A Night of Debated Minds

Hi Everyone!
So, halfway through my last semester at NMSU I began to have this driving desire to write some prose. This is just a quick snip of something I think I might pursue in the future, but it is not set in stone. What I am trying to do with this piece is 2 things: (1) I am trying to write a piece of prose, obviously, and (2) if I have any writer’s ink in my blood I would try and find some philosophic forms of discourse and descriptions within my prose writing; or something like that. Hope you read every little bit of it, and I really hope you enjoy it, if not then please let me know what bothered you 😀

A Night of Debated Minds

It was a chilly, November evening, and Sandra was sitting on the floor of her apartment like a child playing with her toys, but,instead of toys, tonight, she was sorting through her banking statements. The way Sandra handled her bills was that of an old-school method: pen, checkbook, and addition and subtraction in a small notebook. She couldn’t help the feeling that Jonathan wanted nothing to do with her debt, as if her debt would somehow contaminate his all too perfect method of handling money. “I was a bank teller at one point Sandra, and I have strong sense of saving money. If you need my help, let me know,” was his reply when he thought she might be struggling with her bills. She looked up at him and gave him her makeshift smile and began to think, “What does he know about money! He’s just some spoiled, little child who has had everything given to him on some silver platter; he should be helping me without me having to ask for it, he owes me at least that!”

Yes, at some point Jonathan was a bank teller, he was a teller for a small third rate bank in Nevada, but he had experience saving his own money, not in saving someone else’s money. Although that was a reality and a possibility, he really just did not wish to help her save up some money to pay off her debts. Deep down he had a feeling that she might not want the money to be saved, or maybe he wanted her to save the money herself. But, to her, that would have been some form of pseudo-logical mode of thinking because, being the love of his life, he should do anything possible to help her. Jonathan was under the assumption that she wanted him to help her in any way he could, but he abstained from doing so. This all steamed from a small discussion at Sandra’s aunt’s house.

Four to five months before the discussion of debt, Jonathan and Sandra were visiting her aunt to celebrate part of her Thanksgiving weekend. Aunt Ophelia was an eccentric individual; someone whom invites others with open arms, but at the same time would be harsh to those whom she loved. This harshness was not out of bitterness or spite, but from a desire to be an “honest and open person as possible.” She desired to see the people around her to be pleasant, and with any host of a house.

Aunt Ophelia’s residence was similar to her personality, the meeting of a tornado and a street cleaner, but with a touch of neatness. Sandra’s aunt’s house was continuously filled with the same mishappenings night after night: red wine, music, and dancing. It usually did not matter too much who would be there for Ophelia to enjoy a few glasses, and begin to dance to some of her favorite songs. This specific night was not much different from those nights except for a conversation that would soon send Jonathan searching for answers in the love of his life.

“Oh, I just love that song! I know, to you youngans, it is just some 70’s—crap, but to me it’s just the most awesomness song in the world!” exclaimed Ophelia with much jubilation. This excitement was drawn from the warmth that her niece and her niece’s boyfriend would visit her for Thanksgiving.

“It’s our pleasure Ophi. You know we love to come and see you.” Sandra said with utter warmth. “Oh, but now it is my turn to choose a song.”

“What are you going to choose babe?” Jonathan said with his usual, slight tone of curiosity when it came to Sandra’s choices to music.

Sandra proclaimed with much excitement, almost to the extent when philosophers are absorbed in modes of though and ways of living, “I am going to play Miss Independent by Kelly Clarkson. Ah, I just love this song!”

“I love that song too!” Ophelia blurted as she rose her wine glass towards the sky.

As the music was playing, Sandra started to idealize and vocalize a life she seemed to have been dreaming of.  “Oh, it is just a pure testament of how I want to live; completely free—completely independent.”

With the idea of where this discussion would lead Jonathan couldn’t help but wince; but, as was his custom, to him, he would take such an argument like this and bear it with him, and would not share his opinion with the ones, here with him, whom he loved with utter passion. He thought to himself, “That makes no sense! It would be impossible for her to be completely independent. For if she was to be ‘completely free—completely independent’ she would perish, because there would be no one to save her. The world is a cruel and chaotic mess; she can’t be serious about living independent form the rest of us, could she? Even though, I think it is a silly idea, if she wants this independence so bad, then she can have it.”

Jonathan tried not to think of this in a malicious way. He didn’t wish to have her struggling on her own, but instead, he thought, that he was doing something of higher consequence, something better not just for her but them both. Even though he might not have completely respected her taste in music, he still respected the ways she wanted to pursue her life choices. Something in him would not allow himself to take away such a “testament” from this angel in his presence. He may not have liked the idea of this, and, somewhere in the recesses of his experience, he knew this would probably tear the relationship apart. But, what was the most important aspect to him, for the relationship he thought, was seeing that she got what she wanted, even if that meant releasing himself from her presence.


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