Thursday, June 08, 2006

On the Park Bench (part 2)

The wind is blowing a little, my nail enamel has dried nicely and it has turned into late afternoon. My heart pounds again. Anxiety is a bitch. "Get a hold of yourself" I whisper. "But I can't, I think I have officially lost it." I am sitting in the 4:00pm breeze on a park bench looking across the Mississippi River debating with myself whether or not I am a complete lunatic. I lift my thigh from the bench to relive it form being pressed against the crevices of the boards and begin to laugh. Crazy people aren't aware that they are crazy.

I decided to sit straight up after awhile because I was starting to feel uncomfortable. Every previous position did not feel right. The wooden boards on my back had become too hard, I wanted to lean back, I no longer enjoyed swinging my legs. On this park bench, where I have laid my woes, my fears, my broken dreams and sat watching many steam boats with red power wheels paddle away the flowing muddy water of the Mississippi that I couldn't control, that I couldn't hold for long in my small hands with weak fingers, sitting on this wooden bench I now felt choked. Periodically, I would look to my right and catch a glimpse of another individual. Finally, someone willing to sit with me on my metaphorical bench, not just pass me by. They are content with the view of the river and the right side of my face, my legs swinging lapped with my woes, fears and broken dreams. My small hands don't matter, my finger strength sufficient for I don't have to hold on so tightly. In time my discomfort turns to disgust.


"I don't f-ing belong here. Life and the river continues to flow, you can't stop it." As the last of those words fell from my lips I have reached an epiphany. Strength is built through persistence and exercise. Small hands can do great things and my fingers are at least as strong to hold on to me. Hmm, I never really tried holding on to only myself alone. So I stood up from the wooden bench and looked to the left at those who have made way ahead of me along the Mississippi. "They left me because... I should have been walking." So now I am right along the river unsaddled by excuses made, no longer being carried by the current.
Perhaps one will slow, or even I may catch up and look to my left to see someone walking along side me. Someone who too is making their way along side this damn river just nice enough to match their stride with mine.
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