U Turn

U Turn

There are always choices, always decisions; leave early, leave late, don’t go at all. The questions are never ending, and the decisions are never forthcoming until it is too late to reboot your existence and take on the persona of a…a… what? Superhero? Antagonist? Most hated person in the world, most loved? We, however, know ourselves well enough to dismiss any notion that would require us to leave the security of our cocoon and spread our wings in search of a different life.

I walk to school every day to avoid the entanglements inherent in a bus ride, and the people involved in a similar quest that I must avoid to remain who I am, for no other reason than the fear of who I might become given the opportunity.

The thirty-minute walk allows ample time for decisions, which although trying at times, is also an opportunity to practice weighing the choices and their possible consequences within the process of navigating a ridged world designed for efficiency and speed, not for the pedestrian but the manipulators of automobiles, trains, trucks and buses.

Oh! Before I go much further I should introduce myself. I know it is not necessary that you know my name, it will not change your perspective of what I am about to relate in the form of a story driven by observation and participation.

The name given me without my consent was Abagail, Abagail Whipple. Before I continue I would also like to introduce you to my antagonist and alter ego, Abagail, also a Whipple. We unfortunately share a name, but that is as far as our shared association goes.

I didn’t meet Abagail until I was about 4 years old, maybe 4 ½, it doesn’t really matter, but then again it might. I’ve been told our formative years are the years we are most prone to influence, some undoubtedly bad, but some no doubt of a more positive nature.

We’ve been told to grow up, mature, and live within the book end dichotomy of good and bad for the entirety of our lives. That nebulous place that exists for lack of creativity and the morbid acceptance of eventuality. Diversity becomes an issue in a single line, sit-up straight philosophy. I have discovered that there are people who cannot reconcile an additional member of the family they are unable to see. Although I have my doubts about the severity of the influential curse, I do recognize its existence, as I do the shadow of Abagail.

Although we share the physicality of one body, mentally, psychologically, and morally, we couldn’t be further apart. Nothing as drastic as hair pulling differences, but a definite conviction on one hand, and submissiveness on the other. Where she feels the need to express herself through chance expectation, I prefer the safety provided by scrutinizing the variety of consequences.

I am sure of being born first, not that it matters, unless you are conducting a survey of twins with contrary personalities sharing a single body. I don’t know if my/our condition is unique, I have been afraid to ask, and she doesn’t care. But I stray from the story I intended to impart.

Decisions as I have eluded make up most of our lives whether we aware of them or not. I may be more attune to the influence of decisions on our life than most, because of the consequences present in my every decision. I should provide an example so that you are able to see the irreconcilable difference in Abagail’s and my relationship, and how it pertains to my/our decision-making process.

Having been born first, I have the right of first choice. If it is a definitive decision I must make, I allow the influence of Abagail to be part of the process, because although we differ in values and our natures are at opposite ends of the spectrum, we do share the same vessel that makes our existence possible, inclusion, and the diversity it imparts.

Let us say that I am walking down the street and we are passing an ice cream establishment. My first inclination is to look straight into the future and keep my focus on the destination. I know I/we have a slight weight problem, and Ice cream is notoriously addictive and can and often does, result in binge type activity that translates into poundage.

Abagail will immediately begin to dismantle my argument by introducing the fact we are walking, exercising, burning calories, consuming fresh air, and the need of nourishment if she/we are to continue our rigorous fitness program is essential. I should add she is against the very idea of walking and would prefer to ride the bus despite the juvenile behavior exhibited on it.

She then questions my assumption that we are slightly overweight. She worries about our inherited tendency toward anorexia, long bone syndrome she calls it. It is her way of describing my/our way of allowing our arms to hang at our sides, our hands and fingers being pulled toward the ground by a concentrated form of gravitational anomalies. She insists we look more like a female ape than we should.

Being older by 137 seconds affords me the opportunity to stand in front of the store window and have us both look at the image reflected at us. The display of cookies and colorful cakes distracts from the lesson I’m attempting to provide, but she prefers to argue about the state of our shoes and “is it any wonder people look at us like we just got off the boat from Lithuania.”She will stoop to any means to dilute my intent to the point of it being irrelevant in her understanding of a debate.

We press on toward school, being late is something that I attempt to avoid. It gives the impression of not caring, not being interested enough to provide ample time and opportunity to fulfill our responsibility of arriving on time during one of the most critical times in our lives.

Abagail has no such compunction. She believes that circumstances are often imbedded in the fate provided us, and to not follow its dictates challenges the future of which she/we have no control, only fate does. I could empathize with her argument if I too were seeking an excuse for preferring to eat ice cream as opposed to getting to physics class on time, but I am not.

I will concede the fact that fate, which implies to me a road map tattooed on everyone’s soul that directs our actions in a prescribed way. I am, however, more aligned with the principles of destiny which allows for the possibility of a future, but with the ability to choose at every juncture where a decision is to be made. I feel more in control when I have a say in choices made, as I am solely responsible for the consequences and repercussions of those consequences, should they be adverse to my/our well-being.

I will have to say in Abagail’s defense that although she is most often wrong, she does at least attempt to provide an extra measure of possibility to the consequences I envision. I don’t know how if you are not endowed with an arbitrator of your fate, you would be comfortable making decisions that would impact your future. Of course you must be constantly aware that because you have the final say in decision making, you are only 137 seconds away from being corrupted by what is perceived by others to be an “imaginary friend.”

We have managed, although reluctantly, to escape the lure of the ice cream parlor and find ourselves a block from school. Our building looms above the roof tops that encircle it. Its red brick, seemingly molten in the morning sun, the windows, blackened eyes of foreboding spirits, and its copper roofs green patina taking on the properties of Ghost Buster ooze, as the night’s condensation slips from its surface looking for a place to possess; the ambiance is that of an Armageddon on the horizon.

The stop light is red; it’s seemingly gives us permission to wait as it prepares to change to a more passable mode. Many of those around us have left their patience at the curb and proceed to chance fate by testing its bounds, assuming because of youthful exuberance they are immune from the ramifications that follow us throughout our days, but with no indication of knowing what destiny, or if you prefer a more succinct term, fate, has written on our page for the day.

While we contemplate our daily future, I/we remember the biology quiz later this morning. I glance in my backpack and find my notebook, its purple and orange cover, the covenant of my accruing knowledge unmistakably absent. My/her mind races back in time to the place I last remember it being in our presence. The desk, but not where it needs to be if I’m to rehearse before the performance begins.

I can feel her smile as the light turns an inviting shade of green. I stand resolute weighing the consequences of unpreparedness, while Abagail attempts, as she often does, to separate from my maturity and skip hand in hand with my adolescent counterpart from our past toward the indecisiveness inherent in life.I/we begin to weigh the consequences of unpreparedness against the devastation I feel will result if I do not return home, which will assuredly make me/us late, and subject to questioning about our allegiance to school, education, but most of all ourselves.

The immediate consequences are obvious, but the future consequences are less certain. Abagail is not in her usual fashion, introducing alternatives that match more precisely the obvious than those that have been prescribed by destiny.

The question is “simple,” implies Abagail, “we return home to retrieve the notebook, suffer the consequences and embarrassment of being late and having to explain to the office why. Or we can return home, retrieve the notebook, accept the consequences of lateness, but maintain our above average grade in biology class.”

Although I see it as a simple one, being that I do not embarrass easily, and am looking forward to next year’s freedom-college, I suggest strongly we make a U turn and redeem our possibility of being accepted at one of the more prestigious schools, as opposed to capitulating to your indecisive impulse toward que sera’ sera’, that apparently is imprinted on your destiny.”

She may be right, but have we been reduced to the lesser of two evils? It is just a quiz. I’m sure we can do well with the knowledge we have stored, without having to retreat to our vault to insure the best possible outcome. I’m not sure I/we won’t set a poor example for our future. It all begins to crumble a doubt at a time, because it is what we have prepared ourselves to accept.

Abagail suggests that if we are to return home for the notebook, “we will be approximately one hour late by the time we return. Why not go home, call in sick, make up the quiz tomorrow, and enjoy the best of both worlds, yours and mine, today?”

Sometimes the lesser of two evils does present itself as the logical choice. We returned home, stopping for ice cream on the way. The following day I/we arrived at school early; I wanted to see Mr. Bertrand, our biology teacher, and explain my absence and arrange to retake the quiz. Sometimes despite your reservations and Abagail’s dysfunctional attitude, the concessions to destiny seem appropriate and align with our futures prescribed responsibilities.

We arrived at school fifteen minutes early to initiate my plan. The grounds and school were conspicuously void of human activity. As we walked down the hall toward Mr. Bertrand’s Biology class, our steps echoing off the walls like tattletale laments, we are stopped by Mr. Tissue, the principal. He informed us there would be no school today as there had been no classes yesterday after receiving a threat from, “a disgruntled student. You need not be concerned about missing classes yesterday. You will be contacted when they are to resume.”

The rare occurrence when fate and destiny share the same stage and even more unusual when the play being performed is the same one. All I could do was take a deep breath and count our blessings. Abagail’s call yesterday morning informing the school we would not be attending proved to be unnecessary. I wonder what she had told them that caused my destiny to become entwined with her fate?

As we approached our home I couldn’t help but notice the police vehicles parked in front of our house. I looked at Abagail; we knew immediately that something awful must have happened to our parents.