It’s Monday’ It’s June; and I’ve ceased to exist.
I seem to have stepped back from the edge of a cliff, but
nothing more.
Work keeps things connected, although I feel a lot like I
did in high school, cast out from the popular crowd because I raised the wrong
questions about their beliefs.
I’m not merely no longer one of the selected few, I’ve
fallen from grace completely, if not Judas, then the servant who has spoiled
Eden, or worse, the snake cast out of the sight of God, condemned to spend eternity
in limbo, silence hovering over my world so that I dread tomorrow, wondering if
it is possible for silence to increase, a negative volume like a black hole,
sucking up every bit of sound as to make me feel as if I will implode.
I keep looking for someone to blame and scared to look in
the mirror where I might actually see him.
I finally read the story she wrote that caused such a ruckus
earlier this year, about a play in which the woman rapes the pizza delivery man.
I recall her admiration for the theme and the playwright.
This idea of being someone’s “Working it out fuck,” always
puzzled me, especially when the object off affection doesn’t know the score and
takes it seriously.
She’s not wrong. People need to pick who they want to be
with and for whatever reason, and it’s not like the poor guy in the play didn’t
make out, he just didn’t completely understand the score.
He could have said no and didn’t.
The playwright wanted to be “bad” for one night – a fantasy
we all have. Some people collect people with whom they can be bad with, an
entourage of the selected kept in the closet at need.
I’m conflicted, looking in on the game from the outside, one
of the outcasts – just a little bit jealous of those who chose to remain inside,
Satan looking back at Heaven, confused at what he might say if invited to
return there or not.
We all get the choose; sometimes there is no going back.
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