Summer Vacation was coming to a close.

Lately the finality of this fact seemed to be seeping into the very gear works of this quaint town I live in. Those halcyon days of endless azure skies with tufts of cloud wafting on the faint summer breeze had given way to the harsh oranges and reds of an eternal twilight.

I wake up to the setting sun, “Hello old friend, thank you for all your hard work this Summer” and fall asleep to the burgeoning twilight, “Good night old friend, don’t tire yourself out too much.” No matter the time of day it seemed like the sun was always on the verge of setting.

Regardless of theatrics Summer was coming to an end.

One could say Summer has its most significance to the youth of today, they anticipate its approach and mourn its passing more than anyone else. If that’s the case the I suppose you could argue that Summer Vacation is a monumental event in every student’s life.

A marker of sorts.

An etching on the sundial of life, ever ticking towards adulthood.

I let my gaze shift from from the rose tinted glass scenery before me to the boy sitting across the aisle from me. He got on a while back and was probably taking this bus to the transit center, at least that was my hypothesis.

I imposed my previous ruminations upon him as he sat in silence, listening to a pair of earbuds.

Did he realize the momentous transition we were in the process of? To a young student the turning of the seasons was far more significant than a shift in weather.

Was he counting down the time he had left to enjoy this period in his life? Perhaps he was already in the eleventh hour of his childhood’s end.

Perhaps I was the only one on this bus who occupied their time on these trivialities.

A person’s life can be broken down into sections, I suppose it’s something akin to artistic movements. In hindsight we can see the destinations of the trends that flowed around those who lived during those times, but do you think someone would walk into an art gallery and think, “Boy am I sure glad I live in this neoclassical era?”

Hardly, I’m sure.

These eras of modernity, these movements of art culture.

I’m sure they’re were so neatly labeled and classified using the hindsight of those who lived after their conclusion. Meddlesome interlopers who needed to organize things into neat straight lines, to mark the change in trends like a stoplight changes from green to red.

In the same sense most people don’t have the foresight to clearly and succinctly section their lives into their own “movements” until that era of their life has come to a close.

That boy probably doesn’t wake up and look in the mirror and think, “I’m glad my long haired, torn hoodie, and fancy crimson ear buds phase is still going strong!”

Well, I suppose that’s how it should be though.

As expected I can only shift my cognitive resources in this direction because I myself have exited the tumultuous phase of one’s life known as youth.

In media, generally the end of one’s youth is often synonymous with graduation. The story in bulk focuses on the character’s development in their formative years, and concludes with a heartfelt graduation ceremony.

Life after high school doesn’t exist for these people.

Their experiences in that era of time determine their velocity and trajectory, then when they graduated and the TV cameras are shut off they’re all hurtled into the void going their own directions.

At least, that’s the impression those sitcoms always gave me.

Graduation is the punctuation to one’s youth.

You go up in your fancy gown, accept your diploma, and with gracious fanfare that phase of your life is pushed aside for your new era of adulthood.

Like switching from one slide to the next.

At least, that’s how I think it is for other people.

Looking back and comparing my youth to the stepford youth the masses are supposed to have I can say that without a doubt mine came and went with the violence of a microburst.

It blew and tore at me, scraped away the things I loved, scraped away the things I’d thought were precious to me. Well, I suppose the majority of that was my fault, not the results of some unseen roll of the metaphysical dice.

If my youth was a Summer storm then I was a prideful hawk, riding the turbulent winds in search of the violence of change.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Ha ha ha, indeed I was quite the rascal in that time period.

If I had to give a name to the era from that time, hmm it’s a little tricky but I’d have to call it the modern era.

The only thing I concerned myself with was the present, the people directly in front of me, and the things I felt were important to me at the time. For better or worse I pigheadedly charged forward just like that.

It cost me many things, friends and family, my career as a student.

Man oh man, it’s embarrassing to think back on!

And yet, in spite of it all I can’t help but be proud of the younger me that charged ahead desperately grasping at the things in front of her with nary a thought towards the future.

I guess if I were to be put back in the shoes of my younger self, I’d do everything the same way.

Even if my foolhardy actions only lead me to misfortune, there are some things that I don’t think I ever would have gained without them.

Yes, without a doubt that section of my life is best called my modern movement, perhaps “A Movement in Modernity” if I wanted to try and dress up the facts.

It’s been a year or three since I entered this post modern era of my life. To be honest thinking back I’ve spent most of my time drifting through life.

I had no house, no job, no place in school, all I did was wander from place to place. That raging storm had finally quelled and it was like all I could do was lay back and let these new calm winds carry me off into the clouds.

I was aimless, if I was on one of those sitcoms and they fired me off into that void I’m sure the only thing that would happen is I’d fall flat down on my face.

It was by chance that I blew into this small sleepy town on the waterfront. I’m sure I would’ve simply continued this destinationless journey if I hadn’t met that man.

He was the very picture shady, the kind of man who’d get fingered in a line up even though he was out of town on the night of the robbery.

I’ll admit, my first impressions of him was much the same.

He followed me several blocks calling “Scuse me little lady, mind if I steal a few moments” over and over until I turned around and punched him square in the face.

Ahhh, if this were the younger me I would’ve at least broken his nose. Maybe cracked a few ribs while I was at it, in for a penny in for a pound y’know?

Instead the only thing I broke was his fancy gold rimmed sunglasses. I deformed the frame and shattered the polarized glass, the only thing they were good for now was taking up space in a trash can.

Truly in my post modern life I’ve become an angel of mercy and toleration!

I had knocked him flat on on the ground where he laid sprawled out like some kind of comic relief character from a kid’s cartoon, knocked the cigarette he’d had in his mouth clear across the street, and just when I was about to continue on he sprang back up like one of those blow up clown toys that no matter how much you punch them they won’t fall over.

It was honestly a little terrifying.

“My oh me, you sure are energetic for a young lady, but dontcha think this was a bit excessive missy?” Was all he said, a crimson trickle seeping its way down his nose.

“If you ask me, anyone who wears sunglasses at night is courting disaster.” was my reply, this strange older man in a fancy vest and slacks had accosted me out of the blue. At the time I was planning on either pushing him into the path of the next car I could find or bolting.

Ahh the sweet and gentle postmodern me! Instead of smashing his face into the closest window or wrapping the straps of my side bag around his neck and throttling him until his eyes rolled back in his head I was simply looking for a means of escape!

Truly a new leaf has been turned over.

“Disaster’s a funny name for a lady but I suppose I can’t be picky.” He said throwing me a wink that I swiftly dodged as if it were a flying ball of shit.

“Now be a dear and get something to stop the bleeding for me?” He had a wide stupid grin on his face as he reached into his pin striped vest and pulled out a pair of the exact same sunglasses to put on.

“Sure I’ll grab a rope and we can tourniquet you at the neck, that should help.” I muttered back slipping my bag off my shoulder.

“Whoa whoa there, I still got some stuff I gotta do, let’s reschedule the treatment to next Tuesday.” He held up both his hands in defeat and backed up a little that stupid grin still on his face.

“Oy, all you have in life is five days worth of things to do? What kind of worthless bum are you!?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Indeed, it was a flaw of mine. The current post-modern me would’ve simply left that rambling creeper right then and there, but the past post-modern had gotten caught up in his pace by then.

Wait… does this make the current me post post modern? Well, perhaps I was still transitioning away from modernity, yes that must have been it.

“Hey it was a rough estimate, what if in those five days I find more things I need to do? Then I’ll just have to live that much longer to get those done!”

I shot him a dirty look.

“Besides, if we’re talking about worthless bums, how many days worth of things do you have to keep you alive?”

I could feel his eyes burning a hole in me. I couldn’t bring myself to respond to that.

“Is that also why you gave yourself the name Disaster? I must say self depreciation isn’t attractive in young ladies.”

“Fuck you.”

“There now see? If you keep things up as they are the Reaper’ll be knocking at your door in no time.”

“Fine if that’s how it is, I’m not going to die until you’re lying in your own coffin.”

A little crude I must say, but I think it was quite well said given that I was contemplating strangling him.

“A lover’s suicide huh, you know if it’s that I suppose I could go along with you. We can be Ms. and Mr. Disaster.”

“Yeah fine, you drink the poison and I promise I’ll stab myself with your dagger once you’re dead.” Not a bad comeback I think...though Shakespeare is probably rolling in his grave.

He stared at me bewildered for a little before another smile cracked his scruffy face and he broke out in a hardy laugh.

“I like you kid, normally I make it a habit to only pick up stray little kittens but I’ll make an exception for you!”

“Excuse me?”

“What I’m saying is I want to hire you. I’ll even provide a small apartment for you to stay in while you’re here, and to sweeten the deal I’ll take care of all your meals too. What do you say?”

His speech was interrupted with my fist and its happy reunion with his face. That, was how I met my new boss.

Yes, these milquetoast years of empty wandering have finally come to a close.

After thirteen days, three months, and twenty two years I was finally able to get a job.