The Wanderings and Thoughts of Kip Kellogg, #5

by Vincent Spada

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.

At first he wandered down a street, and when he did he saw some people on their front porch, laughing and having a good time. Kip also saw that one of them, the one that was laughing the most, was this guy in a wheelchair. Kip thought that was amazing. He figured that here was this guy, who couldn't walk and who would probably never walk again, who was still enjoying himself and living his life. Even though he had a disability, he wasn't going to let it stop him from being happy. Kip knew that there were a lot of people out there who would act differently, a lot of people who would withdraw from life because they were ashamed of all the things that they could no longer do, but not that guy. Kip figured he was a real winner. Then Kip wished he could see things the way that guy did, but he knew that if something like that were to ever happen to him, he probably wouldn't be able to. Kip knew it was wrong to see it that way, but realized it was impossible to force your thoughts to think the right thing. Kip just stared at the smiling wheelchair guy for another second or so. That guy lived the way people should.

Next Kip walked around a bit and then cut through an alley like he always did. It was usually empty, but this time someone was lying down on the ground, next to some cardboard boxes. Kip couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, because the person was covered with rags, but he did see a bare arm sticking out, and there was a needle hanging from it. Kip had seen things like this before. It was like that in a city. He wondered what he should do. He was never sure what to do in situations like this. He thought about it for a while, then decided that he should at least help the person up. But before he could do so, a police car came blaring down the street. Kip turned and watched it speed away, and when he looked back the person was gone. But the needle was still there, rolling back and forth. Kip watched it come to a stop. The needle would always be there.

Kip found his way further downtown and into an Asian marketplace. He liked to look at all the people chopping up vegetables and selling unfamiliar things. He also liked to listen to them talking, speaking incredibly fast. Kip was very interested in other languages, and he tried to pick up a few words here and there. He'd always wanted to be able to speak like 50 different languages, even if it would only be used to impress girls, but he just couldn't learn the words. Kip tried to ask a little old Chinese lady to teach him a few, but she just kept handing him a bunch of carrots. Kip didn't want to buy the carrots, but finally he laughed and bought them anyway. He figured that the old lady had tried hard to sell them, and therefore she earned the sale. It seemed right to do that. If a person tries, they deserve to get somewhere.

After that Kip walked with his carrots back uptown, and when he did he passed a museum. They were having this big painting exhibition for a new artist, and there were posters and things talking about it. Kip looked at a few of the sample copies of the paintings that they had on the posters. It looked rather odd to him. Just a bunch of swirls and blobs of paint. In all honesty, Kip didn't think it looked like anything, and he wondered why they were having a show for it. It seemed to Kip that just about anyone could have done the same thing. All you'd need were a few brushes and whatnot. However, Kip wasn't an art critic or anything, and he thought maybe he didn't know what he was talking about. But then he thought that was crazy, because his opinion still counted like anyone else's. Kip figured that the only reason why these paintings were considered art and some other similar paintings were looked at as junk was because some fancy person had told everyone that it was art, and since that person was supposed to know everything about art, they believed it, and that made it so. It was all just a popularity contest, and that didn't seem right to Kip. In fact, it seemed ridiculous. It seemed stupid and silly and ridiculous.

Kip kept carrying his carrots, and wandered to the walkway on the overpass of the highway. It seemed very peaceful there, and Kip liked to hear the cars zinging past. When he looked down he'd also see all their headlights, some dull and others super-bright. It was sort of like a show, really. All these white and yellow and red colors rushing back and forth through the darkness. Kip thought about how one time he had heard a country person say that they hated the city because you couldn't see the stars. That all the smog and lightbulbs wouldn't allow it, and that you couldn't see anything beautiful. But Kip figured that wasn't true, because even if you couldn't have a light show in the sky, at least you could have one down on the highway. It may not be a constellation, but it was still pretty impressive. Kip watched the cars some more, and he was glad he had called it a light show. Maybe no one in the universe had ever called it that before, but now they had, and it was so. That made a lot of sense to Kip, and he felt good about the way things were.

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.

The writer, Vincent Spada, is interested in further publication of his work. He can be reached at cemetery76@yahoo.com.