09.08
You wake up to the sound of your own heart beating. At first it’s indistinguishable. A car passing or a radio playing in the distance. But soon it becomes apparent. A dreary thump. A habitual drum thudding patterns in your chest. It’s obvious now. Almost too obvious as you shake the tired from your eyes and sit on the edge of your bed. The rhythmic contractions are as loud as hallway footsteps as you stand in the shower, and then prepare some breakfast. Everything seems slow when you hear your heartbeat. Everything feels important. Epic is the proper word.
You feel like a prophet as you start your car and pull out of your driveway. For a moment you think you may be in charge of the universe. A bird swoops downward and you tell it to land. It ascends upward, soaring higher into the sky.
You reach the office and wonder if your colleagues will hear the pulsing knock. They do not. They say hello and ask about your weekend. You can hardly hear their voices. Midway through the day you get upset. The palpitations remain strident. You are aware for the first time that there is blood coursing through your veins. You listen in on the muscular organ at work and realize that suddenly everything is inconsequential. You see your co-workers, like germs, oozing around in circles, passing folders and tugging at ties. You look down. You see a manila folder. You hate the manila folder. It means nothing to you. Nothing to such a stalwart heartbeat. You think you’re missing out. You think you’re an ant in an anthill and you want to escape.
You make your exit quickly. A long dash past cubicles and bacteria eyes peeking up from lined paper. The sprint is longer than you expected. Still running, you feel fatigued, ready to quit and turn around, but the deafening thuds keep you going. They are fervent now, pounding like elephant feet. The sound of a tribal ceremony. You finally reach the stairs and make your way out to the street. Your world is a drummers circle. The bangs and clunks consume you; intoxicate you as you sway down the street like a drunkard. Like a toddler. You want the beats to settle again, but you’re clearly out of shape.
Finally they lighten up. They are dull again and you can faintly hear the whoosh of cars and chatter of people walking by. They are fading more now. You think the noisy pulses are going away, back to silence, back inside of you. You think you want them to stay but you’re unsure. Soon enough they’re gone. You hear the world as it is again, and for a second you want to check your pulse, but instead assume you’re still alive.
As you stare up at the sky you think you hear the low thud of your heart once more. It’s only a bus. A man coughing. A bike braking. Your cell phone vibrating. Your boss is calling you.