your voice is a rhapsodic melody,

gleaming hallelujahs

Sunday, March 30, 2008

I just feel sick all the time now.

Town:

I haven’t been into town in a while. I’ve been getting the groceries delivered and the mail is shoved through the slot each day so why bother going out when I can just stay in? I walk around the woods enough and I trim the hedges and speak to the trees so it’s not like it gets too lonely. But today I’ve decided that it’s time to reintegrate into modern culture. I will buy a cellular phone and an internet connection, even if it costs me my soul. Besides, everyone is doing it. I button up my wool coat and lace up my boots. A feeling inside me starts to grow, a feeling I haven’t felt in years. It’s a vague uncomfortable knot in my chest. Insecurity. Is my hair too long? Are my clothes too outdated? What if I make a fool of myself? But I decide not to care. I pull on a knitted cap and walk out the door. The walk into town doesn’t take long, only forty-five minutes or so, but it gives me enough time to turn back once or twice. But I don’t. I keep going. I round the corner and I begin to see buildings. The street has a sort of hum to it. Stopping in front of a store window, I stare for a few minutes before moving on. I almost forgot what it looks like to see a saleswoman try to compliment someone into buying a $200 sweater. I look down at my tattered coat and begin to feel that insecurity again. This time it doesn’t go away. As I walk towards the heart of town, the street’s hum gets louder and louder and when I reach the biggest intersection the noise is almost deafening. I realize that I’m sweating. And now this newfound uncertainty is consuming me. The bustle of town is too loud, it’s too much, and I can’t take it. I hear a small whisper from somewhere and after spinning around I realize it’s me. The whisper is growing. There are no words, just something short of what I think someone being strangled would sound like and now I’m screaming. The screams bounce back and forth between the buildings like the big rubber ball I have at home. Home. I look down the street, mapping in my mind the quickest way back to the road that will bring me back home. I begin to run down the sidewalk, dodging passerby and leaving broken grocery bags in my wake. Now I have made a fool of myself, running down the street screaming with my hands over my ears. Maybe next time I’ll just stay home.

2 Comments:

Blogger Dewey said...

How delightful to find you writing again.
Fine true voice, fine cadences. Thanks.

4:41 AM  
Blogger Isaac said...

Now that's the creative soul I've been bragging about. Keep writing.

12:12 PM  

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