MonkeE See, MonkeE Say (October)

By BrandeE Laird 

      It may as well be late Friday night, for all the life drifting on the sidewalks. I'm just off of work and gathering that feeling--an electric need to jump, and swing--so I'm striding toward a corridor to move. Each footstep is a tiny landing, core temperature warming, and my mind runs through the patterns I know, preparing to execute them, and go further. 

      I arrive at the scaffolding--tucked safe into shadow, shards of streetlight breaking through--but too many are soundly sleeping beneath it to use. Five or six bodies cocooned atop cardboard, blanket-caped faces shielded from chill; I can hardly disturb them with training my will. Persistent clinking clacks of fitted metal pieces; dully creaking columns; the dry-concrete scuffs of dropping down...It's not just my town, after all, so I go. 

      But, I know I didn't wake up seriously sore today; it didn't hurt to put on my clothes, walk up the stairs, or sit down. I wasn't surprised by the quick pains of small movements, of simple stretches made stiff endeavors, so, back to the street to search.

      Scanning the near park seeking somewhere to play, a man vigorously sings to himself in passing. I decide on one railing--why is it right there if not for training? Four feet high, splitting one side of bare ground from another, I wonder at the purpose causing its placement, (decide it doesn't matter--it's just another obstacle statement,) so I drop my bag to stay.

      Between balances, I fall. Spin back atop, and down. Spin atop, down. Vault--stop, stay atop, walk. Walk backwards, walk sideways. Turn around.

      Crouch down, turn around, stand, walk around. Crouch-walk-stand, crouch, turn around. Turn around, and again, ease back down to the ground. Vault over, back it up, spin atop, ease down.

      I am not embarrassed about where I began. Spin up, turn around, ease back down. There are no threats to my character--vault, stop, stay atop, walk--or my spirit--crouch, walk, turn around, ease down--as I am teaching myself to be better. Vault, stop, say atop, walk. Crouch-turn-walk-stand-crouch down. Balance--this is the only option--turn around, ease down--and I'm perfectly locked-in to being free...

    --A large light takes my vision--white, blinding--and a cheerful voice calls out, "Park's closed!"  With no hesitation, I bag-up, move on, the being of that freedom--for the moment--gone, but I'm fine with leaving because leaving doesn't mean that I'm walking away from being me.

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Written by Janine   
Tuesday, 29 September 2009 10:26
Last Updated on Monday, 13 December 2010 21:47