I am lazy as I rest my cheek against the cold window of this truck. Shifting uncomfortably, I try to find a spot to cause the smallest wake everytime we hit a bump, but in the end, I stick my hand in between my face and the glass. Gritty with dirt, my fingers tangle with my new beard and I feel my muscles relax as my body finally begins to become aware that my ten hour work day is over. My mind is numb to the music, my friend talking on the phone to some girl right next to me, the cars passing us by, the large rolling hills of the Texas Hill Country, and the deco-noir houses with their southern rustic panache- the only thing that intrigues me is the setting sun hiding behind the lifted trees and the azure rays mixed with echos of violent orange and purple and red. At every turn of the road and crest of a hill there is a new shade and new arrangement of clouds and lights to endure my ever so short fused fascinated mind with indiginatly small ethereal aspects of transcedental life that speaks ever so anthropomorphically to me, "Keep it simple, Sketch." So instead, I think about how beautiful it is, and smoke a cigarette and watch the wisps shatter and dance as the light refracts through the crack in the window.
And I think back to just a few months ago to a moment very similar to this but back in College Station. I think of my life just a short while ago with nostalgia. I think of the people I had a history with and the things we did and the songs we sang along to and the good times we had and promises we made that they would never end. And I look over to my friend, who stares galiantly at the road ahead of him, his task apparent and somatic. Do you ever miss it? I ask him.
Miss what? he responds casually without changing his gaze.
The past. Your friends you used to have.
Without missing a beat, he says to me: yeah- I miss the good times. And everytime I miss the good times, I have to stop and think about what put me here. And then when I think about that, I get depressed, and then I think about what keeps me here, and everything just falls into place.
And that's that?
That's that.
Okay.
What's keeping you here, Sketch? he asks me.
I look out the window. In the reflection, I see my eyes. I don't see the bad moments, I still see the good moments of my past and the beautiful sunset. Maybe, I say to him, I want to have good times again. Maybe, I'm tired of looking at sunsets and just looking at them waiting for it to become night so another day could end.
My friend doesn't say anything. He just keeps driving. We go down a few more bends, take a right, first left, five house on the left, the big blue trailer- that's my place, and I'm off, and as I'm waving him good-bye, something strikes me as to why my friend never responds- I'm still here. I already noticed that sunset.
I sat outside and watched that sun set with all of its glory. I watched it cast its shadows and silhouttes of trees and cars and rays of light and life beamed with life, careening off of mountain tops, and when it was over, when night came, I went inside, and another day ended.