The Little Things In Life

The streets of Chicago were chilling. I looked down the street to see Mr. Phillips outside as usual after closing, locking his thrift store and heading towards the subway station down North. A kind but quiet old man. The sky was dark. No clouds were in sight as I looked up to only see a few stars dancing over me. The quiet drift of the block left me wondering and hoping. I continued to walk down the street slowly. My body was envious of me. I wanted to lay down on the cold, solid ground. I wanted to relax my joints and muscles as they quivered and ached every time I took a step toward. My mind was focused on not focusing on anything. The wind started to howl louder as I held onto a nearby building and rested my back on it, still on my feet. I took off my backpack and reached inside. It was nearly 20 degrees out here, it had to be, I thought to myself as I tried to grab my water bottle with my bloody hands as they began to tremble. I had on two jackets and thick long blue jeans on, but even those weren’t enough to sustain me and keep me warm. I toppled to the floor as my hands nearly broke off and dropped the bottle. I couldn’t stand anymore, I couldn’t go on. I knew it was past 11 and the night would only get worse from here. I closed my eyes and hoped that snow wouldn’t fall from the sky and cover me. I’m going to die out here. The thoughts of an endless end rampaged through my mind as I glanced at my breath every time I blew out. It hurted. The pain dwelled on me as a best friend. It was everywhere. I tried taking a sip of my water and spilled the bottle with some getting on me. It hurt to drink. I was frozen in disbelief and agony. The bottle had barely any water left inside. I didn’t care to pick it up anyways. I had to keep moving, I have to keep get up and keep heading North. Keeping heading North and not looking back ever. The pain was too much to bare as I tried to lift myself up. The support of the wall was no help. My back would show no mercy to myself, as I fell back down to the ground. A sharp pain ran across my spine. I held it, in hopes for my frostbitten hands to make it better. It was no use. I clenched my teeth as I shifted myself more upwards, trying to fix my posture. The pain was astounding. I was hurt, my body was crying for help and I knew it. I want to move forward but I can’t. My eyes began to tear up as I looked to the sky once again to see a few clouds in the distance. Looked as if they were coming in from the North. The tears felt like they froze and turned into icicles once they fell from my face. My hands were too cold to rest them on my face too. I wanted to scream for help. I wanted to throw anything I could at nearby windows or doors just to get someone’s attention. This part of the neighborhood is always like this. Eerie and quiet. Vagueness was always complete here, especially at night. Never knew the real reason as to why, but for as long as I been living in Chicago, this neighborhood has never gotten past calm. My breath started to become shorter and heavier. My body was in more pain than before, as I tried to change my position, and lay down. The ground was freezing, and the heat from where I was previously sitting before did not help. I used my backpack as a pillow and laid along the building, hugging myself to get some extra warmth. My eyes were still watering and I my hands began to shake even more as I tucked them underneath me. Death was relevant now. I was going to die out here in the streets of Chicago and no one would notice it. The blood on my face was mixing in with the tears and landing in my mouth as it swept down my face. It was salty and cold. The last taste I would have before I left this world. I cried some more. This was all I could do. Thinking about every moment that happened before this leading up till now. A positive mindset was beyond my capability. All I could think about was the actions that led me here. What I did, what I didn’t do. Everything intertwined with each other. I wanted my mind to go blank and dark. My memories were not comforting. I gently used my sleeves to wipe away my tears. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet that had a photo of my mom. Her beautiful smile was keeping me alive. I felt her warmth and grace through the picture. Blood stains from my hand covered the corners of it but it still looked perfect. Her hair was perfect. The slick, laid down dress she was wearing was perfect. Her heels were perfect. Her and the baby she was holding were perfect in my eyes. Even with her gone, I could still feel her. Her energy was around me right now, telling me that everything will be okay. Her hugging me and kissing my forehead repeatedly. I touched her face with my finger. Blood covered it now. Tears once again fell as I held the picture close to me. My eyes couldn’t stay open forever. The fear of closing but never opening again was dormant. I shifted closer along the wall, barely moving an inch. If I die, then I die. I thought to myself as I knew i couldn’t stay awake forever. My eyes were heavy and my body needed rest. I held the picture even tighter in my arms as the world slowly started to get darker and darker.

A dream? It couldn’t have been. I woke up. My head was hurting and so was my body still. I know this wasn’t a dream. I had bandages all around me, and my legs, and my hands weren’t bloody anymore. I was in bed. I looked around the room to see a bunch of books, and a desktop by the far corner with a small black notebook on top and a brief case on the chair. This wasn’t my bed nor was it my room. I looked over to the side to see an alarm clock. It was 12 in the afternoon. Where am I? I said to myself as I looked closer at the clock and saw a photo laying next to it. I reached over to grab it slowly, almost forgetting my arms are still dwelling on the pain from last night. I looked at it to see that it was the same photo of my mom that i had kept in my wallet. This one was much cleaner and looked as if it had never been touched before. This jogged my memory to look for my picture of my mom. The bloodstains on it were questionable but I was confused. How did I end up here? Where is my bag? Who brought me here and why? So many questions began to run through my mind. It gave me a slight headache. I tried to not to think too hard and remain calm. I pulled the sheets off of me and tried to slowly get up from the bed. My body was still in pain and I honestly didn’t want to get up at all, but I needed answers quickly. My feet touched the wood floors as I stood up. Felt like I haven’t stood up in a long time. The floors were dark and cold but bearable. The room was warm, with a slight winter breeze coming in from the one window by the desktop. I began to walk over to the desktop to see my backpack right beside it with my bloody jackets and long pants. Who changed my clothes? Now I really needed to get some answers. I looked at myself in a nearby mirror. A white shirt with some shorts was my attire, along with a few badges. I began to analyze my setting. The person who had brought me here must know me, or something. There’s no way some random person would bring me into their home, change me and clean me and give me a whole bed to myself. I said this repeatedly in my mind as I tried to convince myself that everything was normal, but it wasn’t. So many things didn’t add up. I looked over to the small black notebook and brief case again and decided to look inside it to see if I could get some answers from it. The breeze was slightly killing me so I closed the window, and covered it with the curtains. I put the brief case down that was slightly heavy, sat down and I opened up the notebook. The pages were worn and tithered, so I knew whoever writes in this, was always writing consistently. There was so much writing. Each page from the very beginning, was filled with paragraphs. On some pages, dates were on the top. This must be someone diary, or journal or something. I still wasn’t getting any answers as I read through the first few pages. Everything was still dull and blank in my mind. The dates aged back all the way to the year I was born in, but that’s all I could get from it. The paragraphs explained their day to day routine and thinking. This person must’ve wrote down what they did but also their thoughts and emotions as if they were talking to themselves most of the time. Still confused, I rushed towards the last few pages where the dates got closer to the present day. I saw a date that read the same date as yesterday and began to read the last few parts of it to see if I finally came to my answer that I was looking for:

The drive home from work was bearable. I knew it was going to snow soon so I tried my best to get out of there and rush home. The world works in mysterious ways I suppose. When you’re rushing through things in life, you miss out on the small details of it. Those small details could be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. I’ve finally decided not to rush anymore and observe those small things. One of them I found last night.

Could they be talking about me? I read more for my answer:

I know him and he doesn’t know me. I never know these small things would catch up to us or even stick around no matter how many times we try to rush past them. As I look to my bed and see what I created. This small detail that I rushed on and tried to move past, it had caught up to me. I’m thankful. I don’t deserve it, and he doesn’t either. But he does deserve what’s inside this brief case as I leave again. I’m sorry son. And I love you

I couldn’t breath. My father was here? I said to myself. This whole time he was here, in the same city and I never knew. With everything that’s already happened, with me killing my step dad because he murdered my mom, and me trying to head North to Canada to find my grandma, nothing mattered but this. I looked over to the briefcase, grabbed it and began to open it and I couldn’t believe what I saw- $20,000 inside with a picture of me and my dad.