I met a new friend today.
I named him Artmalfabrico (Art - Mal- Fab - Reek - Oh). Fabrico for short. You see, he is a rock I found as I walked home from the bus stop. I walk along this long stretch of "road" I call the "canal road". It's basically a one-way gravel road that travels along side the canal next to the mountain's side. On the other side of the road, there is a steep hill that slopes down into the suburbs of Pleasant Grove. Because the road is gravel, there are many rocks.
It's odd. how I picked Artmalfabrico out of the millions of rocks under my feet, I don't know. All I do know, is that when I find a rock, I like to kick it along with me as I walk so my mind is distracted and the walk wouldn't seem so long. (A twenty minute walk can be very intimidating in the cold sometimes.) This rock was different from the other rocks I've kicked around.
First of all, he was round with a clean flat bottom to him; like one of his circular corners were cut off in battle with a boulder. As I kicked him, his landings would be affected by the battle scar and he would bounce around spasmodically, completely unpredictable. He reminded me of my sporadic, hyper self. Secondly, Artmalfabrico was, in my childish history, the rock that traveled the farthest. The canal road is about 2.2 miles from Pepe's street to my home. So it is pretty long! Anyway, he traveled about a mile and a half with me, if I can measure it out correctly mentally. That's a plus.
The last thing about this rock, was that he grew on me. With every kick, his little pebble friends would go flying with the dust, but he would launch the furthest. Clear into outer space, it would seem to him. He was like Superman launching himself from a dead stop into the atmosphere to stop Lex Luther! The little guy was my baby growing up!
When I found him, destiny took over. I began by spotting a rock and kicking it. I soon learned of his background, his life stories, his goals, and memorized his appearance. He was blue, with a big white spot on one side of him. He called it his "good side". Soon we began to kick for the fun of it, and not for just mindless distractions.
Rocks are hard, you see. They have no nerves. It was not painful for him to be kicked around by a human as big and strong as I. He actually enjoyed it, you must understand. He had a stomach that would seem to float while he was launched into the air like a cannonball, and then he would plop to the ground, all the while screaming "Brava!" in his English accent.
All relationships never last forever. It was a tragic story, the day Artmalfabrico ran away from me. He must have been sick of my continuous kicks and my put down talk, but nevertheless, he broke my heart. One kick, and he rebounded his way right off the side of the canal road and down the hill towards the overgrown weeds that lie below.
I stood and watched him roll away, feeling empty as I looked back at the hundred feet I had to walk before I was close to home. I had planned on picking him up and taking him home when I got to the slope that lead back to my home...but it all went awry.
I walked the rest of the way normally, suddenly quite aware of the biting cold and my boring feet tripping over pebbles who hated me.
The next day, I met a new rock friend, but the emotional tie was no longer present between me and the rockfolk. I gave up kicking him when this new friend had jumped to safety down the hill, following in Fabrico's rollprints.
I will never love a rock again!