The Folly

My body pulsates with hot blood as the physiological gears kick in and the adrenalin hits me snapping me out of the thick fog I had suddenly walked into.



It's February in north eastern Ontario and we're on our way to Toronto. Typical of February, it's mild and gray outside. Roads and walkways are slushy which leads to slippery sidewalks when the temperature drops at night. It's that tricky time between winter and spring that builds false hopes only to dash them to smithereens like an icicles hitting the pavement below.



I feel so awkward. My fingers and toes are cold to the touch and I feel a deep chill in my bones, but inside my jacket I'm sweating from the internal chaos that overrides my senses.
My legs feel prudish clenched together but when I let my knees fall to the sides I feel clumsy and fat and easy. I know I have a very unconvincing smile fixed on my face but if I showed how I really felt I'd be weeping.



Instinct kicks in after the gears in my head process what had been said.
I am cornered like a dirty rabbit in a dirty cage and I can neither escape my cage nor hide my filth. Nor can I turn his eyes away from me.

My mind is racing but my body immobile; instinctual.



I pet his hand as though I weren't churning inside.



I look out the window at the unending pathetic landscape jerking by to distract myself or at least to stop staring at the dash in dumbfoundedness. But then I stop staring out the window as the all too familiar feeling of fighting in the car with my mother floods over me. Feelings of injustice, misunderstanding and teenage defiance confuse my current feelings so I turn away from the window. I don't want to look as wounded as I feel.


Like an injured rabbit in a cage I'm unable to lick my sores in peace and am instead forced to smell the stench of my own shit through someone else's nostrils.



I've lost a lot of blood; I can feel it draining from me. I'm growing tired. And now I'm a cat. And all I want to do it sleep. But I know that once I wake from my escapist slumber I'll be drawn too quickly from that idyllic world only to be reminded of the trouble of this one. And the pain of that drowsy realization isn't worth the pleasure of sleep right now.



The dull roar...no, how typical. It's more like the grating vibration of the wind grabs at the sides of the car while music with a militant beat hammers at the silence carving it into a war zone. Only the rumble of the tires rolling over the pavement at 120 kilometers per hour, the clumsy rattle of an old interior and the irritating tinking of loose change in the cup holder competes with the wind and the warring.



Strong winds shove the car back and forth between the lines in rhythm with my own emotional tug-of-war. I'm indignant! I'm caught. Defend yourself! Surrender... Yet, I know I'm not as wounded as I feel. I know this sore isn't as deep or tender as it used to be. I know I'm acting the way I'm expected to even though in my heart of hearts I see the truth. I see the folly for what it is and it's ok. Time and distance from the North gives me more perspective.



A gentle touch to my arm that has a lingering sense of concern in it's fingertips snaps other gears into place and my heart claims order over my ghosts again.