Monday, August 4, 2014

The only word is... Tragic.


I tried to think... that morning, that afternoon. I tried to think of the word, the word for the weight. The word that supported it.

The only word is tragic. 

I walked outside and was greeted by a surprising tickle from the swift breeze. Juxtaposition in full form, I looked up. Staring at the rabbit tail clouds and the flavored-ice summer sky. This was Indiana. This was life. The baffling antonymy of the every day. 

I was late. Not late in the sense that I cared or that it mattered, I made a choice. That morning I chose not to concern myself with the dictators of time. Realizing that I would soon be my own, I decided to savor my last passive act of rebellion. 

Breathy steps were taken as I settled into the weather's temperament. "A fine day", I thought while I opened my perpetually unlocked car door. As I reached for my keys, I heard the click. People talk about their hearts dropping but my stomach went up my throat. 

A first reaction was too look away, quickly turning back as I screamed. Six years lie on the pavement. I wanted to sit down, Indian style right there forever. I felt the need to lie down beside it and cry. Maybe if I don't move it won't really have happened. But that isn't the way these things work. I didn't have any time to sit down. I couldn't lie still next to it and breathe the grief in and out fully. I was late. 

I grabbed the pieces. Necessity demanded that I drive the car despite it.