In the Game

"I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?" - Haruki Murakami

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Settling into a time-out from studying in the oven of my car, crusting under the sun of the med school parking lot, a man of humble means strolled up to my window. He kept a conscious distance, assuring me of his harmlessness. That was thoughtful of him, my mind mumbled. He was hungry, and I, hanging out of my car, with my face stuffed into a sandwich, was an open window of possibility. I offered him the rest of my crumbling, slobbered-on lunch, admitting to my meager offer. Understandably, he declined, but not wanting a world of hunger roaming the streets while I sat there, plump and satisfied, I emptied the contents of my coin drawer into his dusty palms.

"How much are one of those?" jesturing to my sub.
"Hmm, maybe five dollars?"
"Well shoot, I only got 48 cents."
"I'm sorry, dude. S'all I got on me."
"That's ok, baby girl. Thanks for keeping me in the game."

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I wonder sometimes, about those quiet kids, the ones who keep themselves all tucked in and covered up. I wonder how the time shifts over them in their complacent solitude. Whose path remains uncrossed by them? How many hearts are left distanced by the unknown of their passing? Who will know them before the end, to carry their memory past mortality?

Though I cannot expect the world to be one solely of extroverts, but for me I cannot bear the thought of drifting through this world without being found out, dissected, digested, destroyed, and rebuilt by the crashing waves of people, culture, community.

If we're all playing this game together, I care to know my teammates. I care to see into the depths of you, compare navels as they say. I want to know you so that I may too be known.

And likewise,

if you don't know me, how will I remember you?

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"If you remember me, then I don't care if everyone else forgets." - Haruki Murakami