Day Dreaming For The Non-Believers

• Christine Lai, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2017

It goes like this: paper clips and the old man playing a blues tune from a harmonica he found at the corner of 5th and 6th.
It's riding the subway and seeing the woman wearing the leopard print high heels with a matching cheetah top, and wondering what kind of person it takes to wear an animal themed outfit to work.
It's stumbling through the crowd and stopping to take in the bright lights and city life, pausing to breathe in the all CAPS and consumeristic driven desire reflected in the panoramic touch screens and posters large enough to make a home.
It's busking in the street for five hours non-stop and seeing loose change, a few dollar notes and wanting to leave. But when you see that little boy tugging on his mother's sleeve and halting her to a stop, so he can hear the soft melody of your jagged guitar, and his eyes light up when he meets yours.
It's the bellow of the drunk, his eyes half closed as he speaks to whoever walks by and dares to listen, his arms waving about. He tells his story. One of many.
It's the flashing of the green little figure on the crosswalk. Or the punching of the button for pedestrians to walk across. Anything that can allow them to keep moving at a steady pace. Always needing to move.
It's the worn library wedged between the construction of the new 'frontier’, otherwise known as the apartment complex bound to skyrocket past all the other buildings. And the little girl who, after school, heads straight there, holding her plastic card in hand and wheeling a small wagon, big enough to fit her reading for the week.
It's the blaring of the speakers and the static that comes alongside it. Stereo silence is welcome.
It's singing in the shower, and flicking the channel to a rom-com or family friendly show just so the volume drowns out the evening bicker between mother and father. The volume increases.
It's an escape into the familiar.
Wanting to sleep all the way through the day. At sunset, you crawl into bed with your night light and listen to the crickets. You surround yourself with sounds because it helps you, knowing that whilst you're out; the rest of the world is still moving.
It's staring at your side of the bed, your eyes sweeping to the wedding picture faced down on top the bedside table.
The moon creeps in.