New York

I've been here in better times. I can recall walks and skips and jumps on each unique strip of cracked pavement. When alone, I would be joined by a book. With friends, I would be joined by a drink. I remember sips and bites of the cheap and expensive, with steamy side dishes of gossip and gaiety. It was about exploring the places we'd heard of once or whoever had the cheapest cocktails. We pranced around these streets like nothing could touch us. And nothing did. 

 

And then the days grew shorter as slowly as the last 15 minutes of a work day. Time turned itself over to new arrangements of commitments, based on new priorities. Life was reset to a default found only in novels praised for their ability to "get to the heart of the matter". The dramas, the tear-jerkers, the stories that attempt to speak to the strength of the individual. Adversity is encapsulated in a well known character, character trait, or external force we all know and fear. Human succeeds with the weaknesses of his humanity, we dwell on the miracle, and cheer for the brief fleeting moment we think such things are possible in real life.

I'm sitting in a car, traveling past as an observer. I do not sip or skip on these streets. My stomach is a child on a trampoline after too much cake. Sure, the cake was delicious and the traces of icing around his mouth make him look adorable and carefree. But the bouncing. Oh, the bouncing. Stumbling forward after a bad bounce, he catches himself near the edge. He waits, unsettled by the nearness.

I have this sense of foreboding that makes me want jump up and run as far away as possible. I feel tainted by merely sitting in this waiting room. This room is too full. There are too many people here too much older than me, too exhausted to make small talk with those around them. Let's do roll call. Why are you here? I ate a bad steak. My apples glow in the dark. A rogue vaccine. I'm rich. I'm poor. I'm coughing. I can't. Its growing. Its not. What to do, what to do.