An Independent Mind

The image was as clear as the light would have been to my eyes my birth day. Yelling at Ty about his friend Jeff getting into his cocaine deal. Ty denying it with a smirk on his face, and then dismissing it in a manner that said he knew about it. A blatant yet fluid sign of lying, did he enjoy doing it? Mr. Dawson coming up from his periodical grade book viewing and demanding to know what was going on. Me stammering and hiccupping in response, my explanatory words caught in some invisible chamber in my mouth with the key tossed away. Mr. Dawson telling me to leave, and asking Ty why he lied. Ty grinning sheepishly, clutching his favorite deck of cards as he said "Because it's fun." Mr. Dawson giving him a stern lecture, like he did every time he got serious in History class.

I lay there on my bed, one leg under the sheets, the other splayed over the side, both my hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling, wondering what it was that I should do. The only light in the room came from through the windows, from indirect sunlight, a pale and transparent white, illuminating the bluish grays on my bedroom walls. Outside my window the greens and oranges of autumn, with their high albedo, remained colorful and cold. Untouchable.

I had felt a change of the winds in me. My frustration was all but gone, replaced by pity. I didn’t know why. The transition felt so fluid, as if I didn’t need to be angry or sympathetic. As if the emotions were beyond my reason to grasp them.

To my right the mischievous, grinning poster face of Gollum seemed to be laughing at me. If he was, I didn't blame him.