Always the Student

“Today. Tomorrow. Yesterday.” The words of my professor reverberate through my skull, a narrator on my commute back home. “The days tarry along as we pursue our hopes for better and best. The Drums of Everafter beat a steady rhythm, the outcome of the ballet based upon how we play the part. Each step taken, whether of dreams or sustenance, pushes us beyond our stated bounds. Only one fate comes to those who settle for room and food, same as those who seek to rouse the boards of Forevermore.” A sharp tap on the blackboard of the classroom punctuates the rhythm. A snore from somewhere rouses me from my slumber.

My legs walk back and forth across those Boards of Forevermore, my haunches scream out of tortured comfort as the savory smell of a crawdad bubble waft over a block party held to honor the long summer days. The cold frost of Yule melts through the past, and the present stretches forever onward. The buzz of locusts hums from everywhere and nowhere. Autumn has no power here, though reason suggests pleasant dreams are the cause of more falsehoods than truths.

A bell struck by sonorous mallet marks the end of class, dulcet tones croon from substandard speakers as Bagel, my cat, melts across the arm of the couch and begs to be scratched beneath a heavy jaw. My hand reaches out and performs the demanded task. Bagel’s eyes close as joy spreads through that voluptuous frame. We connect for a moment, and then he evaporates away, a love-shaped hole left on the hurt that lures the unwary. Cats are such mean creatures, as they burrow through the bureaucracy to make a home amongst the blood and muscle. A break to stretch my legs sounds pleasant to re-root myself amongst the present.

“Come and try my newest sausage,” a man yells from the hot dog cart up the corner, “All beef, all pork, all vegan, whatever you want, we got! Mustard, ketchup, sauerkraut, slaw, come taste our dogs, hold out your paw!” They cost ten dollars each. My stomach grumbles at the smell, though my wallet forms tears of jealous rage and send me back to the classroom.

“The Drum of Everafter booms as cannon’s sound, bleated sheep flee before the roar of the gun. Death comes for us all, hear me True. No, not the sort that clambers atop a craggy rockface before the tumble. Down, down, head over heels and none-the-smarter, acrobats splatter amongst themselves, the stony ground devoted to the game of catch. Soldats of Fortune earn the bag so that they may never have to do the work of honest men, murder and weaponry form the core of eager hearts,” for some reason, the professor’s poetry resonated and would not leave me alone.

“Thorns burst upwards towards the sky, each stemmed rose a grasp for the taste of freedom. Roots below the earth tremble by way of the perverse energy that flowers when surrounded by danger, expectant as the hopeful drops of water caress tongue and cheek turn stroppy as the forecast turns false. The sun glares down sans remorse.

“Sol moves through an azure blanket, punctuated now and then as a fluffy cloud of pale grey slowly traverses the atmosphere. Awake to port, asleep to starboard, the colors respond to unseen pollutants as they gush over trees of green. For now, peace falls over the land as bees hover around blooms of rapturous hue.” My eyes tear and flutter from the potency of the noonday sun and the way that the professor's speech wantonly permeates my free moments. Eyes screwed shut completely; my world becomes gloomy shades of dull comfort.

A shake of the head to clear my thoughts, just as a woodpecker from the forest knocks her beak through the hole of some forested trunk. *tuk-tuk-tuk-tuk-tuk*. A pressure forms on my face where my beak would have been as pennons form from the muscles of my back, an out-spread conquest of brazen shackles. Who dares to don the robes of an absent master? Many try, and a few manage to stuff arms through the holes… but the dense and heavy texture tears at the heart and soul, the seams stressed and stretched well beyond the stated numbers on the label. “Contemplate another theme,” the command bellows and we scurry to obey.

“A hasty brown fox jumps over a lazy dog, as a lazy mutant of black quartz judges my vow,” cleanses the palate, moves me away from my professor’s rhetoric and the rambles of my own ego. The answer comes to me from a dream. A man, who crawls and walks and then needs a cane. Manufactured to be the sort of utterance that looks smart when performed gracefully upon a wooden stage. How does one solve the problem of the arcane when the author happens to be a dunce? There we go, broken loose once more to meander amongst the freeways of open thought.

Far off, the sounds of the darbuka dance to my ear, low and dread as any bull. My head explodes as a snort and hooves stampede across my personal space. Everafter chases me, knows of my locale. My days are numbered, though who can say how many anybody truly has left. The drums are weak for now, and nobody pays them any heed.

“Can there be another? A soul of equal measure and worth, to stand by us as the sun falls asleep once more and plunges us all beyond the day? Monsters from the edges of the torch render our own sleep a far-off memory, no longer a luxury that we can afford. There are no heroes or calvary, there never were. There are only bald youngsters who fearlessly hold candles as a prayerful antagony to the dark. But when there are two of us, how would anybody stand opposed?”, who speaks now?

“Who are we to become what we hold we must? Are we ants to carry more than our mass? Are we our own plague of locusts, sent to destroy all that we hold dear before we can suffer loss and heartache? Who are we to make the call, when all around us falls apart beneath our portly gaze. Sand castles of fantasy, erected to serve the folly of false gods.” Go on, what harm has ever come from banter?

“Onward we trudge, faster and faster as the hours lengthen and there are fewer of them to consume. Footfalls echo through an empty hallway, a momentary remembrance of where we once stepped before the hollow echoes fade and we are left alone once more to our own elaborate constructs. Our goals fall before the steady rhythm of our own efforts,” a song? What are you on about?

Yet out of the black, beats yet the Drums of Everafter, that steady cacophonous drone. *Doom-Doom Doom-Doom Doom-Doom* the rhythm rattles my skull and forces a gasp from my throat. *Doom-Doom Doom-Doom Doom-Doom* My forehead crashes onto the coffee table as fate takes hold and the Drums threaten to deafen me.

Prone on the floor, the cool marbled stone feels heavenly. My cheek has grown hot and now the warmth floods outward, back to the world. Rest now. Rest for today. Tomorrow never comes. My mother appears before to caress my locks and tell me that all eventually becomes well. The words are a comfort, though the look she casts my way betrays the untruth of her words. The story comes easy, gentle as they seek to soothe, but useless to stop what must come next. Out of the corner of my eye, Bagel appears upon my back and settles for a long nap. Together we sleep deeply.