The Significant Moment, Essay Example

When I was a kid, death was the most exciting part of every story, every TV show, and every song. If a character in a movie or TV Show died, it was always heroic or tragic. The main feeling I had when I read about someone dying in a book, whether a novel or a history book, was that of vague elation coupled wit h a sense or power and drama. Typically, I ran around with a toy gun in my hand slaughtering imaginary men by the thousands. I probably role-played my own heroic death at least ten times a day: by gunshot, sword-wounds, falling off a cliff, being eaten by sharks, or crashing to a fiery death on a nose diving plane.

In fact, I was playing soldier on the day I found out Rudy died. I remember that I’d just successfully led a successful charge out of an imaginary fox-hole, and surrounded by Nazi machine-gun fire, managed to return behind friendly lines. This meant I had to climb the six-foot privacy fence and droop down in Rudy’s yard. I’d done it so many times, even with a plastic M-16 slung over my shoulder with an yarn strap, I scrambled over the fence by using the cross beans for leverage, as quick as your average tom-cat. As I dropped down into Rudy’s the perfectly mowed grass under the shade of his oak tree, I instinctively felt something was wrong. I still can’t explain the feeling to this day. It was as though something about the shadows in Rudy;s yard were longer and darker than normal. The honey-suckles that grew near his house smelled very sweet, almost sickeningly so.

A chill went up my neck when I smelled the honeysuckle. Sweat dripped down my face; I hadn’t realized how hot it was, even in the shade. A fearful feeling passed over me — the yard felt big and lonely all of the sudden. What are you afraid of? i asked myself. When you know you have permission to play in Rudy’s yard. he gives you corn-nuts and washable tattoos every time he sees you. But even my long list of self-reassurances couldn’t make me feel any less anxious. I scrambled up, slung my rifle back around on my shoulder and started to hurry toward the fence-gate since I couldn’t climb back from Rudy’s side of the fence.

Someone called out “Hey there!” It was a woman’s voice. An old woman. When I turned around to look I saw Rudy’s wife. She was wearing a long flower print housecoat over what looked like flannel pajamas. She looked scary to me: loose white hair and dark circles under her eyes. her face was spider-webbed with wrinkles. I figured she was at least a hundred years old. “You can’t play in this yard anymore. Do you understand? My husband’s not here now. I don’t want you jumping over that fence again!”

“Rudy said I could play here. Rudy said — “

“I don’t care what he said. Do you hear me? he’s not here anymore!” Her voice trembled and she started to cry. her voice was harsh and threatening. I took off at a dead run. I un-latched the gate and didn’t bother to latch it back when I got outside the fence. I went straight home and got washed up for dinner. while I was eating I asked my mom what happened to Rudy. She said he had a heart attack and died. She’d meant to mention it to me earlier that morning but my aunt had called to talk on the phone.

After dinner I went to my room and rolled up my sleeves. On one forearm I had a peeling red heart tattoo; on the other, an American flag. The washable tattoos were already starting to disappear into mangled blobs. I thought about how they made me feel when Rudy first put them on for me. He used a wet washcloth and his old-man hands trembled a little but he still felt strong. I kept staring at the tattoos and then they started to look like they melting because tears kept blurring my eyes. He was the only neighbor who didn’t yell at you for playing in his yard. But that wasn’t the only reason I was crying. The main reason was because I suddenly saw a connection between the fading tattoos on my arms and life itself. It was like life started off vibrant and full of color but ended in blurred, peeling flakes that eventually washed away into nothing. A few days later, I was sitting in math class and looked at my naked forearms, which were scrubbed clean and bright but I could still imagine the heart and flag . A month or so after that I tossed my plastic M-16 into the trash.