Sometimes

Sometimes, it feels like the world slips away. You watch yourself having a conversation with someone, walking, pointing at something that excites you. But it's not you really, it's something that's taken your place while you float around in a sort of nothingness.

Where have you gone?

Sometimes, you find yourself back in reality. But you never realized you were gone. No time has gone by at all, and yet it's been an hour, a day. You look back and have all these memories of where you've been, the things you've seen and done. But you didn't do them. It was a placebo-you, filling in. It's almost like a vacation from life itself.

But you don't always want that vacation.

Sometimes you can feel the breeze on your skin, the cold nip at your face, hear the leaves rustle. It's the place where the leaves fall like snow. The place you never knew could have beauty, innocent beauty, until you were able to see the flaws of the world. Until the reservoir of sea water sprung a leak. Until you found yourself on your back looking up into the blackened sky, and watched those leaves that fell like snow.

Sometimes you wonder to yourself where you've been all this time. You don't understand yourself anymore, there's no logic to you.

Sometimes there can't be logic. It's nothing but rawness. Numbness.

And sometimes the world comes crashing in.

And sometimes there's nothing to do. Nothing to do but make a pile of those leaves, and fall asleep.

Seven Swans

Inspired by Sufjan Steven’s “Seven Swans”

            “Billie! Billie come quick!”

            I could hear my mother run down the hall to her bedroom to wake my father.

I looked across the room to where my sister was slowly waking. An orange glow came through the window bathing her and the angel mural my mother had painted at my birth in unfelt warmth. I got up from my bed and cracked the door, watching my father run by frantic and down the stairs. My sister came up to me, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. I put my finger to my lips, telling her to be quiet. As we went down the stairs I could hear my mother sobbing and yelling at my father.

            “This is your fault!”

            “Christine…”

            “No! Don’t you dare! This wouldn’t’ve happened if you would just do what’s expected of you...”

            My mother trailed off as she saw my little sister and I watching from the open sliding door. My father stood with hunched shoulders over the flames as my mother came over to us, scooping up my sister and putting her hand on my shoulder. We stayed that way for a while, watching the fire burn its message into the earth. The light felt so invasive as it cast shadows into the woods and outlined my father as he stood before it.

            I broke away from my mother’s touch and ran up to my father, stopping by his side. I looked up at him and felt the pain in his face as he shifted his gaze to me. He treated the flame as if it were the open casket of a man he did not know. I reached up and took his hand in mine. There, with my father, I tried to understand the meaning of the word that was burning into our family’s backyard. The word that would cause my mother to look into my father’s face with such disdain.

            No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t understand why someone would go so far to deliver the message. It simply read:

            “Sinner”

            I heard the sound of birds from the wood behind the house, and watched as they flew overhead. Seven swans, tainted by the glare of the fire. They were gone after a few moments, and the rest of the family didn’t seem to notice them. As they disappeared over the house, I heard a voice in the back of my mind. It said:

            “I’ll try, I’ll try… I’ll try”

            The sun shone through the living room window as I sat on the couch reading the book my father had given me earlier that week. I could hear my parents arguing from their room. Their muffled voices felt as if they would rip me apart. There was a slammed door, heavy footsteps, and my father appeared from the stairwell. He stopped and stood motionless, looking at me. I looked back. He set down the large bag he held and motioned for me to come to him. I could see him starting to cry, and I didn’t understand.

            He bent down to me and put a hand on my shoulder.

            “I… I’ve got to go away for a bit honey.” He spoke so quietly I almost couldn’t hear him.

            “But why daddy?”

            “Your mom doesn’t think I should be around you girls. Thinks I’ll be a bad influence on you.” Tears rolled down his face and he chucked softly. “Who knows, I might’ve been.”

            “But why would you be?”

            “Well… It’s a bit hard to explain honey. You’ll understand one day. For now, you just go to school, and church... And be a good girl and do what your mother tells you…”

            “You can’t be leaving though! I need you and sissy needs you! I’m reading the book you gave me! Is it because of the fire?”

            “…Yes honey, it’s because of the fire. Daddy decided not to go to church anymore, and it didn’t make people very happy. So daddy is leaving… And it makes him so sad to leave you girls.” It was getting harder for him to speak and finally he hugged me tight and stood. Wiping his face on his sleeve, he grabbed his bag and started walking to the door. He opened it and looked back at me.

            “I love you so much. When your sister gets back from preschool… tell her I love her too. And remember what I told you. Be good.”

            He paused there, watching me for a few moments and turned out the door. I hurried to the window, tears in my eyes, and watched him back out of the driveway. In the sky over the house, I saw seven horns singing their goodbyes to my father. As he drove away I thought I heard someone talking to me, but there was no one around.

            From the kitchen I heard my mother’s sobs while she pulled the roast from the oven. When she brought dinner to the table I looked into her eyes and saw into her soul.

            “Why did daddy decide not to go to church anymore mom…?”

            She froze and looked at me for a long while before answering.

            “Well… He got it into his head that our God isn’t real honey…” She focused on her food and didn’t look at me

            “And that’s why he left us?”

            “Yes honey, that’s why he had to leave.”

            “What he did was so bad that he couldn’t be with me anymore?”

            “You’re young honey, you’ll understand when you’re older. You have to grow up to be a wonderful woman who finds a nice husband and has children of her own. God will give that all to you if you’re faithful.” She reached across the table and stroked my face, smiling at me.

            I was quiet for the rest of the night.

            As I lay in my bed that night, I heard a voice. It was very firm and commanding. It said to me, “I am Lord. Be faithful to me, for I am Lord.”

            And I lay in the darkness, the sobs shaking my body under the blanket.

            My father had been gone a long while now. I laid in the same place I was when he came down those stairs, and my sister lay on the floor beside me reading passages. Suddenly she looked up at me and stared.

            “He will take you.”

            “What?”
            “If you run, he’ll take you.”

            I sat silent and just looked at her

            “He’ll chase you.”

            I started to cry. “Why? Why would he do that?”
            “Because he is the Lord.”

            I put my face in my hands and wept. Wept for my father, and my family. When I took my hands from my face, and looked up my sister stood at the bottom of the stairs looking worried.

            “What is it sissy? Why’re you crying?”

            I sat there for a few moments and looked down into my lap.

            “Nothing… It was nothing.”

            She came over and hugged me for a few minutes and then stood back up to leave.

            “I was just listening to dad’s radio upstairs. Want to come with me?”

            I softly smiled. “Sure.”

            And we went upstairs, to let the radio wash us away.

Two Hours

At the halfway mark comes the sun, shining through. Then back to the rain.

The music fades in and out with the swells, parts missing, parts brought out from the depths. Skipping, skipping, skipping through old memories and new ideas.

It's a long path, and the mind likes to wander. The past, the future, is all laid open as the mountains to the clouds. Condensation collects on the thin glass, and it's all hard to comprehend. The dozens of histories, hundreds of actions, thousands of words. They all get mixed into a jumble of everything, and nothing.

It's a winding path, and it's easy to get lost. A couple of words can mean dozens of different things, and suddenly they're all possible. Paranoia sets in the mist. A sideways glance darts by showing a second of annoyance, and it's gone. But that means nothing, and everything. A touch is forgotten, a word remembered forever, an expression a vague memory.

It's a dead end path, and it's either turn back or trek forward into the unknown. The path back is too familiar to be remembered. Seconds move by slipping through the grasp of memory, until you've found a new way to go. But what if you don't? The trek forward is too new and invigorating to be forgotten, and yet too detailed to be recalled. The wrong words are remembered, the right ones locked away in a labyrinth. But the seconds are grasped, and rewards may await.

It's a path that has no end. It's a path that has no beginning and few destinations. It's a path you must travel alone, and yet not alone. You just put one foot in front of the other and hope you don't confuse another's path for your own.

It's a painful path. You'll emerge with scars and bruises. It's a rewarding path. You'll emerge a changed person, more knowledgeable and hopefully happier from the journey.

There is no path.