Graffiti Has A Meaning

I constantly travel the same paths, never changing my course. Thankfully, the mundane nature of it all is comforting, something that I can always count on as a constant in my life. I can no longer find comfort in the things I used to cherish. My family was thrown into ruins long before I could save it. Sure, I have money, I have a lot of it, but what does it matter, it doesn’t keep me happy. This city, it suffers far more than I but those who live here with much less seem so happy compared to me.
I don’t really know why I looked up from my feet, when I did, instead of shuffling back to my daily routine, getting onto the subway car and just keeping my head down. Looking up though, there was the subway car I always saw, the same one that I rode daily, but not until today did I see it. To everyone else it was just another graffitied subway car, but, today, I had finally noticed that on it was a question I had asked myself so many times before. “How can I move on?” Surrounding that one question by a disheartened individual were pictures, some happy some sad. What stood out the most were opposites of each other, replies, one read “No one can.” The other was “Everyone has to.”
What would have happened if I had really moved on all those years ago, after I lost my son? Maybe my life would have turned out differently, and maybe my wife would still love me. What did me in, however, is the thought that money is happiness. I learned long ago that it was a lie, but it was already too late. Throwing myself into my work, I thought that I could care for myself, to support the family that I had left. Although now, I wonder if that’s something I should have done earlier, to preserve my relationship with my wife and my daughter. It’s too late to reconnect with my son; he wouldn't talk to me even if it were my last wish.
The idea that no one can move on, that scared me. What if I still thought that money was happiness and my son was lost to me so that I gave up trying?
My thoughts flashback to before the money and the corner office, when my family was struggling to get by, but happy. Oh, how the times had changed from those days. We had a small apartment back then, barely big enough for my family. Although sparsely furnished it, was home and it was all that I had needed back then, but times change. I had to keep up with the rest of the world so I would. As things got more expensive I became more obsessed with providing for my family, in working to provide for what I thought would be a happier future.
"Honey, did you pay the bills this month? I need some money for groceries." my wife Mary asked, looking up from her book. She looked so young back then, no gray in her strawberry blonde hair the way it is now. No wrinkles on her worried face.
"There's not a lot of money left, but when I get this promotion, we'll be able to afford daycare for Hannah so that you can have a break," I replied, never looking up, scribbling away at my papers on my overloaded desk.
"That would be great dear, but I don't think even then we could afford my taking a break" Mary said patiently, never growing old of the wonderings of a wishful businessman.
Before I could reply, my three year old daughter, Hannah came running towards me, screaming, "Daddy, daddy look what I made! It's a princess dress. Barbie wanted a new dress, so I made one for her" she brandished a piece of fabric sewn together with yarn and love.
"Honey that's great. I'm sure that Barbie loves it too," I said with a smile, picking her up and swinging her around our small apartment, then hugging her before going back to my work.
"Dad! Dad! Dad! Look what I made!" my eleven year old son Ben said, walking up with his art final.
“What is it?” I asked impatiently.
“It’s an airplane, look, see?” he said, holding it out to me.
"Yeah, that's great son, it’ll never fly. Here, look at what Hannah made," I said offhandedly, only glancing up briefly to look at the wooden airplane. But what I didn’t see was my son’s face when I said that. Mary would later tell me that my son’s face changed from pride to desperation as I ignored him, that day would be the first of many times that I would ignore his achievements.
That plane wouldn't fly, but he sure did. On a sunny winter’s day, a day ingrained in my life forever. The day he walked out of my life.
"Dad, I never want to see you again. I hate you," he spoke, every word cutting like a knife into my heart. No longer a teenager, my son stood proud and tall, but on that day, his young face was contorted in pain, in hatred. I finally saw the face of the child I raised.
"Ben, I wish you would consider staying. It will get better. I'm going to get a promotion and then I'll be home more," I pleaded, searching for the right words. I grabbed his arm, holding onto him tightly, as if that would keep him here.
"That's what you said last time dad. I'm done with this," he spat wrenching his arm out of my grasp, "I can't stand you. Look at what you did to mom. You're not here anymore. She's alone in this house when Hannah's at school. All she does in the afternoons when she waits for you is stare at the clock. It's not right. She’s underappreciated, ignored; you’re never around for her!" With those harsh words, he walked out. My last image of him was the back of his head as he walked down the path and out of sight.
He was able to move on from the parent that was never there for him. He had the strength to take care of himself, ignoring the feelings of home, ignoring the feelings of loss for his mother and sister, still living with me. How was I unable to move on from the grip of money, from the hole that I had dug for myself?
Suddenly I feel a push to my back, "Hey buddy are you gonna get on the train or not? I've got a schedule too you know," a businessman not unlike me said, annoyed.. Behind him several people spoke the same sentiments, pushing all the while to get onto the train.
I snapped back to reality, looking left and right on the busy platform. The platform looked exactly as it had when I had first seen the graffiti. What I had thought had been a long life journey had only been a few seconds. Nothing had changed; I'm a static character in my family's life. None of us know how much time is left for us. Oh well, time to go to work.
I walk the same mundane paths every day. It's too late for me to change the past now, and my future will stay the same. No matter what I do to try to change fate. At least I can find comfort in the mundane.