THE JOURNEY THERE AND BACK
Elbows on the table, chin in hands, the quiet of the room closed in on me. Time slipped backward with no commitment requiring my attention. My eyes followed the path of the grain in the wood as thoughts skulked in, creaking the floor of my mind … too late to latch the door. Memories. I only have to go and find them. Through the rain-streaked pane, for most, the sight of a leaf adrift like a forsaken kite caught on the wind. But for me, through closed eyes, the fragrances of a moistened dirt road, peach blossoms, and magnolias engulf my senses leaving me with only a slight connection to this time and place. I suppose it was inevitable that I would drift into ignorance of all things in touch with the present. Time seemed like a snake sunning itself on the road. Oblivious to all but absorbing the warmth of the day. Suddenly movement! Time sped by, months, then years, pushing each other rudely out of the way. There seemed no possible escape route; no turning back. Signs of life were everywhere, like relics of a lost civilization. Only this one was covered by an overgrowth of old friendships, forgotten and untended. We just ran out of things to say. Painful reminders of a harvest lost. My journey continues. Unsettled now by the distinctive laughter of a child. Fair haired, eyes like the sky, complete with twinkle; a picture suitable for framing. The innocent tot, with reckless abandon and not being troubled by any silly prejudices concerning hygiene, molded the earthen form, which would take life only in his eyes. My itinerary seemed contingent on him, yet life has betrayed no clue as to how. I turned around and he was gone. The time-snake slithered on with not even the courtesy of a backward glance. Sliding to and fro through scenes of domestic carnage with all the trappings of a life sentence, which was pardoned. Mercifully, time hastens.
Days now seem spent waiting to inherit the night. As a child, night was captured through lightnin’ bugs in a Mason jar. Now nights, from time to time, are silent. Ah, the sin of silence. It does seem when I was built I was wired for guilt. Tight-lipped, with feelings mortgaged until there’s no equity left.
Coiled in light, a woman’s form takes shape. Instinctively, I know she can see the whole forest … whereas I could only ever see the tree. My mother. She’s gone before we can become friends. Now, I’m even more certain we would have been; perhaps some assembly being required.
Treading the now darkened path of the rain soaked asphalt, another figure neared. I best ready myself. As tho’ the casual gesture of a hand to my hair might improve my appearance … the effort was made. It was an unnecessary and annoying intrusion but one for whom I felt obliged to prepare. My wisdom. It has come too late to be of any real use. It has come to goad me for never having kept promises made to myself. Seemingly from a distance, an interminable bell continues to toll. Finally the caller, losing heart, hangs up. The day is nearly gone. In the dusk outside the window, under the eave, a tiny raindrop is suspended in a web. Eventually it, too, will be freed.
I have returned. I am home. |
