April 20, 2017
There was once a young man by the name of Edward. He was a tall, stocky lad who grew up in the Southeast part of Ohio, in a small rural community known as Cambridge. Not much is ever written about this part of the country, that is not until recently. For the last fifty years, this segment of the nation has been in decline and those who have not left the area in search of jobs are now suffering in a way that many seem not to understand. The once hard working population of Appalachia is now replaced with the unmotivated, uneducated, and drug dependent. The once proud, honest, and vibrant people who dwelt here have been corrupted by the changing times. The economic outlook is bleak for these parts, and what will become of this area is yet to be seen. This is a story about a young man who grew up in this decaying, forgotten part of America and his solemn journey.
It was a cold morning in mid-September, when Edward awoke
to the rattling of the train tracks which ran past the small single room he
rented from a friend’s mother. Ever since his father died from a drug overdose,
and his mother went missing he had to find a place to live. The small room was
just big enough to fit a single bed and a small dresser up again the opposing wall.
This was an improvement from the couch which Edward had been sleeping on since
the disappearance of his mother, so when he was offered the room he jumped on
the opportunity. As the train passed, Edward moaned in a low tone, and tossed his
legs out of the bed, then raised himself up to a sitting position. As he sat
there with both hands over his face, rubbing his eyes he thought to himself, “So
another day has begun”. He made his way over to his pile of clothes, found the
work uniform that smelled like greasy fast food and threw it into his backpack.
As he did so he could not help but think, “I just washed that thing! How in the
hell does it still smell like burgers?!”. Next he found his laptop and school books,
this time taking care to place them into the bag carefully. As he zipped up the
old canvas backpack that had been torn and sewn several times, he began to plan
the day’s events. Although Edward was only sixteen years old, he knew that if
he was ever going to survive this life, he must set goals and force those goals
into being. This morning was no exception.
As
Edward opened the back door, piercing rain drops and cold air hit his face. The
sky was filled with dark clouds. The house he was living in was on the northern
part of town and was situated a couple blocks away from an industrial plaza. The
line of old degraded and rusted buildings that were once populated with the
large steel working companies now laid empty. Other buildings were still
lingering on trying to provide work to those they could. The housing that lined
these factories were also degraded to the point that the city wished to condemn
them, yet they were still housing residents. Edward made his way down the flight
of stairs that lead to the side walk and began his journey through the neighborhood
of rotting houses. Most of the properties he knew were owned by slum lords who
took advantage of those that have fallen prey to drug addiction. Not keeping
the properties up to code allowed the property owners to pocket more money, and
they knew that these people would never involve the cops in any matter legal or
otherwise. As Edward walked along the road he looked around at his surroundings
and began to think to himself, “Why would anyone be dumb enough to rent these
forsaken places? Is it because they don’t care or is it because they cannot
afford better housing? No, it is because they are worse denominator of society.
They band together to sell, make, and provide drugs of every kind to those who
have no meaning left in their lives. A person without work is a person without aspirations,
and those who do not have to aspire to any higher purpose will sink into a
black depth that will swallow them whole until death takes them in a euphoric state
provided by the chemical compounds pulsing through their exacerbated veins. Why
try when things become hard, when life shits on everything you have
accomplished, and then kicks you while you are down. If happiness is truly a
chemical process is it not easier to artificially increase such a pleasure and
focus on the momentary feeling rather than putting in the hours, days, weeks,
and months of sacrifices necessary for the prize only found on the other side
of the rainbow. Even if one can identify where the prize is, most will never achieve
the attainment of such a prize”.
A loud bang startled Edward as he passed one of the ever-degrading
houses which lined the street on either side of him. He directed his gaze to
where the noise had originated from, and saw an elderly man who must have
looked to be eighty-five or ninety years old. Hunched over, yellowed and blackened teeth, military
tattoos running down his forearms, and a close buzz cut were the characteristics
of this man; characteristics, which suited many people in this part of town.
When Edward focused his attention on the man he was astonished to recognize
that this was no old man; rather, a drug and labor beaten man in his mid-forties.
As Edward continued to walk pass the house where the man was standing, smoking his
morning allowance of weed, all he could do was shake his head slowly and once
again return to his contemplations. “Why do people stay in this place? Why do
they come back? Why do they not leave and aspire to be more than what they are?
Roots perhaps have something to do with it. People are always saying that, ‘A
man needs to be grounded, to have roots in a place so as to make a life and
living’. This may very well have been true in the 1950’s when factory and line jobs
could support one’s life. However, now in today’s world, these jobs are gone to
automation and foreign work forces. These dwindling people are slow to realize
that the game has changed, and unless they adapt to fit the market place, they
will never achieve or thrive in the ever-changing world. Roots in a place, a
since of community, a grounding in time and space, these are all things that
are import to the psychological and social conditions of human beings. But Does
a tree grow well in soil when there are no longer enough nutrients to support the
tree’s needs? Can a large tree grow and become stable if the soil around it is
not packed tightly keeping it upright? Can a productive and moral person be
conditioned if the necessary factors are not present?”
By
this point, Edward was making his way over the viaduct which crossed over the
railroad. He stopped once he reached the top and looked out over the hand rail.
He peered down and gauged that he was about 60 feet up from the train rails
which were surrounded by rocks and gravel. His backpack was beginning to weigh
him down, the books always weighed the most. He dropped a rock and counted the
seconds it took to hit the ground below. As he stood there in the eerie, early
morning hours of the day, he began to contemplate the value of one’s life and
how the value is determined. “Is there such a thing as innate value? If there
is, does life qualify for such an honor? Or is value derived from those who
place the value on the object? This is often how painting and artistic items
derive value. Not from a set price point, but from the meaning which the buyer
places on the piece. Freud wrote about human beings having a Death Drive, could
such an idea have any validity? And what about the other great thinkers who all
argued for theories of determinism? If there is no such thing as free will, is
there any way for me to better myself and create a better life for myself? If
not and if my determined trajectory is to a place of negative being, then why
should I prolong the inevitable truth that all beings must face in the end.” Edward
climbed up onto the hand rail. He balanced himself on the large cylindrical
pipe, while using one hand to hold onto a nearby lamp post. The young man stood
there looking out across the horizon, then down at the ground which resided
such a long way below him. With that,
Edward let go of the lamp post and stepped off the railing...
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