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They say every population gradually moves towards an equilibrium in the people consistent with the 95-4-1 rule.
Mrs. Tao was droning on as usual, talking about things that Sam would never need to know—nor care to know. Instead of paying attention to something worthless, Sam was focusing all of his attention on the doodles in front of him:
Adam woke up dutifully every morning at 7AM to prepare for work as a bank teller. Every morning he would wake up, shower, dress, eat, and drive his little, blue Honda to First State Bank over on Herald Street. For more than eight hours each day, he stood at the front desk and helped the people who came in. He didn’t mind the monotony; after Sarah had left him the year before, he’d really not given much enthusiasm to anything at all. His job was perfect for passing the time.
The world slowly came into view; first too dark to see, then too blurred to see, and then too confusing to understand. Widening his eyes in surprise, confusion, and worry, Tom tried to sit up from the relatively hard bed he seemed to be laying in. He’d only raised up a few inches when an outstretched arm pressed back firmly against his chest, pinning him in place.
“Don’t move,” a heavily-accented (French, Tom thought) voice quickly said. The woman’s face was still blurred, but Tom could see her hovering over him in case he tried to stir again.
Normally, I would turn my pillow over to get to the colder side after I’ve sat up at night writing. I normally set my laptop on my pillow and prop myself up on one elbow to write, and the warmth of the laptop lingers on my pillow afterwards. When I can’t stand to keep my eyelids open any longer, I slip my laptop under my bed, turn my pillow over, and lay my head down where my electronic baby was just moments before. That’s what I’d normally do.
Not tonight though. It’s been a rough day.
“Sam, come push me!” Henry yelled excitedly as he jumped onto the park’s merry-go-round. “Sam! Push me! Sam!”
Sam and Ralph were over on the park swings, thrusting their legs back and forth as they swung to see who could swing the highest. Ralph was in the lead, and he squealed happily every time he hit the peak of his backwards swing, facing straght downwards to the woodchips nearly six feet below. Only centripetal force kept him on the swing, but he was much too young to know about that.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” Justin said, unbuckling his seatbelt and looking around the plane. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
His dad, a middle-aged news reporter, was coming home from a business trip that he’d brought his son on. “You’re supposed to stay in your seat,” he said, pointing to the lit seatbelt light. There had been a bit of turbulance that started a few minutes back and the pilot had switched on the light to keep people from getting hurt if the plane jerked around.
This year marked the first white Christmas since 1997 in my city. On this Christmas, my younger brother woke me up early to open presents with the family. One of us sat patiently on the living room couch while the other excitedly bounced off the walls at how many presents Santa had brought this year. Ugh, I’ll give you two guesses which one of us was the calm one. I had arrived at my parents’ house late last night and didn’t get enough sleep to do much more than close my eyes and relax on the couch for a minute before being woken up the next morning.