First and Last

I ran through the park

On that crisp autumn morning,

Trees the size of houses

Looming over me,

Dark

And filled

With the wind’s whisper.

The lake rippled

Beneath the swans’ wings

Like black silk,

Cold and ice blue

When a morning sunbeam

Touched its surface.

Withered leaves

The color of October pumpkins

Crackled beneath my shoes.

I ran over the redwood bridge,

Slapping its rails

With the tips of my fingers,

And relishing each note

I played on the boards.

I felt like Tom Hanks

In the movie Big.

That bridge was my piano,

And I played it twice

Every day-

When I ran to school in the morning,

And when I ran home

In the evening.

I cut through the playground,

Kicking up wood chips,

Jumping over seesaws,

Bounding up to the slide,

And going down it so fast,

I flew off the edge

On the wings of the wind.

I was more majestic

Than any common swan.

I was an eagle,

Big and free and going so fast

Tears streamed from my eyes.

I landed hard on my feet,

My little tin lunch box

Banging against my hip,

And clattering metal on metal.

Then I was running again.

Ducks scattered in terror before me,

Squawking and beating their watertight wings.

Morning mist wrapped itself around me,

Brushing my face with soft dewdrop kisses.

My lungs were laced with frost.

They swelled against my ribcage.

Too big.

Some things

Will always be too much

To keep bottled up

Inside this vessel of bone.

When I finally came to the bench,

I was panting.

My throat burned.

As I breathed out vapor puffs

Of wet steam.

My cheeks and nose

Were glowing pink as cherry blossoms.

My legs quivered beneath me.

“New record,” I said,

And collapsed onto the bench.

The street before me was still,

And wet from last night’s rain.

The asphalt

Reflected the stray patches

Of deep blue sky,

And the bursts of red and orange leaves,

Like September fireworks

In the arms of tree branches.

Not a soul besides me

Was there to defile that holy ground.

I closed my eyes,

And leaned back

Against the bench,

Soaking it all into my veins,

My bones,

My soul.

My heartbeat

Throbbed in my wrists and temples.

Somewhere above me,

Morning birdsong

Tickled the air,

Sharp and crisp in every note.

I breathed,

Let my shoulders go loose,

And was still.

That was when I felt it.

A shift in the air.

As if something warm and living

Had occupied the space around me.

I opened my eyes.

There were two men,

One on each side of me,

So close I could feel the heat

Radiating off their chests,

Like cold, burning stars.

The one on my right

Was dressed in a suit and hat,

Like somebody

Straight out of the 1920’s,

But everything he wore

Was red,

Dark as vein blood.

The one on my left

Was dressed in the same clothes,

But they were white,

Like the grain of old,

Graying bone.

The two men,

Besides wearing different colors,

Looked as alike as exact clones.

When their eyes met mine,

They both smiled.

I blushed,

Both shy and frightened.

“I… who are you?” I said.

The man in red

Laughed so soft

It was almost a whisper.

His eyes flickered.

“I,” he said, “am First.”

He winked,

And my face burned,

My gut twisting

Into nervous knots,

My palms

Beginning to sweat.

I turned from him,

And found myself

Looking instead

To the man in white.

“And I,” he said, “am Last.”

He did not wink,

Only smiled.

Looking closer,

I found this second man

Was different from the other.

He had a light touch

Of stubble,

And there were little wrinkles

Around his eyes,

As if he were

A few years older

Than his brother.

I gripped the handle

Of my lunch box,

And stared up at them,

Heart pounding

Wild as tribal drums.

First leaned in close to me.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s all right.”

Last held out his hand,

Palm up,

And, on instinct,

I placed my own hand

In his grasp,

For young children

Are trusting of

Any little kindness.

“We-” said Last.

A pause.

“We wanted to see you.”

As strange as it all was,

I relaxed.

My heartbeat

Slowed back

To its normal rhythm,

And I looked again

At the two men,

Observing the rise and fall

Of their chests,

And the little flickers

In their irises.

Last rubbed a thumb

Over my knuckles,

And I pulled away,

Still unsure.

“So…”

I pointed

To the man in red.

“You’re First.”

I looked back

To the man in white.

“And you’re Last?”

“I am,” they said,

Their voices blending

Into one hum

That made the birds go quiet.

It was silent for awhile.

I gripped my lunch box tighter

And said,

“So…

Which one of you

Is better?”

They both smiled.

“Who can say?”

Said First.

“We’re not like that,

You know,”

Said Last.

“We’re not concerned

With being ‘better’

Than each other.”

“Then-

Then what are you like?”

I said.

First whispered another

Soft laugh.

“Let us tell you,”

He said,

And he leaned in

Close.

“I,” he said,

“Am your first breath,

Your first laugh,

Your first time

Riding a bike.

I am the moment

When an artist

First holds a paintbrush,

Or a pencil,

Or a guitar,

And knows

That this is who they are.

I am

Your first day on the beach,

When you feel

The ocean waves

Pulling you

Into their arms,

And grains of sea salt

And sand

Combing through your hair.

The first time

You hear a gull cry.

I am

Your first thunderstorm,

Hiding under your covers,

As raindrops

Pound against your window,

And lightning shocks the earth,

Making the clouds

Glow white and purple.

Thunder

Exploding in the sky,

While you

Hold back tears

And pray for silence.

I am

Youth,

And heartbeats,

And the first page

Of every book.”

I paused,

Taking in everything he had said.

“That sounds cool,”

I said,

“But… what else?”

First did not frown,

But his face

Darkened.

“I am also

The first time

You feel pain,”

He said.

“Your first skinned knee.

Your first

Fistfight.

The blood, the cuts,

And the bruises.

The tears

Streaming down your cheeks.

I am

Your first heartache,

Curled up in your bed,

Staring at the wall,

And weeping

Till you fall asleep.

I am

The first time

You feel fear,

Trembling, sweating in

Primal panic,

And feeling a darkness

In your chest.”

He spread his arms,

Then brought them back in,

As if to embrace

All of his spoken words.

“I am the Beginning,”

He said,

And turned to me,

His eyes on fire.

“I am

Your first kiss.”

He lowered his head,

And pressed his lips

To the corner of my mouth.

His touch was wet and warm,

And it made my hair

Stand on end.

Even as a child,

I knew

That kiss was special.

It was a kiss

Between lovers,

Between father

And daughter.

One soul

Deeply in love

With another.

First pulled away,

And looked into my eyes.

I blushed,

And turned from him.

Last was staring

Back at First

As if in envy.

“And- and you?”

I said.

Last shook his head,

And looked at me.

A pause.

“I,” he said,

“Am the last day of school.

Pins and needles.

Waiting

In your desk

For that final bell.

Then,

When you hear it,

Bursting out,

Screaming, cheering, running

For the doors,

High-fiving your friends,

Soaring on the lemonade breeze with

Sunbursts in your eyes

And summer on your tongue.

I am

Your last day

Away from home;

Boarding a late night flight;

Drinking cup after cup

Of coffee;

Staring out

At ghost puff clouds,

pinpoint constellations,

And tiny city lights.

Then at last,

Touching down,

And stepping

Into a white-washed world

Of departures and arrivals.

Your family picking you up,

Telling you how different you look

From when they saw you last,

Then taking you home

To your own bed.

I am

That last cherished bite

And sip

Of a meal,

Feeling full and warm

And sleepy-eyed.”

Again a pause,

As I considered,

This presentation.

“Is that all?”

I said.

Last smiled,

Wrinkling the crow’s feet

Around his eyes,

And sighed.

“I am also

Letting go,

And saying goodbye,

Feeling a loved one’s hand

Slip from your fingers

For the last time.

I am

Reading the final word

Of a story,

And realizing

The dream is over.

I am

Hesitating at the threshold,

Not wanting to leave,

Or, at least,

Being scared to try.

A twisting gut.

A throbbing head.”

Last leaned back

Against the bench,

And closed his eyes,

Taking quiet breaths.

“I am the End,”

He said,

And opened his eyes.

He looked at me,

And moved in close.

He cupped my face

In one hand.

“I am

Your last kiss.”

He tipped my chin,

And kissed my cheek,

His stubble

Brushing against my face.

When he pulled away,

I didn’t turn from him,

But looked him deep

In the eyes.

I wondered how

A stranger could love me

As much as I knew

He did.

I felt like crying,

Being kissed that way.

It was a feeling

That I’d never known.

“I…”

I said,

And stared at my shoes

And the leaves

Whisked away

On the wind.

Then I looked back at First.

He was looking at Last

With the same envy

That Last had once worn.

Then First noticed

My glance.

“That’s our curse,

Y’see,”

He said.

“We’re always wanting

What can never be ours.

He can never know you

The way I do,

And I

Will never know you

The way he does.”

Last nodded.

“But then there’s you,”

He said.

“You are

A little of both of us.

A beautiful,

Beautiful thing.”

“And we love you for it,”

Said First.

“Yes,”

Said Last.

“We do.”

There was a screech of tires

And a hiss of steam

In the distance.

My school bus.

“Oh,”

I said.

“I gotta go.”

I slid down

Off the bench,

And walked to the edge

Of the sidewalk.

I turned to them,

One man in red,

The other in white.

First and Last.

The Beginning

And the End.

“I…

I’ll see you guys

Later?”

I blushed,

And fiddled with

My lunchbox.

They smiled,

And said,

“Yes.”

“Cool,”

I said,

And turned back

Toward the street.

The bus driver

Gave First and Last

A confused look,

But didn’t say anything.

I sat in the back,

And watched through the window

Until the bench disappeared.

I have never seen those two

Since.

I don’t know

Whether they were angels

Or weirdos,

But, I do know,

That every first

And last moment

Since that day

Has been a thing of wonder,

And time

Has been

My most precious treasure.

“I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last.”

   -Revelation 22:13