Lessons Learned

A Story by Lindsay

Eve Sarta has lost her zest for life and has abandoned all interest in finding what that might be for her. One afternoon, however, a purpose is thrust upon her.

“Come, you have much to hear.”

“Where are we going?”

“Closer…and away.”

“Are you God?”

“Who?”

Lessons Learned

“We are all inventors, each sailing out on a voyage of discovery, guided each by a private chart, of which there is no duplicate. The world is all gates, all opportunities.”

What? I wondered silently.

“Remember that, kids. The words of Emerson,” he winked, flashing one cheesy, toothy grin.

“Thank you, Principal Beesley.”

Frank Beesley exited the room with his hands clasped behind his back, effectively turning the class once again over to me.

I smoothed my skirt and glanced at the wall clock before turning back to the children.

“Miss Sarta? Do we have to do Math?”

My lips twitched in a semblance of a smile.

I don’t want to be here any more than you do, children.

“Yes, we do. And don’t speak until you’re called on, Steven.”

Steven’s face fell. I frowned for a moment, sorry that I’d scolded him, but then turned back to the blackboard. Mr. Beesley’s interruption had set us back.

After 20 minutes of multiplication tables followed by a pop quiz, the final bell announced the conclusion of yet another school day. The children quickly rose from their seats and made for the door. I took my time tidying the board, exacting slow, even strokes with the foam eraser. Well after the last child had left, I stood, staring past the blackboard as I erased. I allowed my mind to wander. I saw the children’s faces. I knew they were bored in class, but weren’t children supposed to be bored? All the same, I knew I was partially to blame. I saw my reflection, though there was no mirror. I was gray and black, a shadow of myself. I saw a vision of Marcus’s face hovering over a dimly lit flame, smiling at me. His eyes twinkled. And I saw his anger as he tossed a chair in my direction and turned his back toward the wooden door to our apartment. I heard my mother telling me ‘I told you so’ and I saw her sweet face twisting in agony as she passed away right before my eyes not one month later. And I saw myself again. Gray and black.

I replaced the eraser and clapped my hands together, feeling the sharp sting. I clapped them together again, relishing the pain for a moment.

“Still here, Miss Sarta?”

I forced a smile into the cement foundation of my face.

“Still here, Mr. Beesley.”

“Well, get out of here. Enjoy the weather. It’s supposed to rain every other day this week.”

“Yes sir,” I answered.

“I’m headed to the park for Yoga in about an hour if you’re up for joining me…”

“I appreciate it, sir,” I interrupted him. “But I’d rather get to grading these quizzes.”

Frank was visibly discouraged. He seemed to survey me, up and down. What ever it was he was looking for, he found me lacking.

“Yoga not your cup of tea, Eve?”

“Not exactly, sir. I’d really rather just get home.”

“Alright. Well, see you tomorrow then. Take care, Eve.”

“Yes sir.”

*****************************************************

I trudged through the throngs of people on the sidewalks, pushing and elbowing as I went. I clutched my papers to my chest and attempted to smooth my long brown hair. It felt as though people were looking at me, wondering where I was so eager to be on this nice sunny day.

Just alone, I thought.

I’d gotten so accustomed to being by myself that now solitude was both the only thing I took solace in and, at the same time, the thing that I feared and dreaded the most. Every day was filled with what felt like gentle stabs to the heart.

I concentrated on holding tight to my papers as a breeze blew through me. I stepped out into the street. I was now only two blocks from my apartment, but the streets were unusually crowded. I pushed past a family of four and scowled as I lengthened my strides.

I didn’t see the yellow car coming until it was already too late.

************************************************

A blaring car horn sounded all around me and time sped, only to slow to an aching crawl as the metal fender approached my right side. My head snapped to the sound and caught the wild eyes of a middle-aged taxi driver. I bent, throwing my hips to the left as I prepared to brace myself with my right. My arm extended as if I could halt the car with shear force.

At the moment of impact, I covered my face, felt the hot metal on my bare legs, and heard the windshield crack as I careened across the hood of the car.

And then I was up in the air.

Not knowing how I would land, I extended both arms, throwing my papers into the air.

It’s as if it’s snowing, I thought, just before I landed on my left knee and palm.

I waited for the pain to start, for the sense of delayed agony.

But it never came.

I heard the bustle of onlookers as they gathered around to gawk. I heard them but I did not see them.

In fact, I saw something else entirely.

A soft light seemed to encase my body. It was like a dense fog that sets in over night and refuses to burn off with the sun. Except there was a light behind that fog, illuminating and, yet, muting its surroundings. I discovered that all of my senses were muted. I could hear the people, yet I could not decipher their words. I could see their shapes, yet I could not distinguish between man, woman, or child. I could smell the city air and diesel fuel, yet a sweetness existed within them. Had that been there before?

I knew I should attempt to stand; yet I felt no pressure to do so. In fact, I felt no anxieties whatsoever. I allowed a picture of Marcus to float into my mind and observed the image, this time without feeling attached to it. I thought of my mother objectively and without pain. She had been just a woman.

And I lie there for what seemed to be an hour, yet but a moment. I thought about where I was and how to get back to where I had been. And yet, again, I felt no pressure to do so. So I did not try.

And then a voice spoke my name.

“Eve.”

I turned my head to the right. There was the taxi and the taxi driver.

I turned my head to the left. There were people moving. There were people standing still.

“Do not wonder where I am.”

“Okay,” I answered.

“Come, you have much to hear.”

“Where are we going?” I asked, wild eyed.

“Closer…and away.”

I frowned. “Can I stand?”

“You can. But I prefer you not.”

“Then how do I follow?”

“With your mind.”

“Okay.”

I frowned. And then I stood without standing, for I exerted no effort. I didn’t bother looking back toward the scene erupting all around me. I only moved forward.

I walked without sensation and allowed my arms to swing fluidly at my sides as I moved, amused at the feeling of weightlessness. I laughed.

“It is not appropriate for you to ask questions.”

“Alright,” I answered.

“You will only listen.”

“Yes.”

I swung my arms at my sides as I moved through the fog. The air was cool.

“You have stood still, prostrate, for too long. You have been idle of hand and of mind. You have suspended your search for value and actualization.”

“I…” I stammered, caught off guard. “I’m sorry. What do you mean? ”

“The ultimate error. You have stopped learning.”

I allowed this idea to roll around in my mind.

“We’re supposed to learn? That’s the most important? What are we supposed to learn? Why we’re here? What are we supposed to study? The universe? People? Ourselves?”

Silence.

“Everything.”

Silence for a few moments longer. And then a message:

“Always do. Always more. Always learn,” the voice paused. “That is all.”

I wanted to stop to reflect on this esoteric message, but my body continued to hurtle through space. I felt the cool mist on my skin and the fluidity of my muscles and bones moving against the breeze.

A question burned through my brain as I moved.

I took a deep breath and asked it.

“Are you God?”

“Who?”

And then I came crashing back down.

******************************************************

I rose from my lying position, one vertebrae at a time. A cacophony of gasps and harsh intakes of breath sounded from the crowd that had gathered around me.

A gentle hand touched my shoulder.

“Miss, you shouldn’t try to stand. Wait for the stretcher.”

I looked to my right to see the soft, amiable face of an EMT. The flashing lights of an ambulance cast a blinding white glow around him and he was illuminated. Behind him, I could just make out the taxi driver being treated for a wound on his forehead. I found that I wasn’t angry with him for what he had done.

“I…I’m fine. I feel fine, really. I can walk.”

“No, I insist. You could have sustained major injuries. You need to be examined for internal bleeding. Really Miss, lie down. We’ve got this.”

I shielded my eyes from the lights, wondering where they were coming from.

“Okay,” I replaced my head, letting him gently cup it with his hand.

***************************************************************************

Two hours later, I was exiting the hospital against medical advice.

Modern medicine could find nothing wrong with me, though the physician’s assistant insisted that I was suffering from a migraine, which would explain the softly glowing auras that appeared around every human being that passed by my line of vision. She had given me a pair of dark sunglasses to take with me, though she was obviously angry with me for leaving.

I felt more weightless than I ever had, though there was a nagging in the back of my brain, which might be the headache, but could be the growing feeling of dread that had come over me ever since my encounter. I had decided not to tell anyone. Perhaps it was due to the sudden absence of my familiar depression, my old friend and confidant. But I was amazed, however, at the degree to which I had perfectly accepted the message I’d been given.

I had done wrong. I had been too sedentary. I had been too self-loathing and doubtful. I was selfish. Looking back, I always knew I was.

And I hadn’t learned.

I crossed the street and caught a glimpse of some people up ahead. The auras were still there, I saw. It was strange, though, how they manifested. A little boy holding his mother’s hand was a faint, soft green but his mother glowed a brighter shade of pink. What struck me was that, though their hands touched, each glowed its own respective color. There was no blending of the colors and there was even a difference in the brightness of each.

I rounded a corner onto the busy street. Immediately, I fell backward. My eyes were assaulted with light and color. Every person simply glowed. They were red, orange, pink, blue, green, bright, dim, clouded, clear, obscured, and illuminated. I grabbed at my sunglasses and jammed them onto my face. I couldn’t believe it. I was sicker than I thought.

I ran home.

*************************************************************************

The next day, I sat at my desk at school, staring at my hands. It hadn’t taken me long to notice that I too glowed, though I was a darker shade of grape. My head felt fine, as it had all along, but the auras remained.

The bell sounded and the children entered the room. I held my gasp as I saw that each of them emitted a unique shade, though most were rooted in green. Two children shone brighter than the others, which I found curious because they were two that had always stood out from the crowd. Beverley Dickinson excelled in everything she did and was nice, to boot. Whereas Daniel Bauer, I knew for a fact, had a hand in raising his younger brothers. His parents were frequently absent and it was a wonder the child made it to school on time every day, though typically he even stayed late to help his friends with their homework.

And Daniel had an incurable blood disease.

Curious that those two should shine the brightest.

I began the day’s lessons with a new fervor. The children seemed to lean further forward in their seats. But it wasn’t until our spelling lesson that anything interesting took place.

“Heart,” I stated as I added the fourth word to the list on the board.

“Miss Sarta?”

“Yes?” I asked, turning to address Beverley Dickinson.

“I saw on Discovery channel that your heart beats really strong and it could squirt blood to 30 feet away.”

“Ew,” stated another student.

“Huh,” I said. “I never knew that.”

In fact, I’ve never watched Discovery Channel. I never watch anything but trashy reality shows, I thought. No more, though, I’m going to change that.

All of a sudden, my eyes darted downward to look at my body. Was it my imagination, or was my deep grape color now a brighter lavender hue?

****************************************************************

The next day, I caught Frank Beesley on his way out. I asked him if his Yoga class was still taking new members.

After some surprise on his part, the two of us walked together, headed in the direction of the park and the day’s class.

An hour and a half later, I sat on a park bench with Frank with the knowledge that I thoroughly enjoy Yoga. I felt relaxed and renewed.

“There are a bunch of people headed over that way,” he pointed. “I think it’s this poetry reading that happens once a week. Do you want to check it out?”

“Sure.”

We headed toward the crowd and saw that a young teenage boy was standing on a tree stump. He had oversized cargo pants and dread locks in his hair. His face contained a serious intensity. He began to read fervently from a worn notebook.

“I am a person constantly seeking truth and learning and MORE. I am a person who loves the constant search for something and an ever-changing different-angled perspective. There are a thousand ways to look at one situation and if the last 99 have been faulty, distorted or problematic, search for number 100, 101, 102, and keep searching. When do we decide that we are done? That we are who we are and we’d like to sit stagnant, crystallizing, as if we’ve already achieved all we were meant or expected to achieve and we should sit still so as not to disturb the balance we’ve formed. That’s bullshit and y’all know it.

Put yourself off balance. Tip the scales of comfort and conserved energy and set a new course in motion. There’s a perfect way to be out there and most likely you’ve stepped a toe along that path at some point in your travels. But you’re not there now. If you were, you would be out living, out experiencing the perfect version of yourself. But here you are, still searching for truths. I commend you for your search, as mine is a constant passenger, holding a weighted block over my head, reminding me that I am not yet there and that I’d better hurry up and scan the horizon before the rest of the trees pass me by.

I want to know it all. I want to know every person and why they tick. For what purpose do their breaths penetrate the particles of the sky, propelling butterflies into the air in their own paths, set in motion through unsuspecting shamans of filtration? For what reason do they move, bumping the shoulders of others, shifting weight and eliciting responses, changing temperatures and contents of thought? What can I learn from them?

I set off to find a steady stream, but found a babbling rapid of diffuse currents instead. For the benefit of another’s neatly woven processing, I search for the reins, but am enchanted with the bare riding of natural experience. Packaging may become more important that the present it holds. Or does a lovely package provide the allowance for a present of any shape and size? A plus-one to negate a potential minus-two. Peel back the layers; lift the heads of Russian dolls in red dresses and flowered bonnets to see, where is the truth? What is the meaning?”

A steady stream of claps and chants of “amen” erupted from the crowd. I felt my heart skip a beat. I was energized by his words. What is the meaning? I didn’t know, but all signs pointed to the fact that I was supposed to find out. It was no trick of the light this time. My aura glowed a little brighter from that point on.

And I noticed a pattern. For every realization I came to and for every new experience, I felt a soft heat begin to emit from my hands and face. It was a pleasant warmth that seemed to flow from my core to my extremities. I no longer needed a mirror to tell me when my glow increased in radiance.

Two days later, I sat across my sofa with an ad in my hand. There was an orphanage around the corner. I passed it nearly every day. The flyer told me they were looking for someone to volunteer his or her time.

I took a deep breath and picked up the phone.

“Hello? Gable Home for Girls and Boys. How may I help you?”

“Hi. Um…Eve Sarta…I saw your ad yesterday and I thought I would just maybe offer you some of my time.”

“In what way, dear?”

“Well, in response to the ad…I could give art lessons. I don’t know if that’s something the children would be interested in, but I used to paint in college. I still have all my supplies. I could bring them over. Even if they aren’t interested in the lessons.”

“No, no! Absolutely. That would be wonderful. The children would love to have an actual formal lesson, I’m sure. Well you are just a blessing. I’m glad you called.”

“I…it’s no trouble. I feel really good about it.”

“As well you should, dear. How’s Saturday? Can you do early afternoon? They’d love to meet you.”

“That would be perfect. Thank you for the opportunity.”

“What a funny thing to say. We should be thanking you,” She stated.

****************************************************

That Saturday, at about 12:00, I arrived at the Gable Home. A woman answered the door, along with dozens of children. Briskly, I walked in and began to set up my supplies. After 25 minutes, I deduced that none of them had any innate artistic ability. All of them, however, were eager to learn.

I assigned the boys and girls with the task of painting a scene. They seemed grateful for the lack of structure and for the encouragement. I paced the room as they dipped their brushes in various paints and put them to paper. But it was not their paintings that captivated me. I reflected on the various auras that had greeted me at the door. About half had been a deep, muddled green. The others had borrowed from every color of the rainbow…all the same clouded-over, matted finish. Not so now. Their bodies were transformed before my eyes. All retained their colors, however those colors now shined in clearer, brighter versions of themselves. Was it I who had inspired this change?

And then another realization hit me. Perhaps teaching others was the same as learning yourself. Or perhaps that was our duty as learned human beings, harboring a skill. Maybe inspiration was begetting.

An image caught my eye in the mirror. There I was. Long brown hair, dark eyes, and a brighter hue than I’d seen encircle me since the day of the accident.

*****************************************************************

At 3:15, I exited the Gable Home and headed toward my apartment. I had left my supplies and promised to be back soon. I walked the street, obsessed with the arrangement of auras all around me. Their colors, textures, clarity, and degrees of brightness simply fascinated me. Had they always been there? Could others see them? Had anyone before discovered their secret?

Ahead, a group of teenagers shared a cigarette. A younger child walked past them and one boy tossed the lit cigarette in his direction. The teen’s aura was a muddy brown.

Something caught my eye further down the street. A light burned so bright it was almost painful to my eyes. I could just make out the figure of a woman, about forty years of age, preparing to cross the crowded street. Her aura burned a hot orange color that I’m sure I had never seen so bright. I shielded my eyes with my hand as I continued on.

Just then, a horn blared and a myriad of things happened at once. The woman walked out from between two parked cars, her aura increased in brightness, she looked to the right, we locked eyes briefly, and, from the left, a Mack truck slammed into her body.

I gasped. The truck continued on, leaving the scene, where twenty people already gathered. What was left of the woman’s body lay beside one of the parked cars, in an awkward heap. She had been so beautiful. And we had locked eyes just before the moment of impact. It was too reminiscent of my own accident.

And her aura had shone so brightly. In fact, it was if I’d witnessed a supernova on the corner of Hawthorne and 33^rd streets. I had had to shield my eyes from its rays.

I sat slumped on the sidewalk to consider the events. I willed my heart to stop racing. I let my mind wander until I was interrupted by voices from the crowd.

“She was an environmental advocate. Elizabeth something. I just saw her on TV!” A voice yelled.

“Elizabeth Sohanny! She spoke at my school a month ago!”

“I can’t believe it. I heard she was supposed to run for office. What are the chances? What a shock.”

“She seemed like such a great person. Who could have seen that coming?”

I pondered. A vision of Elizabeth Sohanny’s blinding aura stepping into the street. Something nagged at the back of my skull. I had only seen such scintillating illumination once before.

I thought about him. The EMT that responded to my accident. The blinding light that had burst forth all around him. Now, it made sense. It hadn’t been the ambulance lights at all. He had burned just as brightly as Elizabeth Sohanny. Did he know why? Did he have any more answers than I?

I stood from the curb. I needed to talk to him.

I hailed the first cab that passed and shouted the directions to the hospital. I sat listening to the radio for the 7-minute ride. It was a block of classic rock songs. As fate would have it, Billy Joel’s voice filled the space.

“Come out Virginia, don’t let me wait.

You Catholic girls start much too late.

Aw, but sooner or later it comes down to fate.

I might as well be the one.

Well, they showed you a statue, told you to pray.

They built you a temple and locked you away.

Aw, but they never told you the price that you pay.

For things that you might have done.

Only the good die young.

That’s what I said.

Only the good dieeeee young.

Only the good die young.”

I gasped. What did it mean?

Were we, as a human race, supposed to burn brightly or not?

Once there, I leapt from the cab. So many questions. But fate couldn’t be as cruel as I thought it could be. I glanced down to see an increase in the luminosity of my hands.

I tore through the ground floor of the hospital, sneaking past the security desk. I circled for ten minutes before exiting the back door. There in the ambulance bay, I found him. His aura was the sun. I rushed toward him.

“Excuse me! Excuse me, do you remember me?”

Alarmed, he responded. “The woman from the accident on 40th street last week. Sarta. What are you doing here?”
“It’s Eve. I need to talk to you. Do you have a minute? I have questions.”

“I…guess. I was just going to walk over to get a sandwich. You can come if you want.”

We walked and I talked at a rapid speed. I had to find out more.

“Can I ask what you do when you’re not an EMT? I mean, that in and of itself is amazing. You must do so much, help so many people.”

“I try,” He answered, “But I do other things. I read. I’m studying to become a nurse. I’m also a volunteer fireman on the weekends. I try to do as much as I can.”

I nodded, taking in his blinding aura. “I can see that. You do as much as you can. You really do.”

“What is this about?” He asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s about you. But I think it’s about me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know.”

We rounded a corner and entered the parking lot to the convenience store. That was when chaos ensued. Angry cries sounded and, suddenly, a hooded man burst forth from the store, a large tote bag in hand.

“Stop him!” Someone cried. “He stole the money!”

“Wait here,” shouted the EMT. He rushed toward the man.

I followed at his heels.

“Hey, buddy, stop. Just think this over. Give the money back and no one has to go to jail today.”

“I don’t think so, buddy. I’m not going to jail. Get out of my way.” He spat.

“Give him the money. I’m not letting you leave.” Stated the EMT, confidently.

“Well then I’ll remove you myself,” The man’s eyes narrowed and swiftly he raised a gun from his pocket.

Before I knew what I was doing, I leapt in front of the EMT. Instantly, I wished I could take back my action. I didn’t want to die. But I felt compelled, and an image of his brightly shining face filled my mind.

A searing, blasting pain tore through my chest and I hit the pavement for the second time in a week. I blinked and his hand once again cupped my head.

“No!” He shouted. “You stupid, stupid girl.”

I blinked once more. I felt myself begin to fade.

But I wasn’t the only one fading.

His aura was gone. Completely gone. I could see him clearly for the first time and he was beautiful.

I started to lose consciousness. I knew at that point, however, that my assumption had been correct. Fate was cruel and twisted, as I had assumed.

I used my last bit of energy to laugh.

“It’s not your time anymore. You get a clean slate.” I said to him. “Do all you can. It’s why we’re here. We’re here to use the time we have in the best way possible. But try to have fun in the meantime. I think it slows it down.”

A tear slipped from his eye. “What do you mean?”

“A balance.” I coughed.

I took a deep breath. “I wish I could have met you sooner. But I needed a lot of catching up. I had a lot of learning to do.”

He placed his hand over my heart to feel its labored beating.

I gasped and, all at once, a light encircled us and my heart stilled. A cool mist enveloped me and I floated free.

8/2012

Lindsay Michele