The sheer horror of the squawking woman berating aloud, cursing the panicked stranger who could have used some help with her overladen burden of junk. That panic tickled and bubbled in me where I could scream from the FEAR that bloomed in my chest, draining my will, my strength, my triumph over the power of life itself where there is nothing to fear but fear itself but instead, it comes my state of being... to choke and hold and breathe in shuddering gulps of near laughter.
I had taken a tumble down slippery wooden stairs, startled in the childlike wonder of bumping my less-than-cushioned butt down in little hops. I come out with bruises and a shallow cut that my metal bracelet stung into the heel of my hand. I could have come out with swallowed teeth and heaping sobs but I laid on the bed of the once adored, now less-pined-for friend, jumped to sober heights and flex the cold shocked parts of my hand into giving reassurance that one) I will not have to pay for an ER visit and two) I reaped the hurt I deserve.
Dear God, you've taken my friend's father away from her after her sister had forced herself onto you. Oh the rage, I sympathize with so much right now. It's blinding hatred and I swallow it whole to reside in my stomach. And it's fear that rolls in after to choke me in the air I breathe and has that PERMANENCE that smells sickeningly like the matted folks spoilt by heroin and welfare checks and that whisper of profit that wafts in rotten sugar. Yet I maintain a semblance of BEING ALL HERE, when I'm really in the place that whispers that once I get my affairs in order, it would be best to give up, go tilt out sideways, pour my mindfulness out of my ear to truly let others have their way, to decide what is the best fate for me.
I do not trust myself. It's how I let go of the responsibility of making an decision and to act on it.
I chat with an acquaintance about the Super Bowl and how fair play made things feel all right is with the world. And I want to wail about the HORROR, the quiet blanket that crawls and smothers my faith in anything good in this world besides the children and the kittens and the right-as-rain sun. I stare, flooded.
