The Beginning of Sadness

Sebastian is leaving his mother’s arms – a little more each day. Yesterday he asked his mom to stop kissing him goodnight. Today, he said goodbye to his imaginary friends. And that afternoon, the red drained from his rubber yard balls.

 

This is where Sebastian’s sadness begins.

 

Time was Sebastian believed he could swallow the sun. Now, he’s swallowing dreams of being invisible, moon-walking, flying. And when he woke this morning his ten-speed was dead on the front lawn, all the yellow speed bled out.

 

The playground prince is gone.

 

This is how Sebastian left his childhood: waiting for thirteen, for twenty-one, for thirty, for forty, for retirement, for the end. And the end did come before the end did come. In the meantime, Sebastian forgot about his baseball cards shoeboxed under his bed. He forgot about his superman sheets and his army green baseball cap, bill bent just right.

 

Sebastian is overlooking his little boy in the fever of becoming a man. He’s learning to ignore the stomach aches of growing up. His man walking shoes pinch, so does his tie, so does his beautiful wife.     

 

Sebastian folds his wings and walks to work.

 

Watch the way his boss barks, intent on point making. He doesn’t see Sebastian’s lip quivering, his face ready to come undone. And what you cannot see is Sebastian’s heart coming into the next moment stillborn.      

 

This is where the end begins. 

 

The reluctant morning makes Sebastian a student of the ceiling. He lies awake remembering his first car, his first kiss, and the first time he realizes Mexican mothers name their boys “Jesus.” Eventually he slips into the billowing ocean of sleep, praying to a Spanish speaking savior, “Sálvame.”

 

The next morning is not much of a morning. The sun pauses on the horizon until something passing for daylight occurs. It’s thirteen steps to the bathroom, twenty-two steps to the kitchen sink, eleven steps to the coat closet, three steps to the front door, and an infinite number of steps to work – Sebastian shuffles each step slowly, carrying his ceramic heart. 

 

Nothing is how it was supposed to be, the possibility of glory gone. And so are the finger-guns used to shoot robbers, to shoot spies, to shoot cowboy classmates at recess, to save damsels. Make-believe heroes ultimately die – somehow they get trapped in-between the lines of the story.  And there are so many lines in which to get twisted and tangled.     

 

Life moves slow, but Sebastian can’t seem to keep up and no one hears the death rattle of his will to live. The boy of him is grocery store lost and crying. 

 

Sebastian’s feet find their way to the ledge just outside his office on the sixty-third floor. He uses the rubber on his shoes to erase his tracks, all he’s done, his childhood, evidence he was here at all. 

 

This is when Sebastian leaps, no one to talk him down.

 

Rushing towards the sidewalk, Sebastian imagines he’s returning to the arms of his mother. 

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

Highly condensed, almost to the point of being anecdotal. The whole thing has the feel of being filtered through stained glass--there is very little active voice here; Sebastian doesn't walk to the window ledge, his feet "find their way", his face is coming undone, etc. He is not doing things, they are being done to him--it's a very nice device. The matter-of-fact tone is also very effective; if there was a great deal of weeping and gnashing of teeth, that would make the piece much less attractive. This is a very, very well-built and effective piece of work.

[Ama May Cooper]

A very strange but sadenning tale of the footsteps into adulthood. The jounrey that noone really understands or can even pinpoint happening. Reading this i think back and i to am determined to pull those pokemon cards from under my bed, but im only 17 ive time to enjoy this childhood while i can.
With the strains of growing up comes much responsablity and pain and this story pinpoints a sort of doll like resemblance like Sebastian has no control over his moves, like something is moving him like a puppet on strings. his feet find the way , not him , almost as if it was evietable to end that way.
A trumendos peace loved it

[Emily B]

oh, my . . . I only wish I could leave helpful reviews. Every part is as strong as every other part. A sound and beautiful piece of writing.

[An Ordinary Woman]

Welcome back my friend. It's a great day now.

Being the mother of three teenage boys I see this in them only in different stages & ways. It's hard to be a boy and sometimes I see the world resting on their shoulders. This writing offers me a little insight. I hope I've taught them its ok to be soft sometimes. I dunno. One is leaving for the Marine corp next year and I'm scared for him.

I'm really glad your back gracing the pages of the Cafe.