A Breath of Air

The selfless series of events which caused him to be standing, not uncomfortably, inside the main entrance of a dimly lit theatre on a grey morning on his way to work are a testiment to the controlling powers of interconnectedness; a certain feng shui, if you will. He is certainlly no toxophilite in any figurative sense, and yet even he feels as though the unfolding of these events suggests that he was somehow aware of his own future. As though he were aware of the forces that drive us all, and was complicit in encouraging its development.

With cancrine movement, he flowed his way down a crowded sidewalk. He could not avoid colliding with a gentleman not much older than himself, and spilling his coffee across his coat and down his arm. We pulled aside into a doorway where he allowed him to apologize for his clumsiness. There was no harm done, as the coffee had all but slid down his coat harmlessly. He made a parting joke, at which we chuckled, and we both reinserted ourselves into the shuffle. The sychronous movements of several people on the sidewalk raising their free hand to secure their hats as a gust of wind swept down the street caused him to pause and look up. A truck rang its horn and he looked to the street. The morning got darker and a moment of thunder rolled over the sidewalk. People were now more incensed to get to work, and he was jossled to the side of the sidewalk, underneath the canopy of a dirty theatre.

As the sky was dark the few unbroken lightbulbs decorating the theatre canopy could be seen to be lit. He put his hands behind his back and leaned against the door for a brief moment. He was more aware of the sound around him: the zipping conversation of people walking in pairs; the footsteps and mummurs of pardons and excuse mes; the traffic; and the thunder. He looked up again and on that moment, as though his gaze gave assent, it began to rain. More synchronous movement as the sidewalk frenzied and cleared. He was not alone anymore under the canopy, as people joined him in hopes the rain would cease soon. He stood up straight and leaned back so as to take up less room, and against his weight the theatre door behind him opened.

The door opened soudlessly and heavily and when he removed himself from it it closed soundlessly and heavily, without a thud or knock. He felt entirely alone, as one is not supposed to in the morning on the way to work. He felt a cold wet shiver sweep his body and he knew his body to have goose bumps for a moment. He marvelled at the mystery of a ruined routine; for how many consecutive mornings had he gotten to work with nothing extraordinary happening. And had he taken just a few more steps, or not paused, or not looked up the first time... even if he had not spilled his coffee on that gentleman, would this still have happened? Would something different have happened, yet just as pleasantly unexpected? He sighed and shook his head at the infinite.

When he went back outside, the rain had intensified and people were jogging now, with newspapers over their heads. He felt justified not to join them. He watched and marvelled at everything and felt entirely enlightened.

Did he understand the point? The epos of the everyday...