Life's Index Cards
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself
in a room.
There were no distinguishing features save for the one wall
covered with
small index card. They were like the ones in libraries that list
titles
by authors or subject in alphabetical order. But these files,
which
stretched form floor to ceiling, seemingly endless in either
direction, had
very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the
first to
catch my attention was the one that read "People I Have
Liked." I opened it and
began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to
realize that
I recognized the names written on each one.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.
This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog
system for my
life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and
small,
in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and
curiosity,
coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly
opening files
and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories;
others
a sense of shame and regret so intense the I would look over my
shoulder to
see if anyone was watching.
A file named "Friends" was next to one marked
"Friends I Have Betrayed."
The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird.
"Books I Have
Read" , "Lies I have Told", "Comfort I Have
Given", "Jokes I Have Laughed
At." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness:
"Things I've Yelled at
My Brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I
Have Done in My Anger",
"Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents."
I never ceased to
be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more card
than I expected.
Sometimes fewer than I hoped.
I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived.
Could it be
possible that I had the time in my 30 years to write each of
these
thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this
truth.
Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my
signature.
When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened
To", I realized
the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed
tightly,
and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the
file. I
shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of the music, but
more by the vast
amount of time I knew the file represented.
When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts", I
felt a chill run
through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing
to test
its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed
content. I felt
sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.
An almost animal rage broke on me. One though dominated my
mind; "No one
must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have
to
destroy them!" In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out.
Its size didn't
matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took
it at one
end and began pounding it on the floor, I couldn't dislodge a
single
card. I had became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find
it as strong
as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless,
I
returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the
wall, I let
out a long, self-pitying sigh.
And then I saw it.
The title bore "People that I Have Taught About
Allah." The handle was
brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on
its
handle and a small box not more than tree inches long fell into
my hands.
I could count the cards it contained on one hand.
An then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the
hurt
started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees
and cried.
I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The
rows of
file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever,
ever know
of this room.
I must lock it up and hide the key.
-Author unknown