A Search for Peace

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short section in a day of a confused man.

Submitted: March 06, 2013

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Submitted: March 06, 2013

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If he closed his eyes and concentrated on the ticking sound from the second hand of the clock and the pitter patter of the rain on the glass window, it almost felt like the kind of meditation his instructor was taking about. He never could concentrate during meditation classes, the ‘find your happy place’ notion seemed silly to him. Where is this happy place? Is it in his childhood when he was unaware of the harsh reality? Or is it in his recent years when he is on top of his success ladder? He could never decide. Or was it that he never actually had a happy place? But that is nonsense; everyone has a happy place. That’s what the instructor told him at least. Does he really believe it though? No, not really.

The whistling sound of the kettle jerked his eyes open and away from the confines of his thoughts and made him hurry towards the kitchen to prepare his tea.  As the boiling water poured over the teabag in the cup, his thoughts went back to his meditation class. He wondered why everyone loved the classes so much, what did they actually get from those classes? Peace of mind? How does one even get peace of mind? Maybe they all did have a happy place and actually closed their eyes to visit it. He felt jealous of those people. How easily they could retreat to a memory or a fantasy. Why couldn’t he be like them? Why did he always have constant tension on his mind? He is successful, rich, good looking but why this restlessness? He couldn’t figure it out.

The scalding pain from his left hand brought him back yet again from his musings, when he realized he poured the boiling water over his hand. He made his tea and brought it to bed, setting the cup on the bedside table and making himself comfortable. He closed his eyes to wait for the tea to cool down a notch.

He finds himself in a familiar place, the gravel path beneath his small feet, the aroma of vanilla and lavender in the air. What is this he is holding? Is it a ball? A football to be precise and from its appearance it’s clear that this football has been well played with. Where is he? Why is this place so familiar? He drops the ball with a thud. The sound it makes against the path brings back the memory all too clearly. He knows where he needs to look now. He looks to his right, and finds exactly what he thought he would.  His best friend; motioning with his arms for him to bring back the football and resume their game. He remembers now. He is 12, and so is his friend. They are playing at the backyard of his house, while his mother is baking vanilla cupcakes. He kicked the ball too hard, causing it to land away from the play area and his friend asked him to bring it back. That’s when his mother calls them both inside, asking them to hurry or the cupcakes would turn cold. They race each other to the kitchen table and his mother serves them both two cupcakes each. He digs into his with fervor and watches his friend do the same. It had been a good day, and he planned on making it better with the promise of another football match after they are done eating.

A thunderclap pulls him away from this memory, leaving him breathless.

 

He finally found his happy place.


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