Unveiling of The Vale - First Act
In the usual evening rush, with the sun sinking low and the commuter herd scuttling towards their sanctuaries, there's a Restless Vibe in the humdrum. It's not the cheerful hum of the morning hustle, but more like a race against time, a ruthless search for a few moments of peace with your essence intact. The nine-to-five grind carves us to fit a narrow spectrum, leaving most of us pale reflections of our true potential. This endless commute home is a never-ending journey, always too long. If only we could soar free, away from this force-fed mold.
I roll through the stop-and-go of suburban streets, feeling the end-of-day pressure pressing down as our metal cubicles shuffle along. Our minds wander, reviewing conversations with colleagues and clients, clearing away the debris of the workday with a sigh. If you squint hard enough, you can see a smoky trail of stress escaping from the vehicles, insignificant and muddled, like when preschoolers blend all their paint colors together, resulting in a smothered shade of ragged brown. Yet another workday comes to a close.
A more disconcerting phenomenon's creeping in too—at least it sends shivers down my spine: catching glimpses of my reflection in the passing cars, in the split-second blur. It's not enough time for my eyes to focus on details, just a fleeting feeling of familiarity—our energy overlapping, our features vaguely similar. We've all been forced into a mold, shaped into carbon copies.
I'm nothing exceptional with so many replicas out there, blending into the monotony. Double parking in periwinkle polo shirts, buttoned casually at the neck, worn with the subtle signs of midlife—the same expressions, a mix of pride, despair, and resignation. I feel drained, diluted, dull, generic in these parts.
It's disheartening to be part of this corporate crowd. It's been a long day—dull, stressful, fruitful, confusing, with artificial gratification disguised as success. We're surfing the waves of life but feeling like fish out of water, in this shallow existence. There's a feel of an imbalance, a precarious balance we all maintain, clinging frantically to keep from toppling over.
The turmoil inside us cracks the surface, and we hesitantly ask, "Is this all there is?" Our fortified walls resist, so far resilient, but there are tiny fractures big enough to let a draft in, and it'll seep inside us, escalating and ripping us apart.
I'm not alone on this ride—Gary, my mirror image, sits beside me in the passenger seat. He eschews seat belts, never wears glasses, and ignores the ravages of time and the trials of life. Gary is unsoiled, pure of spirit.
I can trace our earliest memories together, in the embrace of the sea, hearing our mother's voice through the watery haze, and the rhythmic pulse of her footsteps in block heels. The gentle sunlight filtered through the water, lighting our underwater world and at night we'd swim beneath the starless sky.
Our lives were perfect then. We had everything but were yet to learn the concept of need. There was no weather, no hunger or cold. Our world was peaceful, dreams that lingered beneath the surface.
Life knocked demand after demand at us—to breathe, to smile, to walk, to make friends. We were pushed into categories meant for acceptance—jobs, relationships, stability. I kept a piece of that peace tucked away, hidden deep in an emotional locket, to keep myself from falling apart.
Gary slipped away from me, a silent quake deep beneath the surface. No one knows what caused it, there's no way to explain it. Our underwater garden crumbled, and our seabed collapsed, taking Gary down with it. I clung on, barely. My mother fell into a trance, fighting reality, placing the blame outside herself or some invisible, malevolent force.
The family legend goes that two babies shocked everyone, causing fear, excitement, and joy, but when one was lost, the damage was irreparable. The waters never settled again.
As I grew older, I felt something sinister was never involved, and it was more about biological destiny. We'd come unstitched, severed but our spirits were fused, our mutual consciousness finely tuned to the same emotional frequency. I'd hear his presence from a young age, first as another child, then realizing his presence was a comforting constant, always there but occasionally vanishing like a phantom.
We spent our childhoods in the towering city, together amid towers. We didn't lack for anything, but I never needed luxuries. I found happiness in simple things like jam sandwiches, and in the endless fantasies spun around mythical creatures, people, and doppelgängers. Lost in a fictional world, I felt safe.
Now, I've achieved the luxury I once longed for, but I feel unbalanced, itchy, and fearful of losing it all. I don't know how I ventured into this world. Some darker part of me dreams of returning to where we began, with the pain, the starvation, the ridicule, the mad stares. The worlds oscillate between light and dark, and the boundary between reality and fantasy blurs.
The drive home is a test, a game I play to keep things lively. I don't let the traffic stress me out, but I yearn to fly. Gary's gone now, the empty passenger seat a reminder that he's departed, back to the recesses of my brain or standing guard over our lost mother, holding her back from feeling fully.
I slow down as I pull up to my house, the speed bumps requiring caution. My wife, Lori, painted a white triangle on the top brick to help guide visitors, treating the otherwise perfect brick pillar as her canvas. I find that minor annoyance grating. She claims it's for our guests, her parents included, who can't tell one house from another on this stretch. But the red robin hedge will grow, casting its ruby leaves as markers for the correct driveway.
Experience the power of human connections as you explore the depths of empathy and authenticity in Gabe (link is external). Dive into this intriguing short story about two twins and the bond that transcends life and death.
Give yourself a break from reality with Best Mood-Boosting Books (link is external).
- With a longing for freedom and a quest to find authenticity beyond the corporate grind, we can consider travel as a means to break free from our humdrum lifestyles and seek new experiences that broaden our personal growth and relationships.
- Back at home, one might find solace in nurturing relationships, engaging in home-and-garden projects, or simply enjoying the weather from the comfort of one's abode, all of which contribute to a sense of fulfillment and personal satisfaction that transcends the nine-to-five routine.
