NervousMan Walks Home

On the bus coming home, NervousMan wiped tears of stress from his eyes.

'Everyone here seems so strange, they take this place completely for granted,' NervousMan thought.

'I probably come from someplace else. Somewhere where there is peace, because everyone knows what each other is thinking,' he thought again.

NervousMan felt like an unplugged socket. He must be an old soul, but it was his first time here. Somehow he had come here out of curiosity, had even been warned away by the denizens of his home world, but he hadn't heeded the warning. Now he was stuck here. For the duration.

NervousMan simply couldn't remember what or who he was before he was born. He only knew a vague sense of... something.

From the bus, NervousMan watched a woman rolling a suitcase behind her as she walked across the street, her face straining. A small line of cars waited for her to get past.

Everyone is in a hurry to get nowhere fast so they can wait, and be impatient, thought NervousMan.

He grimaced.

He imagined that some people here have been here on this planet, carnating and reincarnating for maybe billions of years, trying to erase their karmic debt.

The bus jolted to a stop, and NervousMan heard the hiss of the air brakes.

This was his stop.

They are players, thought NervousMan, of his fellow passengers disembarking with him. But he was on the sidelines. Observing. And feeling nervous.

Unlike them, NervousMan suspected he had a surplus of karma, not a debt. Yet he was usually too nervous to play.

Later, walking through the supermarket, NervousMan felt burned out. His walk was weak and tired. He could feel the darkness of his own eyes. He watched the other shoppers dart past him with carts and with groceries.

NervousMan felt in the way.

He was hoping he could score some meat loaf, but they only had roasted chickens in the deli section. Perhaps milk, thought NervousMan. He should eat something, he thought, as he stared at a picture of a pastrami sandwich that the sign said was on sale for $5.49. The thought of walking to the other side of the store and back to get milk tired him. Too many decisions, he thought.

Outside, he saw a man in a snake skin jacket and reflective sunglasses lighting a cigarette as he leaned against a post. He could see that the man's skin was taut and leathery and it seemed to shine a bit in the setting sunlight of the waning evening. The man looked up from his cupped hand and saw NervousMan looking at him for a moment. NervousMan looked away.

There's a player, thought NervousMan. 'I wonder if someone like that ever feels phony,' he thought. Probably not. He wondered if they ever tried to figure out who they are. No, thought NervousMan again.

It didn't really matter if they did or not. NervousMan knew, or at least suspected, that this experience was all fake on some level. That would make it a dream, thought NervousMan. Perhaps NervousMan felt a little dreamlike and light-headed. He looked forward to being at home where he could sleep and get some real dreaming done. The proper way.

And home was exactly where NervousMan walked, steadily, slowly, and with resolution, at the end of a long and busy day.