Bobby Rollins
“Oh, for heavens sake!” Mack said to himself, cursing his habit of not paying enough attention to the truly important things. “Everything is so bright! I can’t see a foot in front of me, but I swear it should be around here somewhere!”
The tree was a landmark. All he had to do was find it, the one Aspen in a forest of many that whispered to him—come this way. He was searching for the trunk he had carved their names and anniversary date into, and admittedly, in some ways, he was also looking for that day itself. If he could only reach that scarred Aspen, he knew the rest would be a breeze, and he would soon find himself dancing along the narrow trail behind it that led into the sanctuary of the marsh.
– – –
There were moments it appeared inconceivable to Mack that so many different places could simultaneously exist. It seemed impossible to him that somewhere, a cry of a raven was breaking the silence atop a mountain peak, or that waves were crashing on a desolate shore, while at the same moment, crowds of people performed the rush hour symphony outside the office building he was stuck and suffering in. How could the stress and madness of the business district share the same moment in time as the quiet and peace of the desert, the calm of the lake, and the solace of the stars and sky? And moreover, how could all of them exist at the same instant he was stuck in a meeting, listening to Graham from marketing oversell his importance with mouthfuls of drivel?
“That’s the north star we all need to aim for, whether we have enough runway and bandwidth to reach it or not!” Graham said to a room full of bobble-headed suits, in his typical dialect of officespeak.
As difficult as it was to visualize all those other places existing while having Graham concurrently deafen and dull his senses, Mack knew very well all of those landscapes were both real and very much there, and just as strange, he knew if he could only find that Aspen and follow the path behind it, he could even manage to be in a couple of them at once.
– – –
“It must be a bit further up the trail.” Mack said to himself. “The glare is starting to weaken. I must be getting closer.”
He quickened his pace as the white noise of the meeting hummed along behind him, gaining on him, he felt, with every step he took, as the ominous echo of phrases like “game changer” and “market disruptor” reverberated down the shivers of his spine.
“This deck is going to outline the approach executive has green-lit for us to action.” Graham droned on, as the people around him murmured enthusiastically. “Mack, did you want to add anything from the sales team before we begin?”
Graham caught him off guard.
“Stay focused now.” Mack told himself. “It’s a trap. I just have to keep going towards the marsh. Don’t break stride now.”
“Maybe after the presentation, Graham,” Mack replied to the room robotically, “but I’m really looking forward to hearing more about the project, and how we can contribute to the launch!”
“Ha! That should keep them busy!” Mack laughed to himself, as he felt the first traces of mist upon his skin, and a slowly densifying fog embracing him in warm familiarity.
“Thank God! Here it is!” he rejoiced, standing in front of the tree and tracing the letters and numbers he had carved into the bark with his fingertips. It was easy from here. No one could follow him and there was no way for him to get lost. He started skipping down the path into the bog. The mist thickened with every pace, just as the calm it brought over him did, as he pushed his way through the encroaching reeds to get deeper into the murky air.
He had arrived, and just as importantly, he had escaped. Whenever he felt beleaguered, disheartened, or lost in conversations that sedated his spirit, he would make haste for the foggy trail he stored in his mind. Sometimes he followed it back to their wedding, the birthdates of their two children, or other moments of his own life and joy. Other times he went to random daydreams, or landscapes, both strange and familiar, that brought him solace and comfort, and sometimes he went no further than the bog. Just being in the marsh was enough.
Somewhere, far away, Mack could hear a meeting was going on, in which a group of annoying people were debating the merits of a marketing strategy. In fact, Mack felt a small part of him was somehow at that meeting, but it was a weak and distant sensation that seemed genuinely make-believe. He knew he was safe where he really was, immersed in the protective fog of the daydream that enveloped him among the wetland’s reeds, and he also knew that nobody in that distant room could truly see him, or the calm smile that had returned, and, like the song of a blackbird in the mist, was floating peacefully on his face.
“Oh, for heavens sake!” Mack said to himself, cursing his habit of not paying enough attention to the truly important things. “Everything is so bright! I can’t see a foot in front of me, but I swear it should be around here somewhere!”
The tree was a landmark. All he had to do was find it, the one Aspen in a forest of many that whispered to him—come this way. He was searching for the trunk he had carved their names and anniversary date into, and admittedly, in some ways, he was also looking for that day itself. If he could only reach that scarred Aspen, he knew the rest would be a breeze, and he would soon find himself dancing along the narrow trail behind it that led into the sanctuary of the marsh.
– – –
There were moments it appeared inconceivable to Mack that so many different places could simultaneously exist. It seemed impossible to him that somewhere, a cry of a raven was breaking the silence atop a mountain peak, or that waves were crashing on a desolate shore, while at the same moment, crowds of people performed the rush hour symphony outside the office building he was stuck and suffering in. How could the stress and madness of the business district share the same moment in time as the quiet and peace of the desert, the calm of the lake, and the solace of the stars and sky? And moreover, how could all of them exist at the same instant he was stuck in a meeting, listening to Graham from marketing oversell his importance with mouthfuls of drivel?
“That’s the north star we all need to aim for, whether we have enough runway and bandwidth to reach it or not!” Graham said to a room full of bobble-headed suits, in his typical dialect of officespeak.
As difficult as it was to visualize all those other places existing while having Graham concurrently deafen and dull his senses, Mack knew very well all of those landscapes were both real and very much there, and just as strange, he knew if he could only find that Aspen and follow the path behind it, he could even manage to be in a couple of them at once.
– – –
“It must be a bit further up the trail.” Mack said to himself. “The glare is starting to weaken. I must be getting closer.”
He quickened his pace as the white noise of the meeting hummed along behind him, gaining on him, he felt, with every step he took, as the ominous echo of phrases like “game changer” and “market disruptor” reverberated down the shivers of his spine.
“This deck is going to outline the approach executive has green-lit for us to action.” Graham droned on, as the people around him murmured enthusiastically. “Mack, did you want to add anything from the sales team before we begin?”
Graham caught him off guard.
“Stay focused now.” Mack told himself. “It’s a trap. I just have to keep going towards the marsh. Don’t break stride now.”
“Maybe after the presentation, Graham,” Mack replied to the room robotically, “but I’m really looking forward to hearing more about the project, and how we can contribute to the launch!”
“Ha! That should keep them busy!” Mack laughed to himself, as he felt the first traces of mist upon his skin, and a slowly densifying fog embracing him in warm familiarity.
“Thank God! Here it is!” he rejoiced, standing in front of the tree and tracing the letters and numbers he had carved into the bark with his fingertips. It was easy from here. No one could follow him and there was no way for him to get lost. He started skipping down the path into the bog. The mist thickened with every pace, just as the calm it brought over him did, as he pushed his way through the encroaching reeds to get deeper into the murky air.
He had arrived, and just as importantly, he had escaped. Whenever he felt beleaguered, disheartened, or lost in conversations that sedated his spirit, he would make haste for the foggy trail he stored in his mind. Sometimes he followed it back to their wedding, the birthdates of their two children, or other moments of his own life and joy. Other times he went to random daydreams, or landscapes, both strange and familiar, that brought him solace and comfort, and sometimes he went no further than the bog. Just being in the marsh was enough.
Somewhere, far away, Mack could hear a meeting was going on, in which a group of annoying people were debating the merits of a marketing strategy. In fact, Mack felt a small part of him was somehow at that meeting, but it was a weak and distant sensation that seemed genuinely make-believe. He knew he was safe where he really was, immersed in the protective fog of the daydream that enveloped him among the wetland’s reeds, and he also knew that nobody in that distant room could truly see him, or the calm smile that had returned, and, like the song of a blackbird in the mist, was floating peacefully on his face.
Bobby Rollins is (gratefully) prone to daydreams, some of which he puts into words. He hopes his stories make people laugh and think, both of which he’d like more of in the world.
losing our grip on purpose 