Accumulation of material is what many feel they need to better their lives instead of understanding the quality of life is stronger than the quantity of life. Jon Marx, a handsome young professional school administrator, has worked hard to amass material items of which he thinks will bring him that purpose we seek in life. Once Jon has reached his goals in life such as career, home, relationship, and prestige, he finds that it is not all that it seems to be, and that happiness is far from a touch away. On his way to work one beautifully sunny morning on Highway 23, Jon misses his exit and continues to drive for no apparent reason, hearing his tires strike the lines in the weathered road. Not thinking of the person he is leaving behind nor the objects he owns, he drives till he can't drive anymore. Mentally tired, lost, and miles away from the place he considered home, Jon discovers a small town where the people don't own much but they are happy. Jon has searched his whole life to find the secret to happiness and sees it in the meager homes, simple lifestyles and the natural surroundings. With the absence of material and/or possessions, Jon discovers his Clarity of Absence. This journey into the man's soul is a detailed, deeply moving, and often humorous look into the sensitive side of a contemporary metro-sexual's odyssey through life, love, desire, passion, and his ability to reach that place many of us seek: Enlightenment.

Clarity of Absence

By Rajah E. Smart

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Rajah E. Smart
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-8249-6

Chapter One

As people, we seek to find the meaning of life. In America, you are made to believe in the "American Dream," which loosely translated is the accumulation of things, wealth or materials. There's nothing wrong with that; however, when materials make you lose sight of what life truly represents, then it's easier to lose sight of a phenomenon we call happiness. Happiness is what many of us search for in our lives from day to day. What happens when you have accumulated all that you can and you are still unhappy? That is a question; yet to be answered by our friend Jon Marx.

Jon sits upon his modest two-bedroom cottage home porch that's nestled in the middle of nowhere, thinking about how things used to be. At the age of 34, Jon doesn't have a lot of possessions, nor does he want them. With a snifter of warm brandy in his hand swirling in a circular motion, sweetened ever so slightly, he glares at the sun as it touches his brow, and radiates trees, grass slivers, and the rocks on the dirt road in front of his driveway. As he looks out, Bobby Bradley passes by on his motorcycle and waves at him as bikers do. Throwing up his hand to wave, the chilly breeze sneaks by his body, prompting him to partake in his warm glass of brandy. So lost in the beauty of what surrounds him, Jon couldn't hear Bobby's tires crunch the rocks beneath his jalopy of a motorcycle. The dust spreads throughout the blue sky. As he passes, Jon began to think about the city, and how life used to be: The murkiness of the sky, the selfish people, and the hustle and bustle of daily life. The city offered so much in culture and life, but Jon often noticed what he called the complete disregard for life and true happiness.

As a man with fair skin, handsome features, and a personable personality, he felt placed in this category of who or what he was supposed to be. Life is defined for us by grouping people within gender, color, beauty, and class. A man seemingly has no real challenges in life; yet, there are pressures that surround them everyday. Add in the class, prejudices, jealousies, and pettiness, life becomes survival of the fittest, especially if you don't fit. A crossroads had been approached and Jon was at a loss. Why? Jon was unsure of his future as a man, but more concerned about life in the future. He had become a successful administrator for the local school system making a great living, finally met the woman of his dreams, purchased all the materials he thought he needed, which should make him happy, but at the end of it all, he was very unhappy. Life gave Jon this battle where he struggled with a career that was there, but nonexistent, a love life that failed every time the sun came up, and a struggle with whether he fits the mold of being what is called "a man." Jon honestly doesn't care about affiliations with people. He cares more for the relationships shared with people in general, no matter their racial or financial affiliations. Nonetheless, it still bothers him as to why he can't just be a man. After reminding himself of that life, he then shakes it off and reminds himself of where he is now.

People think of Jon as a great guy, but often believe he's lonely; however, he always tells them, "The trees talk to me every time the wind blows and they talk better than you all do." He often times gets a big chuckle out of that and believes what he's saying. His motto is "I can't stand people who talk too much. It gives me a headache."

As the back of his head lays upon the head of the old wooden chair he purchased from Ms. Oliver, Jon closes his eyes and listens closely to the sounds around him. He does this so much that he can decipher each sound: the birds speaking to one another; the leaves rustle to fight the wind, vehicles moving upon distant roads, the insects performing their daily duties, the long grass in the distance speaking clearly, and the screen door move as it responds to the breeze. In his white house trimmed in brown, with old style wooden shutters, two picture windows in the front, Jon feels he can watch television or nature all day from his home. He calls it "Free HDTV."

Settling in, he hears Bobby Bradley again, a young kid about 16 ready to graduate from high school, coming up the dirt road on that black bike. Jon knows it's him because no one else is crazy enough to fly up the road like that, especially on a motorbike. For all intensive purposes, it's a motorcycle, but it looks like somebody beat the motor on it, tied it to the back of a car and dragged it some miles. Armed with no helmet, tinted shades, tight blue jeans and black shirt, he comes flying up the road and slows to a crawl to pull up Jon's long driveway for a spell. As the dust clears, Bobby drops the kickstand on his motorcycle and pulls the darkened, battered shades off. Bobby has always been interested in Jon since he first arrived in town. He knew Jon was a city guy and wanted to get out of this forsaken town to see the city. So, he comes over sometimes to hear Jon talk of the city life or what Bobby calls "The Big Money Phase." Bobby is a young pale kid, very smart, full of life, and open minded. He jogs up to the porch to slap Jon's hands two times and salute him like normal. "What's going on Mr. Marx? You ready for my daily dose?" With a huge grin on his face, Jon is always happy to give Bobby some entertainment. However, today was a little different as Bobby began to pry more about where Jon came from, his family, friends, and how he ended up in the country. "Well, Bobby, you call your family and let them know where you are and I'll tell you." Bobby was already prepared to listen as he told Jon excitedly, "They already knew I was coming down here to see you so let's hear it." Jon sat back in his chair to share his life story with Bobby, even though he didn't think it was that interesting. But sometimes everyone has a story to tell and Jon had one heck of way of telling it.

Chapter Two

Jon sits upon the porch speaking of the morning he awoke as he normally did to that alarm that sounds like a screaming banshee. Jon begins to formulate the thoughts in his mind and tell the story as if he was still there. Everyday before Jon left for work, he spoke to himself in his mind as motivation for the day. The discontentment had found a place in his heart and mind on this particular day he spoke with Bobby about. As his eyes open, the streaming thoughts set the stage for the scene spoken in his own words. The brightness of the day was similar to the day he left his old life.

This early morning displayed its redundancy as usual with that bird that makes this distinctive noise that he never figured out. It's a distinctive high-pitched morning noise, but Jon never took the time to figure out the name of the bird, where it comes from, and why it does that. Should he have done that? For Jon, it's a reminder that he never took the time to enjoy anything. The sun shines through the white blinds onto his face. He held his hand high to block the beams of light. Those soft white high thread count sheets surround his body, feeling crisp as he turns to avoid the rays of light. The comforter that she spent so much time picking out falls to the floor. "Never liked that burgundy look anyway," he says to himself. Bobby interrupts a moment to inquire as to "who" the "she" is that Jon refers to in the story. "She refers to Simone, my fianc that I left behind."

"Wow, you left a woman behind. Isn't that kind of cold?"

"It may seem cold but as we keep going, you may understand."

Jon refocuses his attention on the mood he was in as he awoke that morning to the same putrid life lived everyday and continues to tell the story.

As his eyes focus on the wall, he examined the art that she purchased from that over priced store where a majority of the furniture came from. Suddenly, the thoughts of why these items were so important run across his mind. Why? They were never home to enjoy them. "When was the last time we spent anytime in this room just reading a novel or skimming through the paper talking about the foolishness that is called people," he thought to himself. Jon would always have the house to himself. The house has a strange quiet to it, especially since she already left for work. Simone was anal about being at work early to get her day going; whereas Jon knew the work would be there regardless, so he was in no rush.

The canary yellow walls bring the room to life, forcing him out of bed to prepare for work. The dryness of his feet touch upon the wood floors that she spent a huge amount of money on, but ignored on a regular basis. The piercing sound of his feet dragging across the floor seems to echo louder, as his toes crack, bending as he walked. The day is already somehow different. The thoughts of the conversation they had the night before about doing some things they used to do before the money pound on his brain, adding to an already perplexed mind. The bathroom seems miles from the bed. A few feet turn into many yards. Jon's feet hit the cold ceramic white tile within this stoic bathroom with all the beautiful face and dry towels that can't be used. The stainless steel towel racks and pearly white tub and shower all glisten, representing that American dream they wanted or what she wanted and he went along with. All this material is wonderful when it can be enjoyed.

The shower offers this feeling of simplicity that he misses so much in life. The water runs down his back muscles, chest and down his head as he imagines that it's a small waterfall. He tries to keep his eyes closed and imagine a better place, but the thought of work resonates in his mind. With his back against the shower wall, his eyes are locked on the light that tries to peer through the white vinyl curtain. As a child, the sound of the water and the feeling it provided always relaxed. The simplicity of it all felt so right.

Bobby was being fed by the story as if he was snacking on a box of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, and Bobby listening was feeding Jon. At that moment, Jon realized a couple of things. Jon realized that the moment he spent in the bathroom was where he decided to let it all go, and how different of a person he is because of this day. This was the pivotal moment in his life that dictated the present.

Stepping on to the burgundy plush bathroom rug, the water drips from his body, soaking the floor. Simone's voice echoes within his mind about how he always wet the rug through to the floor; yet, he doesn't care today. The routine followed every single day is being played out like a television sitcom as Jon continues to focus on those terrible bath towels that serve no purpose. The mirror stares back at him, saying he's much better than this life has given. As the bath towel stays wrapped around his waist, the steam begins to cover the reflection within the mirror. It's actually pretty symbolic that the steam covers his face and hides him as these disenchanting thoughts dominate. Those "damn towels" seem to have his attention this morning and they are killing his inner piece. Uncontrollably, Jon grabs the towels and flings them around the bathroom in a fury unmeasured by any feeling ever experienced. It's as though those towels were the blame for everything. Simone's voice echoes, telling him, "Don't use my good towels! We have to find the right towels! These are my good towels? Don't use my damn towels! You'll damage them if you use them!" Those towels were the blame for him being so unhappy, and served as an enemy for so many years. Throwing them on the floor, there's no care about what she has to say or the outcome. The two of them talked yesterday about doing things differently in their lives or rather he talked and she ignored him. No excitement, no love of life, no passion, just the same routine. Now he understood that this life is all about her and nothing said will serve any importance.

Jon moved along as any other day, but with a different spin. He seemed to care less about how she felt regarding the house. Grabbing a breakfast sandwich out of the freezer, he popped it in the microwave, leaving the wrappings on the counter. He knows that Simone is completely and utterly irritated by this, but he has no cares. Pouring his cup of coffee as he does daily, he suddenly stops in the middle of pouring, and stares at the black coffee. In a fit of anger and rage, he picks up the cup and throws it into the sink, breaking it instantly. On the counter sits his briefcase, and a mug that she sat out for him, with its shadow casting on the counter as the sun shines through the blinds. Realizing he was running late, Jon grabs his belongings and heads to the car. The sun shines through french doors within the kitchen as he opens it to walk upon the deck, and take the stairs to the garage.

He looks upon his prized possession, a BMW 3 series sedan, titanium silver colored with tinted windows; yet, all he sees is the $1000.00 a month payment that he makes. He has barely a few months to go before it's paid off. Climbing in and shutting the door, the black dakota leather reflects the light of the early sun. The scent of fresh leather and the vanilla scented car freshener dangles from the rear view mirror. For some reason, every sense he possesses has reached heights never experienced before. As the sun glares off the hood of the car, the perception of the titanium silver and the sun being one dominates his vision through the front window. Jon sits for a moment and thinks about going to work, dreading finishing the day. He stares at the house, which he has shared with a perfect love becoming imperfect in difficult ways to explain. The two-story red brick home that Jon and Simone built together stands ominous. Memories of doing the yard work together, cooking together, painting walls, and sitting by their fireplace, in each other's arms laughing, come to his mind. They were all just memories for him now because work is more important to Simone. The life he leads is catching up to him and he feels like the walls are caving in on him fast. The key in his hand slowly moves to the ignition. With a long pause, and a reluctant rotation of his wrist, the car turns over and the perfectly engineered sound of the car is his cue to begin his arduous commute.

All the streets look the same, all the signs, all the lights seem to turn red at the same time as if they are all synchronized to irritate him. The cars move slowly to navigate towards the highway, lengthening his commute. The shadows that are cast by the trees hover over his car as if they don't belong in this area. The buildings, billboards, fast food restaurants, quick stops and gas stations rob these trees of their simplistic beauty, stealing their grace and song. Making the right turn onto the highway, the monotony of the day begins for Jon. The time etches in his mind like the time on a scoreboard. After each landmark, Jon realizes how close he is to work. 40 minutes turns in to 30 minutes, to 20 minutes, and so on. Cars move past him and all his eyes can see are blurs of colors in the corner of his retina. His mind begins to turn again, thinking it all seems so unreal, and so wasteful as these people fight to get to a job or career becoming something they can't truly like. The speedometer slows from Jon's usual 85 mph. The needle steadily declines, holding at 65 mph, forgetting that his 40 minutes has changed to 10 minutes to arrive at work, unfortunately, he needed another 20 minutes. His nonchalant attitude grows as the car passes each mile marker. The yellow lines on the highway speak to him in a hypnotizing fashion, giving him road hypnotism.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Clarity of Absenceby Rajah E. Smart Copyright © 2009 by Rajah E. Smart. Excerpted by permission.
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