Some of the first bricks that were laid.
I don’t know why they were there, or why they were never thrown away. It seemed like something my parents would toss in an instant so my growing, inquisitive mind would never be able to study them, soaking in their essence. But I found them repeatedly, always in the same place. They seemed to come out of nowhere. When I asked my father about them, he said they belonged to my grandfather. My grandfather recently died of cancer. The straw that broke the (not so) old man’s back was lung related. I was told he stopped carrying them around (and their contents) as an anniversary present to my grandmother, before I was born. Funnily enough, my grandfather lived a couple of hundred kilometers from us in a whole different city in a whole different state. There was no reason for these empty boxes to be here.
Before they stopped appearing, I was able to study the smell emanating from the little boxes. I don’t know if I liked the smell or not, but I had to repeatedly take whiffs of the slowly diminishing odour before someone found me in the act, and yanked the box away from me. When they were finally taken away, however, I didn’t care. The boxes were empty anyway. And smoking was bad for you. Isn’t that what everyone says?
Fast forward.
Me and the fat kid walked around near the steps leading up to the entrance of the apartment building where we lived. I didn’t really want to be there, but there was nothing else to do, and no one else to do it with. We constantly talked about nothing. The security guard was standing around, doing nothing. Meanwhile, my father was probably doing nothing, being driven home from work. He would be home in 10 minutes. The fat kid was a douche. He had nothing to offer. And he smelled like garlic.
The security guard pulls out a cigarette and lights it. Me and the fat kid go on talking about nothing, while the glowing tip slowly starts to work its way through the cigarette. Someone yells at the security guard to help them with something. He flicks the cigarette, and it lands at the foot of the stairs, still lit. The fat kid runs up to it, picks it up, and puts it up to his mouth. He tries to inhale - he doesn’t do it right. No smoke. He tries again, and coughs. I am certain I can do it much better. I walk up to him, and he hands me the cigarette. My father’s car pulls up. I throw it away, wait till my father gets out of the car, and tell him about how I got in trouble at school.
Fast forward.
I see this guy on TV.
Fast forward.
I learn about rockstars and their genius. I see this picture on a poster.
More bricks in future posts…
