I sit in an empty plain, a white floor with white nothingness at almost every angle. To my back, I see my past, the places I have been and the person I was. To my front, the future I could have and places I could go stretch out before me. I ignore both. I sit on the white floor, casting no shadow. In front of me is a pile of bricks, red and uninteresting.
I am 11.
I am alone. My past doesn't interest me much; there isn't a whole lot to look at. My future does not interest me either--it's too fuzzy to make out clearly, and far too expansive to understand properly. So I turn the focus to the pile of bricks. I place the bricks on end, stack them, line them up like dominoes. I make little towns and grand towers. Eventually, a person comes by. He has more bricks. We say hello and he sits down. We use his bricks and my bricks to build even better structures, outlines of planes on the ground and pretend to be pilots. Soon, more people show up with bricks of their own, and large towns with shopping centers are built, structures that we can climb or lay on.
Then someone else shows up. He doesn't have any bricks. We invite him to use our bricks and play with us. He grins, and says he would love to, but we're building all wrong. Instead, he shows us another way to build the bricks: he lays them end on end, stacks them on top of each other, until there is a small wall in front of us, towards the future. He stays only long enough to help us use all our bricks to build the wall before going back the way he came. We stand there, looking at the wall for a bit, then decide it is boring and go back to building towns.
One by one the friends I have found leave, taking most of their bricks with them. The bricks they leave behind I cherish and set aside, but over time I forget who left which brick, and they all fall into the pile. I build small towns and again play dominoes by myself.
I am 14.
I have made more bricks, allowing larger structures, but I am still alone. The past is larger, giving me something more to look at than the bricks at my feet. The future is clearer, but I am still unsure about what I am seeing, and so I turn away.
Now more people come along, again with their own bricks, but their bricks just seem less interesting than my own or the bricks of my previous friends. Even so, larger constructs are interesting, and so again I invite them to sit and we build. Our minds are more complex now, the structures more intricate in build and type. There are more friends this time, fellow builders who have found me and are willing to mix their bricks with mine so that we can all enjoy the red blocks more. Still, I find that
As we build, others come along, but these are like the one before--they bring no bricks to add to our own, suggesting we build walls with our bricks. Again, we agree, just to try something new, and use all our bricks to build a large wall. "Most impressive", the other say when done, but once again go on their merry way when the task is through. So many people come by and suggest we use our bricks to build walls that for a time we each separate our bricks and build our own walls, trying different methods to do so.
But this gets boring, and eventually the friends take their bricks and leave. This time they leave no bricks behind.
I am 16.
Once more, my own pile of bricks is larger. But some are off; a few look more like a trapezoid than a rectangle, others have holes. Still, I can use these bricks to build things, and even use the odd bricks to decorate. The past is dark now, the walls we built before the most prominent. The future is as cloudy as it ever was, with more paths than there are stars.
Lots of people come by, sometimes again and again. But they have no bricks of their own. They look at my bricks and the things I build with them, complement me on how the bricks are placed and the look of the structures. Some laugh when my hand slips and the buildings collapse, thinking it intentional. I play along, and eventually this becomes a routine when others come by; some come by simply to see my creations crumble.
One or two people come by, their own bricks in tow, but they leave often. At first, they return regularly, sometimes with new bricks, but with each successive visit the time between us meeting increases. Soon they stop coming at all, though I can see them far away on the otherwise empty plain making their own buildings, sometimes together. They'll turn, we wave to each other, but we go back to our own pile of bricks. I get bored and use my bricks more and more to build a wall, sometimes to block out the past behind me, others to dim the future in front of me.
I continue making my own bricks, but none look the same as the first I had. No one else comes along.
I am 21.
I collected my bricks and chose a path towards one of the possible futures. The path was wavy and loose. As I went along this path I lost some of my bricks, falling into areas I could no longer reach. I would look over and see the other paths I could have chosen. They all look straight and stable to my eyes, but I cannot see where they lead. Eventually I look only at the other paths, caring not for the one I walk on. I no longer build with the bricks, merely carry them in a sack over my shoulder.
I continue on the path, letting it take me where it pleases.
I am 23.
The path has ended. Once again I stand on an empty plain, my past behind me and my future to the fore. The past is all I focus on; the future is too overwhelming, with too many ways to succeed--or, more importantly, to fail.
My bag of bricks sit beside me. I no longer find joy in building, but there is an underlying urge to keep them with me. Momentarily I look again to my future, then to the bricks. Then to the future, then to the bricks. I reach into the bag, walk towards my future, slowly feeling the weight in my hands and on my eyes.
I set the brick down in front of me.
I walk back to the bag time and again, each time taking one brick, placing them atop each other. The wall I've been shown to make before, the wall that I've made myself out of boredom, I now make for myself. I have more bricks than I thought; eventually I am moving side to side, building higher and higher. After so long it seems the bricks place themselves, multiplying as though a family of rabbits. Finally, I walk back to my bag only to find it empty. I stand up, staring into my past, all my sad and depressing memories facing me. I turn around, seeing the brick wall I built on my own. I wonder how long it would take me to walk around it, but then I realize I no longer know where the ends are. The wall is far too high for me to climb.
And so I sit, staring at the wall.
I stare for a long time. The wall, the very wall I built, infuriates me now. I forget how I built it, why I built it. But all I can do is focus on the wall. The past is too heavy to stare at for long; every so often a good memory appears, from a place I know has more, probably more than the bad memories in front, but I cannot see them. I have turned back to the wall, each time more and more angry at myself for building it in the first place. I've written on various blocks, trying to give them meaning and purpose, somehow defining them as more than something I made. Depression, laziness, apathy, fear, rejection. The bad memories I see give me the words to write, and so as to not be completely consumed I do so. Eventually every brick is labeled, some bearing the same name as others.
And so I sit, staring at the wall.
Eventually, a man comes along. A doctor, he calls himself; not one that heals the injured, but rather tends to the sick. He asks me why I have not moved from the spot I planted myself at, what seems like so long ago. I take him and show him my wall, pointing out every label. As I do so, he asks me questions, sometimes about the wall, sometimes about the bricks.
"Why is this one labeled 'sleepy'?" Well, I...
"Have you tried climbing the wall?" I cannot climb the smooth surface.
"Why are so many labeled disappointment?" ...I don't think I can accomplish anything.
"Have you tried pushing the wall over?" I do not have enough strength to move all those bricks.
The doctor was quiet a time, looking at the wall. Then he mentioned how he learned not only about building walls, but how to tear them down. I pleaded with him to show me how to tear down the wall I had built; perhaps my future may look better now. The wall keeps me from seeing what is constantly changing.
But the doctor looks at me, sad at my situation, maybe disappointed that I built the wall in the first place. He tells me that he must go, that he has no more time to help me.
I fall to my knees as I watch him walk away, feeling that there is no hope, that I am doomed to stand in front of my wall until I die. Suddenly the footsteps that have been more and more distant stop. I look up, and he turned his head to look at me.
"You know," he says, the beginning of a smile at the edge of his mouth, "I noticed that there is nothing holding the bricks together." He turns around and continues to walk away.
I turn to my wall, taking a moment to understand just what he means. I walk up to the wall, looking at the cracks between the bricks. He was right! No mortar, no adhesive of any type. I reach out slowly, picking a random brick, and push only it. It moves. I continue pushing, it slowly slides out. Elation! I can break down my own wall! But the brick stops moving. The imperfections in the brick have caused it to rub against the bricks around it, catching it in place. My face falls, sullen disappointment. A wave of anger moves over me, and I reach back, punching the wall. Another brick moves inward, again stopping before falling out. The anger passes. I look at the bricks that are now pushed in, and notice a pattern. I reach up higher, pushing in another brick.
This one sticks as well, but now I feel not sadness... instead, hope. I place my foot in the lowest indentation I have made.
I climb.
With every step I take I reach up to push in another brick. I am now higher than I could reach earlier, the bricks are no longer labeled. Yet somehow the wall is far higher than I could reach; it seems to have grown out of control. I continue to climb.
Eventually the view in front of me changes. I can see the top of the wall! A feeling bordering on euphoria rushes through my body, and my speed increases. Perhaps I can leap this wall and move on.
As I get closer to the top, I find it harder to breathe. In part, I have climbed so high that I am losing energy; but also I have once again become unsure of the future that could await me. Fear slowly replaces the happiness that had finally taken hold after so long. That slipping happiness only intensifies the spread of fear.
I can touch the top. With the very tip of my finger can I reach over the wall. But I do not have the strength to climb any higher, merely to hold me where I stand. The fear is now replaced, disappointment and failure filling in that hole. I cling to the spot I am at, resting my head against the wall that I built.
My fingertips, still atop the wall, feel a slight breeze. Cool air rushes over them, pleasant to the dry and warm skin. A smell I cannot place, completely new to me, fills my nostrils. It is pleasant, slightly sweet, and certainly welcoming. A slight shiver runs through my body as I inhale deeply.
But still I can go no higher.
I linger momentarily to take in the sensations and memorize their odor and feel. I remove my head from the wall, look skyward, ready to descend.
I move down slowly, worried that I could slip. As I move down, other bricks slowly move on their own, loosened by my earlier climb. I get to the bottom and look at my wall, wishing I had been able to make that final lunge upward to get over it. But it was not a completely worthless trip. I reach into my pocket and pull out a brick, the one that my fingertips had rested on. One final surge of energy at the top allowed me to reach up and grab it, removing it from the wall. I take my brick and turn around, looking at the past that haunts me. I walk towards the past, looking from it to the brick in my hand. Past, brick. Past, brick. I feel the weight of the brick in my hand and the weight on my eyes as the bad memories continue to form in front of me.
I place the brick on the ground in front of me. I label it "Intelligence". Suddenly the past seems a little out of focus. I turn around and look at the wall I had built. Tonight I will sit and rest, staring at the wall.
Tomorrow, I climb again, and another brick will come down.
I am 25.
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