walk
beginning of a short story i'm working on...
. . .
all right, i’ll admit it; i’m dressing up. for who? for myself and the trees. because apparently self-image is important, and everyone knows clothes make the man. so i toss another shirt on the bed because it doesn’t perfectly match my idea of who i want to be. too bad the only decent jeans i have anymore are hip-hangers. damn fashion. i yank a black sleeveless shirt over my head, despite the fact it is mid-november. there; you’ve always felt comfortable in black, i tell myself, sliding into my olive-green corduroy jacket.
“i’m going for a walk,” i announce. my mother looks slightly surprised. either i really have been letting physical activity slide lately, or she’s wondering why i actually decided to tell her for once, instead of sneaking out the back door like usual. “i’ll be back in a couple hours,” i call, kicking the screen door open with my boot. outside, the weather is mild for the season, but still cool enough for me to button up my jacket.
gravel crunches softly beneath my feet as i pause in the driveway, land sloping away on either side. the sky is pale and endless above me, molten silver, the bare arms of trees stark and monolithic where they tear into the edges of it. i start up the hill, feet finding their own way over familiar ground. my mind is tripping and spinning over ideas, comfortable in the odd mix of predictability and spontaneity of the situation. there is a routine to my wandering at this point, but nothing static enough to prevent me from changing it at any moment.
at the top of the hill, the road curves ahead of me in either direction, teasing my curiosity, my sense of romance, the child-like belief that at any moment my life could change, that i could become worthy of an adventure. I have always wished my life was a novel. instead, i piece things together from journal entries that are half-poems, from poems themselves, from the notes i write for my friends with the same message written all over them—i need you to love me, but please, please don’t worry.
i haven’t even gotten out of view of my house yet.
. . .
all right, i’ll admit it; i’m dressing up. for who? for myself and the trees. because apparently self-image is important, and everyone knows clothes make the man. so i toss another shirt on the bed because it doesn’t perfectly match my idea of who i want to be. too bad the only decent jeans i have anymore are hip-hangers. damn fashion. i yank a black sleeveless shirt over my head, despite the fact it is mid-november. there; you’ve always felt comfortable in black, i tell myself, sliding into my olive-green corduroy jacket.
“i’m going for a walk,” i announce. my mother looks slightly surprised. either i really have been letting physical activity slide lately, or she’s wondering why i actually decided to tell her for once, instead of sneaking out the back door like usual. “i’ll be back in a couple hours,” i call, kicking the screen door open with my boot. outside, the weather is mild for the season, but still cool enough for me to button up my jacket.
gravel crunches softly beneath my feet as i pause in the driveway, land sloping away on either side. the sky is pale and endless above me, molten silver, the bare arms of trees stark and monolithic where they tear into the edges of it. i start up the hill, feet finding their own way over familiar ground. my mind is tripping and spinning over ideas, comfortable in the odd mix of predictability and spontaneity of the situation. there is a routine to my wandering at this point, but nothing static enough to prevent me from changing it at any moment.
at the top of the hill, the road curves ahead of me in either direction, teasing my curiosity, my sense of romance, the child-like belief that at any moment my life could change, that i could become worthy of an adventure. I have always wished my life was a novel. instead, i piece things together from journal entries that are half-poems, from poems themselves, from the notes i write for my friends with the same message written all over them—i need you to love me, but please, please don’t worry.
i haven’t even gotten out of view of my house yet.
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