A LUCILIUS PARABLE: END OF A CHAPTER

April 25th, 2021

Lucilius let himself into his apartment, lifted his work bag and placed it on the kitchen island.  The place was quiet and he was tired after a long day.  His work was going well but it had grown exhausted with it.  

He pulled open a fridge door and looked with lacklustre let-down at the collection of condiments, and the snacked left-overs from a few days ago.  He hadn’t been to the grocery store, and he was too tired to go now.  

He ordered more delivery and poured himself a glass of wine and sat quietly while he waited.  He wondered quietly, sensing some lack, some discrepancy that seemed unacknowledged in him.  But as always his thoughts drifted back to his work, as though through a kind of default and habit.  Already he was thinking about what tomorrow would bring, the issues to address and possible solutions that might speed the whole process up.  

The buzzer broke his tired work reverie.  He put down the glass and went to the door.  Dinner too, was quiet, barely enjoyed for thoughts about his work, but he didn’t notice, unaware of how bent his mind had become on the subject.

After packing up the left overs Lucilius followed his well worn, daily path, as though he were running on a track, from the bathroom to bed.  And there he picked up his journal.  He’d kept it for many years, and the volumes were lined up on his bookshelf.  He picked up his pen and flipped through the thick book with a casual thought that he’d very soon be on the next one.  He bought them in bulk a few years ago and numbered them for the future.  As the pages thipped and cascaded from his thumb to rest open, they ran out.  The book was full, and Lucilius turned the last page to find a note scrawled there, one he had written years ago and had completely forgotten about.

It read: Dear Lucilius, no matter the composition of your life right now, pick up only what you need, and leave.  No questions, no plans, just do it.  I promise to you that I will do this.

Lucilius read it several times, blinking and without thinking.  He looked off, trying to remember writing the note.  It was in his hand but he couldn’t for the life of him remember.  He read it a few more times, and slowly a smile began to lift his face.

He threw the covers back and got up.  He opened the closet and pulled out an old hiking backpack and started packing.