Stream of Consciousness

Text Message from Ryan Roschke (8:02:49): did you make it home alright? did the crazy homeless man kill you?

sendingsendingsendingsending message sent that's fine he's fine why wouldn't he be? but i told him to text me why didn't he text me why hasn't he texted me? what's the walk like he must have been home by now it's been way more than five minutes and that walk never takes me more than five minutes it's not like he forgot in the span of five minutes

And he's stuck on the street and he's surrounded. All they want is his money. But he doesn't have any money. He just went to the gym. All he has is his student identification and his keys...

why hasn't he texted me back yet it says it was delivered i'm calling him

I open my phone and I type "JO." His name shows up efficiently under the highlighted bar. I press the send button and snap my phone shut and press it into my ear.

(RING)

He's on the ground and they're kicking the shit out of him. God his face looks so bloody... But they can't stop kicking him, they won't stop kicking him. He can't stop crying, and he can't start screaming.

(RING)

answer your phone answer your phone god damnit answer it what if someone else answers it? like someone who's attacking him right now some sort of screenplay written mockery to alert the narrator that his friend is in trouble. a sneer and a smile and the most disgusting "hello" on the other side of the phone i would just drop it and run

(RING)

i should just go should i go should i run i'm the only one who knows where he is right now

Three swift kicks and he spits up blood and maybe a tooth on the sidewalk.

(RING)

"Your call has been forward-" (god damnit) "-to an automated-" (fuck) "-voice messaging-"(FUCK) "-system. six, one, zero-"

And I hang up.

Text Message from Ryan Roschke (8:10:22): you better be dead because if you're not i'm killing you.

Fuckfuckfuckwhatdoido i'll run i can run i'll run and find him and i'll call him again

(RING)

I'm running out the front door past my smoking roommates. I probably look like a fool, but it doesn't really matter at this point. My shitty tennis shoes flop recklessly on the cement.

Another kick glides ruthlessly across John's face, catching on his jaw and releasing his crippling spine into ripples down his back. He's not even conscious anymore.

please just let him be okay please

(RING)

I skip down every other stair; it's a trait I picked up in my house back home. Usually it would be used for racing downstairs towards a warm dinner. And because I'm a little bit hyperactive. I burst out of the gate, I don't even realize how cold it is.

There's a loud crack of a rib as the heel of a boot rockets down on the side of his flank

god damnit where the fuck are you john

(RING)

And I burst out the gate, and I'm sprinting past the lazy sleeping hobos faster than they can wake up and yell drunken profanities at me.

They hear me coming and run away. John's an unconscious pile of black and blue flesh on the frigid pavement. There's too much blood and sweat and tears to tell which is which

please answer please answer please

(RING)

"Your call has been for-" (FUCK) "-ward-" (FUCK) "-ed to an-" (FUCKFUCKFUCK) "-automated voice mess-

And I hang up again. And I stop running.

this is stupid this is so fucking stupid i'm probably just crazy but what do i DO? his roommate emily his roommate i can call her

I open my phone and mash my thumb into the "E" button and then the "M" button. I scroll through the five Emilys in my phone until I reach the correct one. I mash "SEND," and slam my phone shut and press it to my ear.

(RING)

And I start walking again.

pick UP god damnit please just pick up

(RING)

"Hello?"

"Hey! (thank fucking god) It's Ryan! Are you home?"

"Yeah," she says, "What's up?"

please please please

There's so much blood soaked into his little gym tank. There's so much blood.

let him be there please

"Can you (please) tell me if John's home (PLEASE)? He said he'd text me when he got home and he hasn't yet."

"Oh yeah, of course! JOHN?" She yelled.

god please maybe it'll all be okay

John's just checking his Facebook and he doesn't hear his phone vibrating on his bed. John's body is too hard to see because he's not totally in the streetlamp's glow. He's half enveloped by shadow but I can still see it's him. I can tell it's him. I know it's him before I even reach him.

"Oh, it looks like he's in the shower!"

I stop walking.

He's not in his room and he's not on the sidewalk bleeding. He's in the showering. He's lathering soap and rubbing it on his tanned skin. He drinks water as it streams out of the shower head, just like he always does.

"Are you sure? It's definitely him?" I've already turned around and started walking in the opposite direction towards home.

"Yeah I'm pretty sure! Yes, his door's open and his light's on."

god damnit thank fucking god

His room is empty but flooded with light from the lamp on his desk. His gym clothes are strewn on the floor, his water bottle sits idly on his desk, and his cell phone sits among fluffed pockets of his comforter, blinking incessantly, engorged with my worries and my overactive imagination.

"Oh god, thanks! Jesus Christ. When he gets out tell him he's a little bitch and he should text me."

"Okay! I'm sorry you were worried!"

I can still see his broken body, I run up to check the pulse.

Text Message from John Going (8:28:02): Ahhhhh im so sorry! I was being a doof in the shower!"

Text Message from Ryan Roschke (8:30:14): i hate you so much. don't ever do that again.

My hands are covered in his blood. It's caked under his fingernails.

if i have his blood on my hands it could never wash off i'd always see it and god all the things i've never said that i wanted to say what if i'd never been able to say them i'd never forgive myself

Text Message from John Going (8:32:30): I'm sorry! Haha i'm fine! Nothing to worry about! I won't forget to text you next time!

Text Message from Ryan Roschke (8:33:29): you better not. you scared me.

Post Script

I'm really sorry that a lot of this blog is based solely on these grand generalizations or these greater implications everything has for me. I don't really know how to change it. But maybe it's something that will evolve over time. Or maybe that's just how I write and you should get over it. Maybe it's just backlash for all the generalizations I'm not allowed to put in my scholastic endeavors.

Maybe I just over-think things too much.

Maybe even this post script has a subtle hint of generalization in it.

Maybe I'm just generalizing about how much I generalize.

Damnit.

Why I Do Vinyasa Yoga

"Pigeon is my favorite pose," Simona said. "It doesn't flow, it lasts a long time, you are forced to confront it."

Simona is on the short side, average body type, short springy brown hair, an indelible happy disposition, figurative blushing rosy cheeks, and some sort of foreign accent I can't place. I'm not particularly fond of Simona as a yoga instructor. I don't think she's quite grasped the necessary flow, the wax and wane of pushing students with instructions and letting the yoga do the teaching. Plus, she's incredibly young. Her voice is immature, and her instruction skeletons seem too contrived. Every once in a while, though, she leads a great practice, and I know she's just a little farther along on the same path I'm traversing.

It was the first time I had done pigeon with Simona, and also one of the first times Simona said something worthwhile. It was something along these lines:

"Pigeon is a difficult pose. It's uncomfortable. There's a lot of sensation, and many people often confuse it with pain. After a while, your body grows uncomfortable, and wants to shift, wants to move out of the position. But you can't listen to yourself. Your mind will tell you all sorts of things to get you to move out of the pose. It will tell you you're in pain. It will tell you you can't handle the sensation. But the most important thing to do is to stay there. You must focus on your breath, and you must breathe through the discomfort."

It's true, too. It's not some bullshit courtesy of another brainwashed yoga instructor. Pigeon is intense. I'm so antsy whenever I practice it. I constantly shift positions. But not matter what, I try to never exit the pose.

Simona continued, my mind tried to force me to outsource my focus. "This is my favorite post, because I like to apply it to my life situations, too. Just because something is difficult, doesn't mean I need to escape it. I must face it. I must breathe through it."

A little platitudinous, sure, but it still resonated with me. Maybe just because I eat that double entendre bullshit right up. Last time, I wrote about why Bikram's heated yoga carried these cathartic implications with me. Hot yoga could transport me back to my weakest, most vulnerable moments. But this yoga, with moments like this, this yoga is a constant struggle and an embedded reminder of the fact that I can't control everything. Sure, I can fall to the side on my hip and release the deep, muscular stretch that the pigeon elicits, but it's not going to help me if I do. Because you can't always just rock off onto your hip and release everything.

It just got me thinking. I still have hard times. I still have weak days, I still feel ashamed of my scars, I still thirst to prove myself stronger than ever. And these vulnerabilities will probably always be a part of me, no matter how small I make them. I'll have to encounter them though. And I'll have to encounter bigger things that will be beyond my control, and I just have to remember to breathe through it and know that there's an end.

And I guess if I took deep breaths and got through everything I've already been through, I can breathe through anything else, right?

It's moments like these though. That's why I like doing yoga. Some days it's such a struggle, but it's worth it to learn these basic life rules occasionally along the way. Even the simplest sentence, like, "Just relax, and your muscles can stretch even farther," even that means something to me.