Interpretive Conversation Peace

Three Academic Points In A Triangle

Somewhere in a rural cosmopolitan metropolis there was a university campus where academics exchanged ideas hoping to make the community a better place to live.

One afternoon a boy relaxed enjoying the sunshine in the triangle sanctuary area which had classrooms on three sides. Staring right in front of him was a colorful bulletin board announcing the events that the Fraternities and Sororities were holding when lights were turned off on mass learning. To his left was the education think tank center where teachers assembled to study knowledge. On the right curious seekers in health care paid for the opportunity to attend courses where physical fitness wellness issues, were discussed.

Behind the youngster was the cultural stage peering over the textbook driven schools. Inside the theatrical halls pleasant interpretations flourished when performers made satirical commentary with the soulful purpose to entertain audiences.

“Boy,” a shout interrupted the tranquil setting, “where are your parents?”

Turning his head a reply came immediately, “they are lecturing.”

“What is your name?”

“Brandus,” an honest response blurted out, “I am reflecting about growing up and what I want to be as an adult.”

Coming out from the shade into the light the man used a walking stick and dressed in all black, he smiled at the youthful innocence.

“That is right, Mr. Brandus, take a good observation of what is around you,” the artistic leader continued, “one side says healthy minds, the other healing hurtful wounds.”

“But right in front of me I see fun,” Brandus noted the festivity weekend agenda promoted by upper-class houses, “and behind me.”

“Things to think about,” the individual mentioned, “that is all.”

Standing up Brandus approached the marble staircase with hands in the air, “life is very complicated,”

Despite having a cane, the wise man brought out metal chairs, “Brandus life is a very simple equation,”

Sitting down Brandus opened his ears to Professor Muzikinis, the dean of simple staged musicals, “you have your mind,” the creative intellectual pointed towards the teachers, then acknowledged the white coat figures scurrying around the lab, “you have your health,”

“Then the resolution ends here, your emotions,” Mr. Muzikinis lightly touched his heart.

Taking a hard look around the three-sided courtyard Brandus started to put things together, “that is all life is about?”

“Yes, Brandus, but what you need to understand is this final thought,” Mr. Muzikinis signaled the number one showing a finger, “if just a single side falls then everything will crumble but when all three have a firm base then you will be very successful.”

Years past and Brandus was a mature scholastic adult attending the institution for higher education. During his class break, the theater major found himself in the library when two sorority sisters entered his aisle.

“Little Brother, what are you doing?” Etapas Tragedija inquired wanting to make sure her go to guy was all right.

“Researching ‘what shapes history’”

“What shapes history? Is the teacher,” Mokyti Komedija questioned then answered.

“I have a table over there reserved,” Brandus mentioned and the pair feeling comfortable around him due to his wisdom followed realizing they needed honest guidance,

“My grade school kids were so funny today they took a picture of their boogers using their parent’s cell phones,” Mokyti gleefully pulled out the wooden seat.

“I had the most terrible hospital shift,” Etapas added straightening the nursing patch on the uniform she was wearing all day.

“Too many sick people?” Brandus asked.

“No, just it was just, a lot of tragedies,”

“Well, you came to the right little brother, the fraternity is having their weekly sketch comedy night at the house Saturday around midnight,”

“A mature comedy routine could be a fun evening,” Mokyti laughed.

“Yeah, I could use some time away from tragedies,” Etapas agreed.

Later that evening back in the dorm Brandus made his conclusion on ‘what shapes history’ thesis and confirmed it by inserting the theory into the paper:

“It is the cultural base factor that holds together both health care and education. This theoretic concept will make a country strong forcing their enemy to respect them.”

The Competitive Conversation

Long before the globe needed warming childlike buccaneer dreamer Curonian started a relationship at love with his next-door neighbor Banda over afternoon tea.

“Well, my dear Banda,” Curonian who was in between the age one and fourteen range inquired, “where do you think you will be at 15?”

Giving the intimidating ‘win any way you can’ stare the young girl who also was approaching adolescents volleyed back, “I must ask, 'where are you going to be at 30?’”

Feeling a little frustrated that there was no answer to the innocent question Curonian kept up his guard, “I now want to know where you will be at 40?”

“Forty?” Banda shrieked knowing one more point meant game over, “do you think that is all to our simple lives? Counting in an absurd way 15, 30, 40!!! The time has come when I should leave this recreational excuse for companionship and make something of myself before I am,”

Banda calmly placed her porcelain saucer that presented the elegant cup down and walked away from the conversation that was not going to her plan.

“Too bad she left, must be the heat in the kitchen,” Curonian commented, “now bring on the next antagonistic foe.”

Years past and Curonian caught the explorer disease and went on a long-winded sabbatical odyssey that included a war. But it was during an international friendly challenge that turned gore fest and resulted in tragic devastation for the adventurer that turned the tides in the ancient fable.

“Curonian,” the swashbuckling romance cover model heard while tending to the grassy field on the family farm, “you finally came home from your storybook fantasy.”

Looking up there was Banda who had not changed at all since the teenage ceramic party that turned her mad.

“Where’s your hand?” She immediately asked and just like his nature the comment zoomed passed him, “Did it get caught in the cookie jar made from clay?”

Smiling Curonian took a break from his chores, “my hand,” he started to defend, “is lining the stomach pockets of a gator.”

“Your five fingers were on the menu for a gator’s lunch,” Banda laughed stirring up dirt only hearing the surface to what happened in battle.

“Yes, Banda, it was an appetizer delicacy for that reptile but in the end, I served up the entrée that would feed an entire army,”

“There you go Curonian,” Banda kept up with his verbal retaliation, “you spin those tales so well they are believable.”

“What storytelling?” Curonian came closer to the property line that was divided by a nylon fence, “after we fought and wrestled, I walked away winning a luggage set and,”

“And” Banda met him still playing her side.

“This alligator shirt is now the main selection in my custom designed athletic collection,” Curonian boasted while backing off.

“Okay, Curonian, we are both at age 40,” Banda retreated back, “now what?”

“I will make the final two points,” Curonian promised.

“You are going to do what?” Banda stood her ground taking note on the prediction.

“First point, legends,” then Curonian paused, “second, win wars.”

Later that night Curonian heard a knock on the door and when answered standing there under the flamed porch light was Banda.

“I really loved going back and forth in that conversation we had earlier,” she peered showing trust into his eyes, “it was a healthy dialogue exercise.”

“Would you like to come in for midnight tea?” Curonian being a gentlemen offered.

“And just chit chat?”

“Yes, and just chit chat,” Curonian replied shutting the door luring her to the parlor room with both still wearing their competitive white outfits.