"For the first time in several years I feel safe."
Safe. It wasn't a word he would have thought to use, but it was the word that came forward when called on to explain how he felt. He wasn't in a dark mood, more of a dimly lit one, but the word brought an intellectual smirk, not of satisfaction, but of self indulgent irony. He knew that for so long, as far back as he could remember, he had been on a razor's edge. He had been cut badly, not once, but several times, and not wanting to be cut again brought a deep seated fear to rest near his soul, casting the gloom that gave his mood that dim sheen that cast that fear across everything he saw, everything he experienced. He had been constantly afraid. Until this morning.
Nothing in particular had happened to release him. He just simply realized as he drove in that morning that he was changed. He wasn't sure if he had fatigued his neurosis to the point of just not caring anymore, or if he had somehow managed to finally fall into a place where no one could get him, figuratively speaking. Truth be known, he was skeptical of this new feeling, or absence of feeling. Would a word, a call, a meeting, shatter this peace? It was telling that he wasn't listening for the other shoe to drop anymore. It was true he had tired of the constant fear, worrying, preparing for the different vignettes on how this or that fear would play out. Maybe he was just tired? Falling now would be no less painful, tragic and wrought with complications for responsibilities that would go unmet, pride lost, and lives changed. It was just no longer something he feared. Maybe that's what was different. It wasn't that he was no longer afraid of falling again, but that he had been treading water in so many waterfalls it no longer frightened him to wakefulness that he would likely go over. He was no longer afraid of falling. But then, as painful as falling was emotionally, the more he thought about it, it was not being able to rebuild after the fall that truly haunted him. The fall was just the signal that he would have to supplicate himself and start at the beginning again. The fall lead to the need to rebuild, and at some point rebuilding would no longer be possible. That was the monster under his bed.
And now that monster no longer mattered. It was what it was. He realized that had been his nemesis, that he might not be able to get back up next time, so he feared the next fall, and he saw it coming from everywhere. (Of course he did, after all it always snuck up on him because they lacked courage and leapt out from their hiding places without warning). But now, awake and aware, it seemed something he would be able to deal with because he no longer had expectations it would be the same afterwards. Now that he no longer cared if he could get back up, he felt safe. That's just odd. Knock me down. Fine. I'll just lay here for a while and see what happens rather than live in constant fear of what may happen. This notion gave him freedom, peace. And with that he felt safe.
He wondered how long this would last.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Posted with Blogsy
Saturday, September 8, 2012
A Ruined Man
It wasn't how he had seen it, but apparently, this was how it was to be. A stranger had come in from the cold, and his world followed her. She was a complete mystery to him, but he knew she was the one. There was a special thing she did, that smile just a touch off kilter, that turned him inside out. That's when his plan went out with the bath water, and he was just a baby, to be played however she saw fit.
He sat there, smitten, alone and vulnerable. She saw him, and there, that smile, but then she turned away, back to her business at hand. That was it, over, and odds were that she would never look at him again, but that smile would always be with him. He watched her out of the corner of his eye so as not to be thought to be staring. She picked up her cranberry scone and plain coffee with milk and suger, left the line, and headed for the door. He watched her leave, a part of him going with her. This was not how he had planned to fall in love. He thought it would be someone he knew for a while, came to know, came to love, or maybe like a story, someone who annoyed him, but then love would come awkwardly. But this was true love, it comes and goes as it sees fit.
A few moments passed before he realized how deeply he was lost in the thought of her, that nothing else was on his mind. Suddenly up, headed towards the door, realizing he had left everything behind on the table. Back to the table, slam the computer shut, grab his books, leave the coffee, throw everything else in the bag and off, yanked back by the strap caught on the chair (why does that always happen!?), pull it free, head for the door. The cold air struck him, crisp and tart. He was awakened, alert, desperately seeking. He looked both ways, up, down the street, but she was nowhere to be seen. He stood there, bag hanging from its leash, a lost puppied schoolboy. She was gone. He started up the street, and thought, maybe she went the other way. He didn't know which way to go. Back in the store, no, they didn't know her. Gone.
He found himself unconsciously back in his chair, sat there a ruined man. Every other woman he would meet for the rest of his life would be compared to her. He was doomed to be forever unhappy. He just sat there, bag on the floor hanging from his forlorn wrist, all askew on the chair. A sad, broken man.
Women, he thought, have no idea.
He sat there, smitten, alone and vulnerable. She saw him, and there, that smile, but then she turned away, back to her business at hand. That was it, over, and odds were that she would never look at him again, but that smile would always be with him. He watched her out of the corner of his eye so as not to be thought to be staring. She picked up her cranberry scone and plain coffee with milk and suger, left the line, and headed for the door. He watched her leave, a part of him going with her. This was not how he had planned to fall in love. He thought it would be someone he knew for a while, came to know, came to love, or maybe like a story, someone who annoyed him, but then love would come awkwardly. But this was true love, it comes and goes as it sees fit.
A few moments passed before he realized how deeply he was lost in the thought of her, that nothing else was on his mind. Suddenly up, headed towards the door, realizing he had left everything behind on the table. Back to the table, slam the computer shut, grab his books, leave the coffee, throw everything else in the bag and off, yanked back by the strap caught on the chair (why does that always happen!?), pull it free, head for the door. The cold air struck him, crisp and tart. He was awakened, alert, desperately seeking. He looked both ways, up, down the street, but she was nowhere to be seen. He stood there, bag hanging from its leash, a lost puppied schoolboy. She was gone. He started up the street, and thought, maybe she went the other way. He didn't know which way to go. Back in the store, no, they didn't know her. Gone.
He found himself unconsciously back in his chair, sat there a ruined man. Every other woman he would meet for the rest of his life would be compared to her. He was doomed to be forever unhappy. He just sat there, bag on the floor hanging from his forlorn wrist, all askew on the chair. A sad, broken man.
Women, he thought, have no idea.
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