Conversation With a Naysayer

She turned onto Sunset Boulevard before sunrise, forgetting that she couldn’t get into the stadium parking lot from the south because of one-way streets. She wound her way around the gated lot and back through the quiet streets until she found the single unbarricaded entry. She pushed the gearshift into park. Stepping into the darkness, she coughed as her lungs reacted to the temperature difference between her vehicle and the morning air.
“This could be asthma. You know it.”
“It’s just cold, I’ll adjust.”
“It’s not safe out here; it’s not even six yet. What are you thinking? Women have been raped out here.”
“The sun will be up soon. I need this.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“Life is dangerous.”
She left her MP3 player in the car, tucked under her grocery bags. She didn’t really think it would keep a dedicated thief from breaking in, but if it wasn’t on the seat, maybe criminals wouldn’t be so tempted. She stepped onto the path and ran.
“It’s so dark. You can’t see.”
“I can see. I can see just fine.”
“You won’t be able to see if someone jumps out from behind one of these bushes and grabs you. Don’t trip. You don’t want to break a hip.”
She ran faster. She hit her stride at a mile. The air was no longer cold in her lungs. Her breathing was without labor. No music, only the sound of her feet hitting the gravel. She wasn’t counting her steps. She’d stopped that habit when she’d stopped training for races. No music, it was so quiet. She’d never had this entire stretch to herself before. She was completely alone.
“He might not keep his word.”
“He has to keep his word. That’s what it is, a promise.”
“You’ve had promises made to you before, what are you thinking?”
“This is called faith, this is called belief. Shut the hell up. I should have brought my music. I need to concentrate.”
“The last thing you need to do is concentrate. Every time you concentrate you get in trouble. You need distraction.”
She turned the corner and set her sights on the blinking lights atop the twin towers that she’d used so many times before as a guide when she’d been lost, or disoriented in the city. She set her steps in time with the blink-blink-blink. In the distance the lions at the zoo began to roar, low hollow roars. She ran on.
3 miles and 25 minutes later she arrived back at her car. It was still dark. She’d only seen 2 other runners when she would usually see 200 on the same path.
“That was dangerous.”
“Life is dangerous. I’ve had injuries the last year; a heel, a rib, and I guess now my heart. I haven’t run a race in a year. Life is dangerous. If you’re going to run with me you need to shut the hell up.”
“So bring your music next time. “

Winner

(This was prompted by two events: I joined a new writing site and a challenge was issued to write something that fit with a painting by Dali. I viewed the subject of the painting to be a fractured young girl. The other event was a conversation I had that found me explaining how distant I am from a certain family member - my maternal uncle. I have virtually no relationship with him. I've been thinking a lot about that non-relationship, how important he was to me as a child, and how the little girl in me was let down by him. I don't hold those hurts any more, but I know they changed me, I know I held him up to be something/someone he couldn't be. The adult in me realizes this and knows that I was shaped by that experience.)

Winner

Unaware of observation,
he didn’t choose Hero’s stance.
With deft motion he reached down
and moved a lock
from eyes that sought
Source
from mother’s brother.
He only stood where
life placed him.
Opportunity came but once
to shape, to mold
and fill the
G A P
left by father figure’d
O U T.
No time, no patience,
and no clatter heard when the
pedestal upon which he was placed
tipped over with life’s energies -
pulsing and pressing
as his sister’s child
watched the
Man of The Year
shake the dust from his
suitcoat and
move on to the
next Big Thing.

Two

A most surprising vex,
this concern,
this caring.
You wend your way
over the stones that
lead to me,
seeking purchase
at such precarious points.
You are my tightrope walker;
my mountain climber;
my Champion.
I marvel at your tenacity.
After this swirl of adrenaline,
I nestle into
the comfort of your gaze
and we round out the day
listening to
soulful
singers
while we lounge on
the Persian rug
and wait for the kettle.



M. Scofield 3/12/2009