His footsteps

I met Little Me the other day.

We were walking along the peaceful pond hidden by the shade of the trees adjacent to the wide open field that seemed to sway like tides of an ocean when it breezed. The air was cool and crisp, the sun sending shafts of light through the clouds of the young morning.

"What are you up so early for, Brother", asked Little Me as we sat at the side of the slow flowing brook adjacent to the sea of green grass blades.

"Haven't been sleeping well, brother", I said, looking at him skip some stones over the surface of the mirror-like water.

"What's bothering you?", he asked without looking up.

"I don't know. Nothing is. At least nothing much is. I am doing all right at work, not financially in any straits. Friends are all boss, life is not at all sour", I said a-matter-factly.

"Then how could you have sleepless nights like this?".

"I don't know. Perhaps I'm jaded. Been thinking of a short vacation for a while".

"You think that's enough?".

"Why not?".

"What will you do during that vacation? Sleep your head away and slave the hours away to the morning on the computer?".

"That's the plan. At least the sleep my head away part. Just wanted some time alone to myself of my own".

"Don't you get that every weekend?".

"Yeah, but two days never seem to be enough. They just zoom by like that", I said, snapping my fingers.

"And you end up feeling as if the weekend never happened?"

"I wouldn't say so, no. Perhaps that life in the city - things just fly by, even the quiet times to your self".

"Perhaps you've had too much 'quiet time' with yourself".

A frog jumped into the water, creating a ripple from the edge that spread throughout the surface of the water until they met criss-crossed one another.

"What do you mean by that?".

"Isn't it obvious - you work your days, sleep the nights but you never seem to achieve anything that meant much to you, no?".

I looked at him.

"Have you ever had anything else but 'quiet time', brother?".

A bird called from one of the branches of the trees lining the surroundings of the pond.

"I don't know", I said.

"Time-consumerism at its best, I'd imagine. Day in and day out worth of things to do by yourself, none of which you remember when you wake up next Thursday. None of which are worth remembering".

I yawned, taken by the serenity of the atmosphere around the still pool of dark water. An insect skipped its way across riding only on surface tension.

"Some are", I told him, watching the sun peer through the trees like glitters of diamond when they sway to the breeze, causing minor waves to crest and disappear on the pond.

"Not enough".

I turned to look at him. "I know".

He stood up and brushed the dirt and grass of his shorts, a little guy a bit taller than half of me, the haircut that of a bowl and clad in a the old Superman t-shirt with its cape cut off. He told me Mom did it so that he won't think myself Clark Kent's alter ego and jump down the verandah and into the hospital.

"Time for breakfast, bro. I'm hungry. Mom's making the fried rice again, my favourite!".

"Enjoy yourself", I said, in envy of the carefree way he carried himself with, the swagger of a king without the worries of the world.

"Don't forget to call home more often. Mom & Dad will appreciate it".

I nodded as he paced down the meadows and out of sight.

I stopped to look at the flowers that swayed to the gentle breeze of the morning, at the gathering clouds that cast a huge shadow over the rolling hills, at the rainbow that arched over the horizon and at the footsteps that the little feet of Little Me on the ground that disappeared onto the grass.

He's right - his footsteps had not been mine, enough.