Push In, Then Pull One Side Out

I had this moment walking home last night where I momentarily closed my eyes to reset things and when I opened them again...

There weren't any cars passing on the street for a brief moment. There was no one else on the sidewalk. The stores seemed closed and the gravel lot I was passing was devoid of cars. The gray suddenly popped with a vibrancy that begged to be noticed, and I had that strange sort of powerful feeling when you realize that you're alone; alone and calm and comfortable.

There didn't seem to be a need to force myself to breathe, it just happened. And as crazy as that seems, it took a whole load off of my mind. Had I known that the mood was going to shift so violently I may have taken a moment to sit in that gravel lot and watch the thick tangle of clouds blow coldly by for a little while.

And now this free floating anger that wants to take root and shove my tongue around, make a mockery of my typing fingers. I've learned that trying to wrestle with it is a lot like one of those Chinese Finger Traps, the more I throw punches against it, the harder it's going to hold on.

Thank you iPod for bringing up Tom Waits' "Table Top Joe" just now. That settles things down, puts things into perspective.

I'm trying to not to wish, that like the president, I had a front of men to take my falls for me.

I'm trying to forget the fact that various television programs showed footage of a toddler being creamed by a Colorado State football player over and over and over and over and over again. I'm trying to forget that this means that either the media, or the television watching masses, enjoys watching four year olds put into mortal danger - and apparently likes to watch it again and again.

I'm trying to imagine myself somewhere else besides this soul crushing job. Perhaps I’m listening to that light crunch of my feet shuffling through an empty gravel lot. But when I look up, expecting to see a chain link fence and a train yard, I see water. The gravel in the lot has become the small stone beach of Hood Canal. I know the house my grandparents used to own is behind me. I can hear and smell the bonfire back behind me and to the left. But I don't want to look back just yet.

I want to watch the water lay lazily with the muted evening sun lounging about all around it, I want to see the small waves birthed at the passing of a ski boat lightly slap the waterlogged piling sticking out of the beach like a finger. I can hear raucous laughter back by the fire, but I still don't want to look back just yet.

I want to see the lights slowly waking up across the water, I want to see the fires over there grow brighter with the coming night. I can see two kids out in a rowboat a couple hundred yards from shore, the bulk of their conversation eaten by the briny water on its way to the beach here so that only hard consonants and laughs survive the trip. I can hear Bif and Riley coming down to the beach from a house they've never been to, Bif talking to him all fake seriously and he's chuckling with that dry coughing sound he gets when he's tickled.

I want to look back now...