>Everyone seems to wanna go back sometimes. Back to being young in more than age, carefree in both spirit and ambitions, back to not paying bills and waiting for the first period bell to ring so we can have a sound to hate that doesn’t really matter, to pointless drives all over quiet, unpaved roads. Everyone wants to go back to high school football games and cars packed with thick, fleece blankets; winter hats and gloves; tingling fingers and ears cold and numb. They want the drama of a small town, the drama that meant so much at the time but means so little now. It can never happen again because they’re too old and things that shouldn’t mean as much as they do take top priority. Boys won’t agonize over pretty girls who aren’t old enough to buy cigarettes. Pretty girls who aren’t old enough to buy cigarettes won’t waste their time wondering if a boy actually loves them. Both genders get other things to worry about the older they get.
They have bills now – these victims of the present and what used to be the future. They have rent to pay, cars to gas, jobs to keep, children to feed, gods to ignore, new towns to move to, taxes to file, and so much to forget. Years go by too fast, spontaneity seems too rare, and the past – that oh-so-dignified past – seems further away every time they take a step outside their new lives to remember it. They realize all these things as they lie in their beds at night and vow to stop it, as if they even can. They swear they’re gonna live their lives with feet buried in the earth of time, as if time will do the same. But they never do and it never does. They keep going with their cups of coffee to fend off exhaustion from life, eating it all like they’re not going to just shit it out.
Still, everyone seems to wanna go back sometimes. They loved the future when it was the past and the past once they got to the “future,” but none seem to like the present. Before they know it, it too will be in the past and they’ll be looking back on it – which is actually present day – and remember how great it was.
Johnathon O’Toole was no exception to this thesis. He loved his past like anyone else did and had always noticed the alarming trend of the present turning into past and him not noticing how great it was until it happened, until it was all over and had passed. He feared that the trend would stop one day, he’d start to hate his life and the recent past and be left with nothing to clutch but the past which was distant to him. So, without even knowing he was doing so, he lived his life attached to the past and yearning – deep down – to go back and stay there.
This is a story about pair of remembersome nights in Johnathon’s life and how they are connected. There were two cities in two states involved with the three evenings and one plane ride connecting each of the factors. No animals were hurt in the writing of this story. There is no happy ending. There is closure to it all.

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