Thoughts on an Empty Sidewalk

As I walk home, my backpack heavy with paper-bound responsibilities, I can't help but to think about everything. I wish I could put that more eloquently but the only real way to put it is...as everything. From the mind-numbing scholarly routine that I had just finished ( or high school as it's more commonly known) to the regularly bustling street filled with people going to places. Who knows where they're going? Maybe they're going to the same place from yesterday. I wonder if that's in their routine. I wonder if they recognize me. "And to my left is that girl with the black and white backpack, walking across the street at exactly 3:10pm on West 6th Avenue." I wonder if they even notice. Or maybe their eyes are glued to the road and so they don't even know of my existence.

I wonder about the little actions that I make. Do they lead to any consequences? Do they lead to any judgemental thoughts about me? If I jaywalked across the street and delayed all of traffic by a minute, would that cause a man to be late for work by one minute? The longer I fiddle with the coins as I pay for the bus ticket, the more someone loses a scrap of patience?

Those little actions sometimes hit closer to home. When I helped that boy pick up his books after he struggled to put them away, what did that do for him? Did I help him realize that maybe people at this school aren't so bad? Did he think better of me? Did he not feel alone or helpless? And when I sit with my friends at lunch and we're laughing our heads off, does my laughter stand out to anyone? Does anyone hear my laugh and think, "It's her."? Or maybe when I'm gazing intently and scribbling the teacher's notes away. Does anyone look my way and stare at me?

Those were the happier thoughts. The more I think about all of these little actions the more I can't help but to wonder of the influences I've had on other people, if any. Am I doing enough to help that boy who dropped his books? What even is my role in life?

A girl with no expectional talent but happens to be a professional in uselessness, I am not doing anything significant in life.

Significance. What a strong word. In this enormous world of 7.3 billion people, the amount of people that know me can fit nice and snug on one flake of skin on my pinkie. That's my significance. If I walked off the edge of the world, I wonder who'd care. There are my parents and friends of course. But who else? The boy who dropped his books? The person who catches my laughter?

I wonder if people look at me the way I look at them. I take in every single little detail, for better or for worse. I remember what my best friend does when she's thinking. She grabs a small piece of her hair and twirls it around her finger until it's wrapped around to the very tip of her finger. Then she uncurls it and does it again. Or maybe that girl that likes my best friend. Whenever she talks to Karen, she fidgets with the little star on her necklace. It's actually quite cute.

All the little details that make people them. All the little details that I notice in other people. I wonder... does anyone notice that about me? I wonder if people realize those little things that people do have significance. They mean something.

I stumble across an uneven piece of concrete on the empty sidewalk, reminding me that I am nearing home. That the thoughts I think about while walking along the empty sidewalk must soon be pushed to the back of my mind. The show I put on for my parents is about to begin, starring the happy, good two shoes that is me.

Thoughts on the Empty Sidewalk.

End Scene.