Adventures in Daily Writing

Your voice, strong and measured, explained to my mother and father why we had to leave together. 

Mama always thought you were slightly short of worthy and I could never understand why. When I was young I thought money and provision were all a steady marriage needed.

Papa was not as vocal but often asked me if what you gave me was enough. My answers left much unanswered because the exchanges between Mama and Papa’s eyes were silent and swollen with opinion.

I realized I needed more when our marriage was a dry desert and when my tears dried, I had nothing but crusty yellow stains on my dark skin. Your money was unable to fill the gap in our union that needed even a splash of you to keep it going.

When your voice rang with promises of love and improvements, I could only scoff because years of waiting had made me weary of your promise. I walked out the door in exhaustion because the message between the lines reeked of your unknowing and I was unwilling to be your teacher. 

My parents reluctantly took my lead. To them it was the most personality they had experienced of you. They were reluctant because the surety of your body and language made them question my sanity. My responses to their questions were sighs of the tired that souls in purgatory are familiar. My parents eyes still had opinions but their words still gave me safe haven. 

At night, I had a dream. You came to me in the way I always wished you had in the time we were together. Instead of convincing my parents you spoke directly to me. Instead of promises, you asked for forgiveness. In humility you offered an opportunity to understand your heart. You asked me to hop on your precious motorcycle and ride to an unknown destination that offered respite from all your responsibilities and musts! I was seduced but denied myself for fear of hoping and being disappointed again. You left but only after a plea for me not to give up on you. My despair was far more relentless and I woke up with only sadness.

Your next visit and the next and the next, were designed to show me how much you loved me and needed me, when all I wanted was a sign that you were committed to the fragile vulnerability required to build the empire of us already thriving beyond the eyes of my heart. My longing for us to live in the constructed harmony inside me deafened the calls of your soul to mine. As ships in the night, we only missed collision but lost each other.

“Will you punish me forever?”

“You taught me to question my wisdom and knowing of you. Can I trust you ever?”

I am seated on a patch of grass at the Arboretum. It is a Saturday morning, about 10.00am and just before all the people would fill the park. The park, though small, is wooded with ancient and labeled trees. The wind whispers softly and the nippiness makes me position my Maasai blanket on the only slither of land that has managed to open up to the sun.

I sit on the blanket and face the sun directly, eyes closed. I love sun worshipping. I connect to the bright, the hope, the heat, and behind my eyes, there is the red of dreams as my eyelids heat up. I especially enjoy these moments when I can get lost in sounds of my current obsession.

This Saturday’s soundtrack is Ed Sheeran’s “Thinking Out Loud.”

I love the bass line – it calls to me and makes my heart sigh. There is so much longing in the lyrics. And every time the song begins, I imagine myself in a field at the tail end of dusk, when the blue of night and the violet of sunset are wrestling for dominance.  

I am under a pergola with slight drapes of leaves and vine – the start of a healthfully green vineyard. The table at the centre of the dining space is majestic, oak, and surrounded by chairs, benches, and other makeshift seating. I pick the bench and slouch against its gapped back. I am wearing my favorite white dress – long, no sleeves, and sweeping the smooth, cemented floor.

The crisp purity of my dress is interrupted by the brown of the earth and spots of green grass stains from the play I have indulged in all day.  There are traces of happiness and food around me – where children have played with make-shift toys and where ice cream has melted onto fingers, shirts, and cheeks. 

Ed continues to sing and I watch the last of the celebrating crowd gravitate towards the paired dancing invited by song. The connections reflected back are the kind that melt your insides… closed eyes… hearts full of sincerity and vulnerability. It is almost shaming to intrude into these intimate moments… but Ed is thinking out loud and I have to lean in.

And then I think of me. Oh…  to look into another’s eyes with such enduring feeling – to know with surety that there is a live person to whom I can entrust my heart.  And the longing – it shows and I cannot separate the no-longer-secret loneliness from the wistfulness on my face.

It is funny how dusk changes the purest of voyuerism swiftly into envy. As I begin to descend into the comfortable space of self pity, I feel a hand on my shoulder.  

My breathe draws from a deep place of hope and I close my eyes so tight. My back straightens as a masculine scent fills me. Just as suddenly, I feel the essence of him right in front of me and how his tall frame crouches down so that he is eye-level with me.

“Did I startle you?” His voice is rich. Kind.

My eyes are still closed. And I do not have the courage to open them. My earlier shift from observation to envy to self pity has left unshed tears staining the otherwise white. I am embarrassed to have been found in my well-primed brood.  Instead, I drop my head, breathe in deeply, and catch the smell of wine and evening on him.

My eyes open to find a small smile and eyebrows raised in question.

“Dance?”

His hands warm mine and we stand.  I can feel his intent and his rhythm.  And hope sours inside me.  I have waited for this moment for so long.  His strength drags me into some sacred circle in the center of the pergola.  

Ed is now really crooning about loving arms, kisses under starlight, beating hearts. This man, that embodies my hope and longing, draws me close.  Our bodies join the song of lovers. My eyes have insisted on remaining open but only so that I can look straight into his chest – to the pale blue of his shirt. His hand is splayed across my back and he guides me gently into his hips.  I am so aware of every movement.  Every touch. Every connection.

I now understand what it means to be led in dance.  I am aptly moved into syncopated measures and together we are more than swaying to the beat.  We move closer still. His forearm secures me into the last space between us. My instinct is to cling on with both hands but the stretch is long and so one hand clutches onto the pale blue shirt – the other hangs off his strong shoulder. I cannot help myself. My head falls back and just like that our eyes connect.

He smiles as if he knows.  My heart is served up.  He is way more relaxed about it than me. Perhaps he has known for a while.  I move my gaze back to the joining of our bodies and the shirt. I smile also.

I am happy and sad at the same time.   I finally know what it means to be chosen. I am sad because life has only taught me to expect so little from the world and from love.  

See how silly a short five minutes of song makes me?

And just like that my day dream is over.

My eyes are wide open.

The harsh green of the park reminds me where I truly am.

Still, the sun remains and my worship continues. I close my eyes and turn upwards again.

The big blue bus with the rusted, dented front – brown and mangled – was headed for me.  In a rush to get across the road, I had bent my ankle over my four-inch high heel, promptly landed on my bum in the middle of the road.  Somehow, the shock of it all wiped out any reaction time I had.  My head turned to the left, all I could see was blue, brown dents.  The world was rather quiet too – I think there might have been some people screaming or shouting, waving hands.  This guy, the driver of the blue-brown mass of tetanus potential couldn’t see me.

They say life flashes before your eyes moments before you face death.  I am not sure that there’s much to see in my eyes. Life was just beginning for me.  Finished school.  Great job.  Paying down my credit cards.  I was standing outside my sorry deer-in-headlights arrested body, waiting for a colorful death. 

Impact. Blood everywhere. 

I think I felt shooting pain everywhere as the mass of liquids and squishes that I am was splattered across the black tarmac.  Hot, melting, rusty bloody smells. 

Looking behind me, the shock on the woman’s face – the lady in red holding a young baby in her arms, shielding her eyes.  The gentleman in a suit who might have been running to pull me from the road, finally registering that I was not able to move. I felt the life suck out of me, ooze as the outside me was pulled to the dead me.

Zip. I was back and I was dying… blood was dripping from my eyes like tears.  

What a painful, painful death.

Crossing roads have a weird effect on me.  

I am approaching the road and these images flood my mind.  I wonder if this morbidity is a sign of silent suicidal thoughts.  I am crossing the road.  Safe on the other side.  I guess I didn’t die today.