Sometimes

A serious question was posed to me recently. Where do you go? I said… Well, I wait for the darkest, clearest night, go to the highest point on the highest hill and watch for the shooting stars. And I make a wish. …and I fly through the sky like an airplane no, a bird, not just any bird, the Wandering Albatross, I glide, for hours without the thought of touching the earth, or even flapping my wings. That’s just too much work. …and sometimes I’m just there… …and I soak in the salty water of the Atlantic Ocean waves of warm liquid rushing over me, trying to pull me under the moistened sand. Dead Crabs and broken shells at my feet… …and sometimes I stay there… …and I am a child at the fair, the aroma of cotton candy and funnel cakes in the stagnant air and I’m on the top of the Ferris Wheel observing the ants below. …He’s watching me; he’s always watching me… …and sometimes I’m there… …and I’m running with Alice; because this little white rabbit with a watch is apparently late for an important meeting; and we’re like, “What’s the hurry, little rabbit?” Rabbits don’t go to meetings… do they? …but sometimes I don’t go anywhere… …and there is this girl, she smells like sugar, corn syrup, and sweetened milk, warmed for four minutes and then cooled and wrapped in wax paper; it’s Halloween and we’re teenagers… and that’s her favorite treat; and I’m awkward… …and her voice is a song… and I’m stupid… …and her hair is a soft fire… and I’m ugly… I need her in my life... I mean, I did… …but she’s gone now… …she’s moved...on… …away… from me… …and I go to a place where I am an alien, and the Martians ask me questions, like, how are the hot dogs in New York City, or is Chicago deep dish pizza to die for? …have you ever had southern BBQ? …and are earth girls really easy? And we laugh… Yep… we laugh… …me and the freaky alien voice in my head… …so, I laugh daily and always let everyone know that, I’m okay… Because… Sometimes, I am there… I mean … sometimes, that’s where I go…I go back there… …I’m trying to grasp a hold, gain control over the fear, anger, self-hatred… …gripping me in the places …he wasn’t supposed to. Eugene Finley