Epiphany…as I see it, or don’t.
On this cold, crisp Thursday afternoon in San Francisco, as I am driving home from my final critique in my illustration class and an end to all of my classes for the semester, I feel a sense of relief. The stress I felt the last couple of weeks seems to be fading, as do the images in my rearview mirror. I’m at a stop light and a long one at that. Looking around, waiting for the light to change, I see a billboard advertising the benefits of reading and how important public libraries are. Sure, ok. We all know that. At this moment, I realize that, unlike my peers, I’m not done for the semester. I have one more class. My memoir class! I still have a paper due. It is a short paper, but a tangible, physical thing I still have to write and turn in. One more thing!
You know the line, “…when I thought I was out…”
Tomorrow morning, Friday, the last day of the semester, I have a class where I have to go in and blah, blah, blah about my feelings and emotions. And get this: present a paper about an epiphany I had. What the hell! I’ll give you an epiphany! I should not have taken this class! I should calm down. I might get pulled over for road rage.
Maybe on the drive home, I will have a fender bender, and then I can write about how precious and fleeting life is, and how I should spend every waking moment as if it is my last, etc. No such luck. Not for me. There’s the usual sheeple, unable to drive and talking on their cellphones, making my drive home more precious and less fleeting. They’re probably saying the same thing about me. Fair enough.
At home still pressed for a topic for my paper, I indulge in top ramen to cut dinner time and dedicate that time to my unrealized epiphany. My chicken chili-flavored ramen, paired with a chilled glass of white wine of dubious provenance, is purchased at the local convenience store about a block away.
I sit at the desk in my room with the heat and radio turned on. Yes, radio. The days of XM Radio. I have chosen the Christmas channels to aid me in this project. “’Tis the season…” and all that.
At this moment, it’s Johnny Mathis’ version of ‘O’ Holy Night’ that is playing. It’s a good song. I eat, drink, think, listen, and wait for the impending rush of ideas. There is nothing as I stare blankly at the laptop screen. I return the empty bowl to the kitchen and grab a couple of rolled vanilla wafers and a wine refill. I sit on the bed, wafer in my mouth, glass in my hand, and nothing in my head.
The room is warm and comfortable. I lay on my back, crossed my legs, and stared at the ceiling instead of the laptop. ‘Santa Baby’ by Eartha Kitt comes on, and I’m feeling pretty good now, even optimistic about the paper. I return to the kitchen for more wafers, and once I’m there, I get more wine. I decide to take what’s left of the wine to my room.
In my room, I lay on my stomach, nosh the wafers, and think about a story. I continue pondering ideas but get pulled out of my sedate state by the butchering of ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ by none other than…(no disparaging remarks about this famous, yes famous, diva.) That’s enough of that! I crawl off the bed and change to a different Xmas channel. I get Sarah Vaughn’s ‘Snowbound.’ Yep, much better. The silken tones of Ms. Vaughn are better for my mood and concentration.
Then it hit me. At this moment in space, time, and slight inebriation comes a realization. Ha! Slight. There’s the paper! No, not about Sarah Vaughn or being in the snow, but the story I was looking for. There, at the bottom of the empty bottle, is my story.
“What’s the paper about?”, you ask.
“Does it matter?”
