The Wanderings and Thoughts of Kip Kellogg

by Vincent Spada

#3

Kip Kellogg had trouble sleeping. Kip could never fall asleep. He'd lay there for a spell, just thinking, then Kip would get right up. He'd pull on his pants, find his dirty sneakers, and go wandering into the night. Trying to find that something, that something that would make real sense.

Kip noticed a laundromat. It was open, and he looked through the window. Not many people were in there, but a few were washing their clothes. Kip watched the machines spin back and forth, back and forth, and imagined what it would be like to ride in one. Sort of like a sailor on the ocean, he figured, except with no dolphins. Too bad, thought Kip. Dolphins were greater than anything, because they smiled and laughed all the time.

Next Kip saw a truck drive by, and some guy threw out a bundle of papers. Kip never really read newspapers, although he knew he probably should. He figured that since all those people went to all that effort to make one, he could at least give it a glance, but he didn't. Kip didn't know why. But he did know that a newspaper was a pretty good deal. All that information and whatnot for only a couple of quarters. So even though he never looked at them, Kip figured that, as long as he knew what a good deal newspapers were, that would be enough. He was aware, so it was okay, and he didn't feel bad about it anymore.

Kip wandered for a spell until he came to a sewer pipe. He watched as all these rats ran in and out. Kip knew that, once upon a time, there were no rats in certain places of the world. Small islands and even bigger areas had no rats at all. Then some boats came along, and when they did, all the rats came with them. Diseases came as well, and a whole bunch of other things that probably shouldn't have. Kip wasn't blaming anyone. He just realized that's how it was. But it was always like that, when different things meet. You get some good, and you get some bad. No matter what you do, it'll turn out like that.

Kip walked down a few more streets, and then he heard some yelling. There was this guy screaming at a lady, and then he punched her in the face. The girl fell down against a wall, and the guy ran off. Kip went over to the lady, who was crying by now. He asked if she was okay, but she just kept on crying. Kip didn't really know what to do, so he just sat down next to her and put his arm around her. Kip knew she was a prostitute, and he felt really bad for her. He figured that she probably hated her life, and that she just needed someone to sit next to. Kip tried to talk to her again, but she still kept crying. It made Kip feel as bad as a person can feel, because he figured she was crying for more than one reason. Maybe she was thinking about when she was young, and all the things she had wanted to be. But it hadn't worked out, and now, she couldn't ever be those things, and she had no hope left at all. Kip tried one last time to speak to her, but she just got up and walked away. It made Kip feel like crying himself. He felt sick right on through. That lady didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve to get punched in the face like that.

Kip felt real depressed, so he just wandered until he found a big old stone. Kip sat down, and tried to think of something that made sense. But Kip was pretty sad, and good thoughts weren't popping into his head. He tried awful hard, but still he thought of nothing. But then he knocked his foot against the stone, and a thought entered his mind. He figured the stone was reliable. That it could be counted on. Kip knew that it was only a stone, but at least it would be there the next day, doing its job as best it could. Kip figured that you couldn't really ask anyone or anything for more than that, and he felt a little bit better. The thought was a small thought, but it still made real sense to Kip.

Finally Kip went home, undressed and went to bed. He closed his eyes against his pillow, and tried to sleep like the rest of the world.

But sadly, Kip couldn't sleep. Like always, he was wide awake.

Contact Vincent Spada at cemetery76@yahoo.com. He is interested in further publishing of his writings.