The Story

Sometimes she flips her hair, considers dying it black. She’ll stare in the mirror, pick up the deep amber eyeliner she bought on a whim. She could go a little wild tonight. Put on the dark, cut her eyes at the bouncer.

But it’s late, and she has work in the morning. So she sets the eyeliner down and tucks her toes back into her slippers.

 

Then there are the times she takes the curve on a mountain road too fast, and for a second she’s free. The wild streak of her soul pulses.  She could turn the music up, windows down, and let that streak take over. Her right foot itches to release her from every responsibility; to push down until she escapes.

But her exit sign appears, so she releases the peddle and flips her blinker switch.

 

Occasionally there are moments when the temptation is too much. When it should lighten the burden, it’s a heavier weight than the world itself lying across the back of her neck, pushing uncomfortably into her shoulder blades. To run, to go, to walk away from any and everything that knows her name.

Yet the phone always rings or the door bell sings or the tea timer alarms and she remembers she can’t. She’s not sure why, but she can’t.

 

And it’s not like she is unhappy. In the morning she answers the baby’s cry with calm reassurances. Or she puts on her uniform. Maybe her heels. She drives the kids to school. Or sits at her desk. Or clocks in at the podium. Her students, her coworkers, her patients all depend on her. It’s rewarding. She saves lives. She saves coupons. She fixes the report, fixes the lunch boxes. It’s the little things, the big things, that remind her where her place is. It’s a comfortable place. It’s fine, for now.

But there’s always the sometimes. And tonight, with cool air and a mild headache, might be the sometime she finally takes.

 

The Word

Metanoia (noun): 1. The journey of changing one’s mind, heart, self, or way of life. 2. Change in one’s way of life resulting from penitence or spiritual conversion.

VERY short short-story today. Maybe more like a poem? It’s words, and they feel right.

I was talking to my friend last night. We’re very different and very the same and we’ve felt these feelings all the time. I’ve rarely spoken to a person who hasn’t. That “oh, to be a bird” feeling is so universal and I just wanted to see if I could put it to words. I think it’s one of those ridiculous being-human things!

I’ll write something a little lighter again soon, promise 🙂

Until then- enjoy your journey, lovely readers!