Why are we here, out on the internet except to get a glimpse inside other people’s minds? To feel better about ourselves? To just vent out what we need to release? Who knows. I certainly don’t. I just spew.
One of those days. Haven’t we all had them all? Who cares. I try not to.
There is a canyon. A deep, dark canyon between me and what is important to me. I walk. Music on. I walk and walk. The day trips over itself in my mind.
I walk past the houses. Not the kind I am used to: they are something still new to me. Beat up cars that don’t run. Kids with no toys. Pregnant women walking home carrying groceries from a store quite a far distance if you are walking. Lots of people out tonight. I say Hi and good evening a lot more than I do on morning runs when there is no one around. They all answer with words in a language I do not understand.
The music thrums within my ears. I walk faster. To escape or to arrive. I know not which. My boss hurt me today. After 10 years together, knowing me as well as my father, he (in a sense) said he didn’t trust me. I asked if I could work one day from home to save on gas. He wasn’t “comfortable with that.”
Oldest kid had some car problems which I should be able to help with, but I only have enough gas to get to work for two more days. And three days left in the week. Wondering just how I got here.
Walk on. Music hums. Left the house because I couldn’t take hearing the 17 year old. Sweetest kid I gave birth to, but something snaps in their heads at that age. She doesn’t understand “choices” we made to not be successful. She is sure Dad could go out and get a job if he just wanted to.
Walking into a different world. New house. Big houses. It’s getting darker. Now I can see inside. Admire their lovely, private yards with their screened tents. I remember my wrought iron patio set. A gift from my beloved friend when her husband suddenly dropped dead of a heart attack at the tender age of 38. Her little girl at home with him while Mom visited her oldest daughter. A fraught phone call to me because “Daddy won’t wake up.” Our arrival before the paramedics. Mr. Vixen shaking a body I already knew was empty: yelling at him…”NO NO NO, you can’t do this to Rita and Lindsay!!!” Me dragging him away, saying “honey, its too late.”
I miss that set. I have no place for it. Had to leave it at the property. At the time, I thought that because they were family…close family…it would still be there when I could get it. These days, who knows.
Nice houses. Nice music. I miss a garage, a yard, privacy. Hate people being able to look in your living room everytime they go to and from their cars. Hate having to lock myself inside and close all the windows, doors and blinds so I am not stared at. Youngest thinks we are not successful. She drives a convertible. That we bought her just a year ago. Oh hell, she is 17. I remember 17. You know it all. You know how you would react to everything. You have it all planned out. Life would never dare interfere with your plans.
We had it all ten years ago, maybe even five. Life happens. Now I walk. It’s not so bad. The music is good. And it’s better than going to sit in the corner and get drunk which is what I would have done six months ago.
Home now. Done walking. It’s dark and, frankly, frightening out on these streets at this time. At home there is still a canyon. Mr. Vixen, still devastated from conversation and lack of proper medication, is already asleep. Youngest is angry that I don’t understand. I don’t hear.
But I do. I don’t think she is wrong. I just don’t think she has ever walked in my shoes. And until she does, we can’t connect. I leave the music in my ears even though I am inside.
Because I am not really here. I am still out there….walking.