David's Parade

David’s Parade

He stood at the vanguard of the procession, overlooking a large gathering of friends, family, and distant relatives, all draped in clothes darker than the clouds that had gathered overhead.  Tears mixed with the rain and formed puddles in the muddy footprints leading up to the scene.  From his perspective, there was no indication that anyone in the crowd was listening.  They all huddled together like cloaked penguins, their heads bowed, forming an indistinguishable mob of anonymous figures.  He stared at this melancholy mass with pity from his position behind the podium.

“David,” he began, choking back his desolation.  The tears swelled in the back of his throat.  “David was always a source of inspiration to everyone around him.  He was able to see the dullest light in the darkest room, even when it was not there.  In a crowd of a hundred thousand people, you could always find David, because he was the only one who smiled: the only one who was truly happy.”

But it was a contained happiness, one that David kept to himself.  Nobody else could feed on it.  It was not out of selfishness or contempt that David privatized his happiness, but out of a fear that a person may roll in like a cloud to rain on David’s parade.  And what a grand parade it was; jugglers, trumpets, banners, dancers, voluptuous bouquets of flowers being thrown from gilded floats into the screaming crowds that lined the streets; children licking lollies and grasping with their tiny hands at pieces of colorful confetti that descended from the brilliantly blue sky.  This was David’s parade, and what a grand parade it was…

David knelt over the porcelain bowl of a toilet, gripping the sides of the seat with trembling, white knuckles.  He coughed and sobbed into the water in its basin, which had been dyed a deep red, and a dribble of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, dangling on his chin for just a moment before inevitably falling into the bowl.  David pushed on the lever, flushing the evidence of his condition away before rising to face himself in the mirror.  He stared into his gaunt face, studying the sunken appearance of his eye sockets, examining the grayness of his skin, deeply admiring his devilishly cracked lips and the dried boogers that hung from his nose.  

And David smiled.

A phone rang somewhere far off.  David heard it, like one hears an annoying buzz that faintly drones in the back of one’s skull.  He never cared to stop the ringing.  The phone always rang nowadays, and although he knew he could make it stop just by answering the phone, he never brought himself to do so.  David knew that he would regret speaking to whoever was on the other line; maybe his manager, who hadn’t seen him at work in over two weeks; maybe his friends, who hadn’t seen him online since April; maybe his mother, who missed David’s weekly phone calls home.  David didn’t want anyone to talk to, so David didn’t answer the phone.  And the ringing continued…

David’s parade raged on.  The band marched down the center of the road, lead by a flamboyant conductor swinging around a silver cane and decorated with a hat trimmed with gold that tripled the height of his head.  He smiled and waved a gloved hand at the audiences on either side, tossing out cheers and laughter with each exaggerated step he took.  The flutes whistled, the clarinets chirped, the trombones blared, and the tubas honked in perfect unison, blending together with the roars of the crowd to produce a superb and grandiose sound.  This was David’s parade, and what a grand parade it was…

David lie shivering on the tiled floor, clutching at his sides and digging the fingernails deep into his skin until streaks of blood ran down his fingers.  His naked body, curled pathetically into a ball like a terrified child, grew weaker with each passing second.  The blood in his veins boiled and pumped at a gradually increasing speed, his muscles sporadically tightening and untightening as each new pulse of hot blood was forced into them.  David’s mind pounded in rhythm with his ever-increasing heart rate until his eyes bulged, struggling to stay in his skull.  The spine of his back protruded like a jagged mountain range, forcing its way through his flesh and nearly piercing through his skin.  All the while, the phone continued to ring in the back of David’s head, ceaselessly, endlessly, relentlessly, perpetually, forever and ever…

“I believe that David’s last moments were in peace, not agony.  Even in David’s darkest moments, he always had the strength to smile, which was something I always admired.  To me, David will always be a symbol of strength and virtue that I will take with me the rest of my life.”  He looked over the heads of the grieving as he finished.  The indistinguishable mob of crying figures formed an orchestra with their weeping, and here he stood, their conductor, waving his penis like a conductor waves his baton in tempo with the gentle hum of their sobs.  Even as he stood there, drenched in the tears of the sky, he began to hear the music.  First came the brass, warm and resonating, touching the hearts of the audience; then came the woodwinds, light and melodic like the conversations of so many birds; then the strings, powerful, like the heavy breaths of a lion; the drums, pounding, crashing, striking with life and veracity that explodes from one’s chest and floods the body with electricity.  He heard the glorious crescendos and magnificent dynamics of the song as if it were playing directly in front of him.  

This was David’s parade, and what a grand parade it was…