My photo
mommy. wife. teacher. yogini. writer. coffee drinker. aunt. crocheter. reader. dog lover. scattered. methodical. rational. irrational. paranoid. annoyed. lost. found. content. searching. peaceful. i am constantly in search of my story. the one i have never happened. the one i've lived i cannot write.

15 November 2009

getting "passed" it... literally.

it was bound to happen.
i knew
somewhere deep inside
that at some point
we would have to drive to
and past
that place

a trip north
a birthday party
took us that way again today.
the first time 20 months.

the anxiety kicked in for me on friday.
a small twinge
in the pit of my stomach
at the realization
that i would have to face it.

'it's strange,'
i told bill that night.
'i know how that story ended
and it was a happy ending.
but when i take the time to stop
and really think about it
i'm there all over again
and life feels so hopeless.
i can't help it...
i go back to that fence all the time.'

when we passed the sinclair station
in center point
all speaking ceased.
i looked over at bill
to double check his seatbelt.
i checked the sides of the road for any signs
of snow
(although, of course, there were none today).
charlie slept in the back.
i began wearing a hole in my jeans
with my thumb.

'i think i'm going to be sick.'
he said
just outside of gilbertville
white knuckled
eyes glazed

i was feeling queasy myself
trying to remember
where that damned fence was.
my memories of that day
were foggy at best
until after we had crossed the threshold
of the barrier.

and then
we came up over the curve
and the evansdale water tower loomed
and the tears came with no warning.
i sobbed.
i shook.
i reached up to wipe tears
and then wrung them
as the fence came into view.

it seemed that every panel
was the panel we had broken through.
there was a curb.
i hadn't remembered a curb.
i knew my blood
was in one of those backyards
just beyond the steel.
i wretched.
i cried.

and then
in a blink
we had passed it.

i looked to bill
his eyes moist.
he squeezed my hand.
the panic gone.
'where do we need to go from here?'
he asked calmly.

and i threw both my legs up on the dash.
and charlie slept soundly in the back.
and bill slumped comfortably in the driver's seat.

and we finally
put it behind us.

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