This is a continuation of the fable Jackson and Annabel: A Contrast
Since we last heard of Jackson, the pretentious self-actualized hipster, he had just left the sort of hipster girl Annabel and was departing from his favorite shoebox rooftop building with the intent to return at a later date in hope of confronting new contrasting edges to provoke his unique personality to action. One can only imagine the
toil his short relationship with Annabel had on him. The toil that is undefined young love.
Jackson thought of how he ought to forget Annabel altogether. He thought that they never did and possibly never could have anything in common. But, as it is in most post-romantic relationships, he simply could not settle his mind about her. Her name specifically was used as a positive building block for his wondering of her. He admired the name. He then would attempt to connect other qualities Annabel had that could be positive to her nature. This process left Jackson more unsettled about the situation than before since each attempt to connect positive attributes to Annabel resulted in wonder and regret. Jackson thought that perhaps he did not really know Annabel at all and should give her another chance.
“It’s not like out of context Confucius quoting is really that bad anyways,” thought Jackson.
Jackson thought that getting away could bring some closer to the post young love relationship angst wadding he felt was drowning him. Jackson decided to take a sort of pilgrimage to his families hometown in Balderdash Texas; a place where no hipster would even think to venture in even the most daring fictional postings of a blog. He shivered in his commuter pants at the thought of the horrible fashion trends and lack of liberal perspectives.
“Hopefully I don’t catch any of their narrow minded conservative riffraff,” thought Jackson.
Now Jackson was a common sort of hipster. He was not old-money nor was he new-money. He sponged off his parents and friends, especially that of the female demographic. He spent most of his grocery money, the little that he had, on PBR. He was broke. All this to say that Jackson started his great pilgrimage for inner peace on a fixed-gear bicycle; all black with one slim white rectangular sticker on the frame from a local coffee shop which read, Black Sheep Roasters. With his iPhone 6 he took a picture of his bike and posted it to his Instagram with the hashtags: VSCO, Commuter, FixedGear, and BSR (Black Sheep Roasters). B.S.R. stands for “Business for Social Responsibility,” which is a good thing. Jackson had no knowledge of this, but if he did we can be sure that he would have made a bigger deal about it in his description of the electric image of self-absorbed garbage he called “photography”. And with the upload and “likes” pouring in he put in his in-ears and began peddling.
While bumping to Simon and Garfunkel, peddling his fixed-gear bicycle at a leisure pace, Jackson spotted none other than Annabel. Jackson froze bewildered at the sight of her Crusty-Kid appearance. When he unfroze he was on the side of the road starring at the contrast created by the clear blue sky and the edge of the shoebox rooftop, rather he thought he was until a puddle of water kicked up by a speeding Ford F-150 splashed across his fragile frame waking him from the comfort of his memory.
His commuter pants, iconic Johnny Cash flipping the bird to the camera crew neck tee-shirt, and gypsy blue cardigan sweater were marked with grass stains, but not tattered. Jackson frantically raced through his mind to make sense of what happened.
The tables have turned
Jackson never got to finish retracing his steps because a helping hand (not the hamburger kind) grabbed his arm and brought him to his feet. It was Annabel.
“Did you do this for me?” asked the ever so caring Annabel. Jackson did not quite know how to reply.
“I was just trying to be hip,” responded Jackson looking at the ground, then at her small tan face.
She looked back at his soft hazel eyes and half shaved head. They looked like a couple of freaks stranded on the side of the road. And it was in that moment that Jackson thought he had made the best decision of his life in going on a pilgrimage. He found his true love. He looked on in anticipation as she began to say something.
“Things that are done, it is needless to speak about . . . things that are past, it is needless to blame,” she said.
“Alright . . . umm nice quote.” Jackson almost commented on the out of context Confucius quoting, but thought he would let it go for the moment. He was just finishing his thought as Annabel began opening that big dumb mouth of hers.
“The superior man is modest in his speech, but exceeds in his actions,” continued Annabel. Jackson sat back down on the side of the road and decompressed to his more typical self-centered state.
It was at that moment Jackson decided he had made a terrible decision by embarking on a pilgrimage. He looked at Annabel, her tattered clothes and bare feet seemed newly unwelcoming to him. Her stained backpack also seemed more tattered than when they had first met.
Jackson was staring into space now, which took the attention away form Annabel. She noticed this. So with no one to give her the attention she wanted she left. Jackson came to the present to realize that Annabel was leaving him this time. Her wild greasy hair moved relentlessly in the wind as she pedaled away on Jackson’s fixed-gear bicycle.
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