On Balance Weighted- Apartment

Into the dumpster goes the trash. For how surreal this journey has been, especially as of late, I find myself astounded at the persistence of these messy little things. I walk back to my apartment, beneath the dazzling display of stars looking like they might burst from their stations and join me for a drink. Outside of these subtle natural wonders it is a mundane evening, a Monday night, and I have no expectations for fireworks. Still in full stride I consider, however, that it is often on these unassuming nights when Wishworks take flight.

I turn my key in the lock and in a flash feel a scene come to mind. I am just barely able to process that this is my dream brother signalling his presence when I suddenly see him firsthand, sitting on my couch, reclined with a beer cracked open, and a comfortable smile, laced with just a hint of shenanigans, shining from his cheek. I feign a gasp and throw my arms akimbo "What's all this then!?" He flips the bottle cap onto the ever migrating endtable and takes a sip of his beer before replying "Isn't it clear? I broke in while you were tied up, stole this beer..." He pulls out a bag of chips from under the pillow next to him "... and this bag of crisps, and so it is finished and here we are." I let my gasp extend "I wasn't even tied up! I wasn't even here." "In a sense you were tied up taking out the trash though, no?" I try to find a clever retort but find this brand of nonsense is precisely my speed, so I just smirk. "Touche." He pops open his chips and eats one, then, with matching smirk, says "That's all you've got? 'Touche?'" My eyes spark at the challenge, and in a fleeting silence I compose and structure something a little more fitting.

"Touche indeed, friend

It seems some paths must be walked

For words that were said

Might have that backward

But how one walks is their choice

Even how one crawls

So steps form on hand

And oh how many there are

This I feel you know

But hear my reason

I have gleaned a plan afoot

Though not mine to vault

So I stake my (tent/claim)

And ensure no false (fabrics/endings)

By persisting (here/thus)

So let's take our time

Hope nine pages bought us some

Comfortably aligned

So if (you prefer/required)

Count this beer as ill gotten

For my hands were tied

Now what's on your mind

As tethers fade to daydreams

Bound for adventure?"

He takes another sip, and eats a chip, pondering how to best respond. Then without words he procures a guitar and begins playing a simple soothing melody. I pull up a chair and let my thoughts roam as we sit with only notes resonating in the air. After a time, as he still plays, I say.

"I just saw an image of myself, not far in the future. In this image I was fit and had gained new skills, and was happy in expectation for a tumultuous timeline coming to a close. It is hard not to consider my current self an afterimage in light of what I have seen, but at the same time such insecurities fade, as if of their own accord, as I consider what I have accomplished despite what has felt like crawling through mud for so long. I feel this image pulling me, I feel myself dissociated from here to there in the best possible way, a way that resonates me to the image, a new angle by which I can show up in full form just in time, provided just in time. It feels like many of the partial steps have been set aside, and this is like pulling out all the stops. It feels like the crystallization of faith- reassurance and an aim all at once- but one where I am rearranged in the now so that the driver drives, the dancer dances, the writer writes, and the worker is worth the price. While my rougher edges remain in this image, they have been turned and carefully choreographed such that they augment the piece that is me, and have ceased acting as static blocking my path to the me that I see. Dogged persistence, focusing on aligning my heart with God while disregarding every easy temporary solution, seems to be solidifying into a tangible form that just became visible up ahead."

He brings the song to a close with a smile. "Perfect, an aim achieved." I consider that this is his first time in my apartment, and what else might be accomplished within such humble walls. "Play me another? A song of the blessing of a journey completed and a journey begun all at once?" Without pause or meeting my eyes he strums a tune truly new, as the words flow from me in metered rhyme.

"When the stars twinkle and planets align

These nights something new might brothers conceive

Call it a blessing or call it a sign

Call it a journey one cannot believe

The best thing to happen, happened twofold

Footfalls on path multiply evermore

These forerunners grow, but never grow old

1,000 generations yet in store

For family is linked and linked once again

For in intertwining template is seen

Though distanced in time, eyes sparkle in tw(a)in

So 'cross this river souls inspire and glean

'The journey is long, take two for the road

May she be blessed as if cup overflowed.'"

With the last lines he looks up, locking my gaze and echoing the sentiment as if it were an agreement struck. It feels as though he had heard this somewhere before, but more reasonably he knows what is in my heart, and how such sentiments in me, at such times as these, bloom into words. He shakes his head as he grabs his beer one more time, expression torn. When he sets it down he mutters, looking away "I didn't think it would be this easy." Remembering my dream last night I consider aloud "Ease in what seems to be such a complex task feels like a direct product of preparation and finding the right partner." "Right you are, and right you were. Shall we grab our provisions and walk onward together?" I nod, and we stand. "Help yourself." I grab my backpack as he rummages through refrigerator and cabinet.

We pack up our nonsense and take to the open road. I am not entirely sure where we're going, but he seems to know, which is good enough for me.