing Avenue. Your Avenue.”
