The Big Race

It was always a seemingly 'fair' win between compassion versus vanity 

As deodorant was for 'grown ups', even when my thin arms were raised confidently high to support trophies founded by mood rings and collages of pictures my friends had drawn for me  over the years;

I wouldn't give anyone the chance to cool the warmth of my smile with cruelty or foul words, as if my mind were a search engine filter designed to relay messages directed toward me in the brightest light.

I'd like to believe now that there had been a competition  going on all around me, just for my sake, and that everyone close to me at that time was rooting for my humanity to prevail. 

A betting game. A horse race. Reflecting from the mind of 'future me', (whom could be seen as the 'present me' to those currently reading these jumbled thoughts) if I were given the opportunity to watch the feud at my early and innocent age, I'd have claimed the metaphorical horses.

Compassion would have the name Aurora, while vanity might be called Heath; I always favored the name Aurora.

Aurora would lead indefinitely, gracefully cushioned by the reinforcement of youth her owner possessed at the time. She'd run circles around Heath until her audience expected nothing less of her but to win.

Now, I apply the scenario that is Aurora to most aspects of life. The concept of solicitude being an undefeated force is almost a luxury to rely on.

However, as I began to age, Aurora's legs grew weary.

She used everything she had in her to keep going, but the strong Heath persevered. Powered by the insecurities of young women and advertising companies, Heath grew more every day.

I replaced the game of four square with spin the bottle, ditched juice pops for cocktails, unaware of the unseen chaos between one imaginary race horse and another.

The audience had all but emptied over the years, assuming it was a "useless" bet, that they had never actually expected the capabilities of society to lose against the studious weakling that is love.

It no longer mattered how long Aurora had kept her lead, because Heath had always been destined to win the race.

Soon, it mattered what size my friends' waists were, so I assumed I should care as well. Soon, magazines told me what I should wear to attract the males I sighed at on the television. Life became void of adventure, and I was tricked into thinking that made me a more comfortable being.

So, I let Heath win. Not because I didn't like Aurora anymore, but because it was easier to shrug than to lend a hand. 

There was no one there to watch Heath surpass his opponent because everyone had gone home to fuel their own internal event. 

And me? I realized what had happened too late; my compassion had limped away in a world where it only matters how you hold yourself to the outside, and in the stadium.

There are others, unknowingly allowing their truths to become overshadowed by the lies fed to us through tubes that are as subtle as air itself. And I will root for them, attending every race their Aurora or Bobby or Anastasia runs in hope that the child's most pure traits will not leave them with their maturity.

I will carve words into the seats so that when the next 'Me' comes to these realizations, they may know that they have the power to control the race.

Do not let Heath win.