Butterflies over Jerusalem
Changing of Times (Butterflies over Jerusalem)
“Hey, wasn’t that tin there yesterday?”
“Yeah. Don’t they clean this place?”
“Guess not!”
The heavy metal door resounded shut leaving the tin on the upper vent, just above my head in height, alone in the cold, damp staircase. The staircase was painted in an informatory grey and was lightly illuminated by flood lights found along the bottom of the steps. The staircase led from the Communications building inside to one level below and out to the parking building beside. We used that staircase every day we went to class. My friends and I would comment on its presence, still untouched by any student or janitor. A semester had already past by when the “we” that used to enter through that staircase changed; it was now me and someone else, a new friend. He quickly caught on to my tradition of checking on the overlooked piece of trash. It wasn’t strange of me, of us, to comment on its presence. It was funny. One day, as we walked through our normal route there was a janitor cleaning the staircase and we both commented on how the tin of Skoal had now seen the last of its days. It would no longer be silently watching the campus’ traffic and listening to the bang of the metal door, the echo of its shut and the click of its latch.
On our way back down to the parking garage later that day, the Skoal tin stood proud. It encamped in front of us in a triumphed glory. The janitor did not bring about its doom, its destruction. The tin, sitting on the vent just above eye level, was still pushed back near the wall; its direction had not been changed. And then, I found myself for the first time wondering how long the tin had been sitting there? Was the first time that I noticed it not the beginning of its existence? Maybe it has been longer than I have been following through my same route as a freshman. Then I thought, maybe it’s not empty and someone, its owner, just kept it there to use when a tobacco craving was unstoppable …no, no. It has been unaltered; no one has imposed upon it. I didn’t think about the owner of the tin again. Summer break came and my curiosity of the tin’s survival faded.
Back to classes again in the fall and everything has changed. The “we” that had the specific route of traveling through the staircase was now just the “I” and the specific route had changed to a foreign parking lot nowhere near the Communications building or the staircase containing my familiar tin of a friend. Honestly, I had forgotten of it, sitting above my head pushed back near the wall on the vent. I can’t imagine its frustration in waiting to see me walk by and peek my eyes up above the shelf, to smile at its familiarity and friendliness. I guess I had never thought about how the tin might feel, all alone watching strangers walk by and hearing the click and slam of the heavy metal door but to not hear my footsteps and to be absent of my laugh and memorable smell. That poor tin was waiting for me and I had forgotten him (the tin must be a male for it is a tin of Skoal and the majority of people who use chewing tobacco are male, that way it makes perfect sense for the tin to be given a male gender). Well, not for long. One day, to my advantage, I parked in the old lot next to the Communications building and had the privilege of walking up those conveniently placed steps. Curiosity came upon me as I approach up the stairs towards the vent. I slowly, carefully, as if I was preparing myself for a great sorrow in its absence, stood up on my toes and peeked my eyes above the vent looking back against the wall. Oh! And to my surprise, there he was waiting for me. And yet he was still unchanged, untouched by the rushed traffic of this world.
It was if I had run into an old friend from high school. In all of the crazy rushing and changing of my life I had lost a sense of belonging; I had drifted from whence I came and couldn’t find my way back. He helped me, I finally realized. The familiarity of my found tin connected with me as if to consol my desire not to change and grow in a demanding as such place that change is never caught up with. I catch up to the change of today and it’s already tomorrow.
The tin had not changed. It was the same today as it was yesterday. It would need no catching up with or figuring out. It was always a tin of Skoal sitting on the top of a vent in a dark staircase on a university campus. I didn’t want to let it go. It was my tin. I wanted to grab it and take it for my own safe keeping. Then at once a great fear came over me to think of the loss of the tin. If I left it there and the next day it was gone and couldn’t be found, what a tragedy! How could I abandon the tin after all it had done for me? I would have to take it but to where? No. I can not take the tin from its dwelling. If it had stayed there this whole time it would stay there longer. If I took it, then everything would change again. I quickly opened the door and ran out of the staircase without looking back. Ashamed of my behavior as if he could hear the controversy in my mind.
I was then afraid to go back through that staircase. What if it was gone? Could I bear the thought, the realization that nothing stays the same? I had to get a hold of myself for the weeks after my last confrontation with the tin, it haunted me. I thought of nothing else. This piece of trash, nothing but trash, had captured my thoughts. It taunted me with the unknowing time of its death, it destruction, its placement with all other trash. Trash, that’s all it was. I was ok with a piece of trash being thrown away; technically, I think the tin is litter. I told myself it was litter. I didn’t want to let it go no matter how much I told myself it was trash; I didn’t want to let it go. But I had to. I’m a logical person, although it might not seem so at my given moment, but I realized the tin’s hold on me. I had to. It would be ok to never see it again. I knew it. It wouldn’t kill me. The tin is there, maybe not forever, but I guess that for at the moment, that’s good enough.
“Hey, wasn’t that tin there yesterday?”
“Yeah. Don’t they clean this place?”
“Guess not!”
The heavy metal door resounded shut leaving the tin on the upper vent, just above my head in height, alone in the cold, damp staircase. The staircase was painted in an informatory grey and was lightly illuminated by flood lights found along the bottom of the steps. The staircase led from the Communications building inside to one level below and out to the parking building beside. We used that staircase every day we went to class. My friends and I would comment on its presence, still untouched by any student or janitor. A semester had already past by when the “we” that used to enter through that staircase changed; it was now me and someone else, a new friend. He quickly caught on to my tradition of checking on the overlooked piece of trash. It wasn’t strange of me, of us, to comment on its presence. It was funny. One day, as we walked through our normal route there was a janitor cleaning the staircase and we both commented on how the tin of Skoal had now seen the last of its days. It would no longer be silently watching the campus’ traffic and listening to the bang of the metal door, the echo of its shut and the click of its latch.
On our way back down to the parking garage later that day, the Skoal tin stood proud. It encamped in front of us in a triumphed glory. The janitor did not bring about its doom, its destruction. The tin, sitting on the vent just above eye level, was still pushed back near the wall; its direction had not been changed. And then, I found myself for the first time wondering how long the tin had been sitting there? Was the first time that I noticed it not the beginning of its existence? Maybe it has been longer than I have been following through my same route as a freshman. Then I thought, maybe it’s not empty and someone, its owner, just kept it there to use when a tobacco craving was unstoppable …no, no. It has been unaltered; no one has imposed upon it. I didn’t think about the owner of the tin again. Summer break came and my curiosity of the tin’s survival faded.
Back to classes again in the fall and everything has changed. The “we” that had the specific route of traveling through the staircase was now just the “I” and the specific route had changed to a foreign parking lot nowhere near the Communications building or the staircase containing my familiar tin of a friend. Honestly, I had forgotten of it, sitting above my head pushed back near the wall on the vent. I can’t imagine its frustration in waiting to see me walk by and peek my eyes up above the shelf, to smile at its familiarity and friendliness. I guess I had never thought about how the tin might feel, all alone watching strangers walk by and hearing the click and slam of the heavy metal door but to not hear my footsteps and to be absent of my laugh and memorable smell. That poor tin was waiting for me and I had forgotten him (the tin must be a male for it is a tin of Skoal and the majority of people who use chewing tobacco are male, that way it makes perfect sense for the tin to be given a male gender). Well, not for long. One day, to my advantage, I parked in the old lot next to the Communications building and had the privilege of walking up those conveniently placed steps. Curiosity came upon me as I approach up the stairs towards the vent. I slowly, carefully, as if I was preparing myself for a great sorrow in its absence, stood up on my toes and peeked my eyes above the vent looking back against the wall. Oh! And to my surprise, there he was waiting for me. And yet he was still unchanged, untouched by the rushed traffic of this world.
It was if I had run into an old friend from high school. In all of the crazy rushing and changing of my life I had lost a sense of belonging; I had drifted from whence I came and couldn’t find my way back. He helped me, I finally realized. The familiarity of my found tin connected with me as if to consol my desire not to change and grow in a demanding as such place that change is never caught up with. I catch up to the change of today and it’s already tomorrow.
The tin had not changed. It was the same today as it was yesterday. It would need no catching up with or figuring out. It was always a tin of Skoal sitting on the top of a vent in a dark staircase on a university campus. I didn’t want to let it go. It was my tin. I wanted to grab it and take it for my own safe keeping. Then at once a great fear came over me to think of the loss of the tin. If I left it there and the next day it was gone and couldn’t be found, what a tragedy! How could I abandon the tin after all it had done for me? I would have to take it but to where? No. I can not take the tin from its dwelling. If it had stayed there this whole time it would stay there longer. If I took it, then everything would change again. I quickly opened the door and ran out of the staircase without looking back. Ashamed of my behavior as if he could hear the controversy in my mind.
I was then afraid to go back through that staircase. What if it was gone? Could I bear the thought, the realization that nothing stays the same? I had to get a hold of myself for the weeks after my last confrontation with the tin, it haunted me. I thought of nothing else. This piece of trash, nothing but trash, had captured my thoughts. It taunted me with the unknowing time of its death, it destruction, its placement with all other trash. Trash, that’s all it was. I was ok with a piece of trash being thrown away; technically, I think the tin is litter. I told myself it was litter. I didn’t want to let it go no matter how much I told myself it was trash; I didn’t want to let it go. But I had to. I’m a logical person, although it might not seem so at my given moment, but I realized the tin’s hold on me. I had to. It would be ok to never see it again. I knew it. It wouldn’t kill me. The tin is there, maybe not forever, but I guess that for at the moment, that’s good enough.