Before I begin the story, I’d like to shed some light on the background of our character; we will call him Stan. Now that our protagonist has a name, it is time to open up the problem that will make the epic story of his life unfold. Stan was always falling in line, always doing things in order; however, perception is reality, and what is real to him, may seem very unreal for the rest of us. So I ask you now, as you read this, decide what life is better. Is Stan blessed, or am I cursed?
The slight chirping of birds awoke the young man we know as Stan; as he rolls over in bed, the loud garbage can lids bang away. He reaches over and hits the top of his alarm clock. Now he can relax…err…for at least 15 minutes. Sitting up in bed now, he looks across his bedroom and hears the rushing sea; he doesn’t want to leave the soft blankets, which engulf him just as the tides of the ocean, in and out…
Now friends, Stan is different; he has a…disability. It prohibits him from perceiving things the way they truly are. Instead, he wraps an overwhelming sensory perception around them. Acting like a sponge, he doesn’t see, rather, he stays innocent, and interprets.
In the kitchen, Stand now finds himself; turning on the tele the rush of information hits him. All he needed to know was the weather, sunny with a high of 75, but instead, he got a bunch of talk that no one really cares about; how he loves local news. Strolling himself over to the counter, he flips up a bagel, throws it in the toaster, trots to the fridge to grab his morning cocktail of juices, and scrambles back to make sure the bagel doesn’t burn. As he enjoys his bagel, he hears a wonderful chorus of chimes and the rustling of wind; the bagel after all was whole wheat…
Now it’s onto what Stan really does. Conversation. A friend knocks at his door, with a sad expression, the friend enters the house. Stand hears no words, just the slow vibrations of flat strings, a cello, or a bass. It’s a sad tune, and Stan himself, is forced to frown. The conversation starts, and not much is said.
“Stan, we need to talk man. I’m not feeling so good about us. What happened the other day, that wasn’t right. There’s no reason for that stuff to happen, it can’t happen again, you and I know that too well. How are we gonna fix this, what are we gonna do. Stan? Stan are you even listening to me? What are we gonna…”
Stan paused, trying to conceive what his friend was sharing. As he took it all in, this is what he heard.
A simple violin started playing, flat, then sharp, then back to flat. A timpani bangs in the background, once, twice, three times. The cello proceeds in loudness, and the violin begins to staccato. One giant sharp staccato brings the symphony to a halt, then the woodwinds take over in a soft gentle melodic rhythm; one of soothing, one of peace.
Stan looks at his friend to make sure they were seeing eye to eye and smiles. He knows the truth, and he sees what is coming. His friend however doesn’t see that. He gets up, paces, and begins to worry. He quickly grows frustrated with Stan, stomps to the door, and slams it shut.
Through all of this, Stan whispers, “Friend, it will be alright. You must choose to accept me for who I am, not what you want.”
Weeks pass, and Stan continues his morning routine. When thinking about the conversation between he and his friend, a peace comes over him, one of love, one of compassion. He hears the joyous birds, the soft tides, the blowing grass, and allows these sounds to engulf him and his worries. He knows, he just does, that everything will be okay.
Years pass, and Stan lives with a smile on his face; then, the day finally comes. The knocking on his door grows louder, and Stan hears an amplifying heartbeat. He gleams with joy, opens the door, and hugs his friend, the same friend who stormed from his home years before. Crying in his arms, the friend can’t speak, but Stan hears, he hears piano, and melodic strings. An uplifting song this time, not the melancholy symphony he came to expect. His friend weeps in arms, and the sounds get stronger, and more joyous. Then, his friend looks at Stan and realizes what he’s missed all along. An apology comes from the mouth of his friend, but Stan quiets him. There is a peace between them, one of calmness. Stan looks at him with a smile on his face, and shares these words:
“Friend, you have not hurt me, you have not harmed me. It was I in fact who has harmed you. You didn’t understand, and I never attempted to show you what I didn’t see, rather what I heard. This is neither a curse, nor a blessing, but a way of life, and in the end, I have learned to make it my pride and joy, my own tool that can be used to shape the lives of myself and others. You see friend, what has happened in this life, is merely something that will make us stronger, more firm in our foundation. You cannot hate who I have become, because it is that person who will stand next to you, and help you prosper. The rewards of life are nothing compared to the rewards of service, and friend, these years of isolation have been of service; for that, I must thank you.”
Chris Kordick
