He shifted nervously in his chair and sighed as yet another 737 taxied off toward the runway, heading for some unknown destination. It wasn't his destination. He knew that much. His plane had been delayed. He wasn't sure why. Something to do with fog...somewhere. It all sounded rather nebulous which seemed appropriate in a way. He felt rather nebulous. Staring out the enormous (severely smudged) window, he absently tapped the notebook on his lap. Another jet taxied out while the plane he'd seen only moments ago climbed into the air.
He continued to tap, purposely ignoring the notebook that had been his constant companion (and sometimes nemesis) for more than a year. "What if I finish this? So what?"
That last thought was tight and hit hard. Like the dot beneath the question mark, "So what?" punctuated a larger question that resided somewhere between his head and the pit of his stomach. What if no one reads it? What if no one gets it? What if no one wants it? What if no one cares?
He stared down at his notebook without really seeing and drew a question mark on the cover. He traced and retraced until the ink began to smear a bit and he'd worn a groove into the surface. He watched the ball of his pen as it followed the curve of the mark without any real guidance from him. Then he actually took notice of the shape.
Huh. That was interesting and a little ironic.
The question mark reminded him of the country road that ran in front of his family's farm. It was a big, wide curve (almost a full circle) that wound around Tabor Mountain and ended abruptly at a ninety degree, left-hand turn. There was no way to turn right because the mountain blocked you. There was nothing ahead but fencing and some farmer's pasture. There was only one way to turn--left. And that was a straight shot right into town. He'd never thought about it before, but there it was...a question mark.
It didn't hit him all at once. The idea began to sink in slowly, like butter melting on a warm slice of bread. The question mark looked like a road, a road that was familiar and not unfriendly. It was a meandering road, but it wasn't a treacherous one. Maybe question marks (and the questions that precede them) weren't really a bottom line in and of themselves.
What if asking "So what?" wasn't really the end, but the beginning of a journey?
What if a question mark was just a familiar path into town?
