by Amber Kipp
SLOTHI like to think of myself as a person that lives and thrives without religion, but as I saw the metal of that blue mo-ped crush beneath the grill of that pick-up truck I couldn’t help but hope Jesus was on his way, or already here.
I like to think I would know what to do when I’m the only witness to something, but back in this day cell phones were not a common item for a kid of my class and I’d been walking for a solid mile in the scalding heat. Even when lives were in danger, I wasn’t going to run myself to a pay phone.
I like to think I didn’t hear the smack of skin against the asphalt as the mo-ped rider fell to the road, his bare torso making a loud clap as it collided. I could feel myself cringe, but my eyes stayed open and focused. I could see blood but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. The driver of the truck quickly opened his door and did just as I did. He stopped and stared at the motionless figure in the center of the road, easily ten feet from his fallen scooter. I’d always been told the world would stop for a minute during these types of situations, but for us three the world sped up by a thousand. Without any of us making a call, a police car arrived, and two police officers quickly rushed over to the driver of the pick-up truck. An ambulance came shortly thereafter, the medics going quickly to the twisted frame of the mo-ped rider.
I was yet to be noticed, and I was yet to move. I’ll admit I thought of wanting popcorn, it all seemed so unreal and so unconnected to me that I enjoyed myself in some sick way. I could half imagine there was a crooked smile on my face as they placed the scooter man on a stretcher. That meant he wasn’t dead, right? It took about half an hour for them to sweep up the twisted metal and clear the bloodstain off of the road. Surprisingly I was never questioned, never approached, hell I really doubt the cops ever noticed my presence. I knew the entire story, I saw it happen from start to finish, and yet my view wasn’t questioned in the least.
That was the day I started my trend of taking the wrong lessons from situations where I should learn from other people’s mistakes. I didn’t learn to value my life because it could end at any moment, I learned to that I shouldn’t ride a mo-ped and cross in front of pick up trucks while running a red light. A week later or so I searched in the newspaper for any news on the crash and sure enough I saw a small black and white photo taken by a photographer I hadn’t noticed. I squinted to see it, but in the far left corner there I was, a smirk on my face. I’ll admit that in that moment the regret hit me and it hit me hard.
That’s the story of my life, feeling guilty for something just a little too late.
I overall was a rather lazy child. Anyone could tell you this, even if they’d never met me. I usually had a soda in my hand, I was overweight by quite a few pounds (see next chapter) and overall I didn’t care about my wardrobe or how I looked. My hair was slightly unkempt and naturally it is very fine so it moved out in all directions. The jungle of curls illustrated my overall being: I just didn’t care.
I didn’t even have very many friends to try and disprove my lazy portrait, I was also too keen to stay on my couch and play video games as opposed to going out and being social with my friends. I never went outside because of the unbearably thick air, and I overall had lost my sense of caring toward my image, since I’d been raised to “accept as it is,” and for me, it was the verge of obesity with a serious motivation problem.
The only thing denying my sloth-like lifestyle in the least was the fact that I walked very fast. I wouldn’t know till later in life that this was a sign of my persistence, but at the time, I just assumed that I was impatient.
As a very young child I was someone to consider lazy. My father had very little income at the time and so we lived without cable. we eventually got a Playstation, but he played it too often for me o have a chance to enjoy it. So I, in my adolescence, used up my energy outside. I had a few people I knew but mostly spent my time with our two dogs. I ran around with them and would often take them on walks. When the dogs were inside I would walk around town and wander as far as I could before getting lost. I was very active till my dad got a laptop and left the Playstation to me. Video Games had always been a mystery to me. At night I would watch my father play titles like “Silent Hill” but I thought of it more as a film than something that I could also do. Yet when I was given the permission to play it I indulged, and was in love immediately. I always leaned more towards the Crash Bandicoot titles, but I was open to trying anything once.
Now, even in my teens I cannot tell you that I’ve gotten any better when it comes to my physical laziness. My family has tried to remedy it, inviting me out to play games, encouraging me to play sports, but I just can’t get myself to do it. I have at least dropped the weight by now to a healthy average, my hair is no longer unruly and I do not seem as if I’m inebriated at all moments in time, but as all of these things were repaired I no longer dash along calling it my walking pace. I’ve let my world slow down as I sped up and in reality I can tell it just balanced out.
Is there a magic fix to motivational problems?
If so, please, let me know.
A chapter of my Novella “I Ate KFC With a Nazi”